#dark aemond smut
Text
The order of things
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader
Warnings: mild angst, masturbation, oral sex (m receiving), grinding
Word count: 3k
Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee @credulouskhaleesi @bunbunbl0gs @alphard-hydraes-blog
MASTERLIST
There is a raven that flies towards the rookery as soon as the sun is high enough to bathe the Keep in orange. It always comes at the same split minute, Aemond sees it every day, because it is the same split minute in which his training ends. Sometimes he even manages to get the better of the bird, then looks up as he sheathes his sword and awaits him. As soon as it crosses the sky he leaves the courtyard.
His day is like a prayer, devoutly tenacious and unchanging. A bath, breakfast, a flight on dragonback, a book. A visit to Helaena and the twins if the reading bores him.
Someone might say that even his walk is always the same. Rigour and order, to be everything Aegon is not.
This time, he disarms Ser Criston well in advance, so much that the raven has yet to show itself, and when it does, Aemond will be blind to his passing.
"Mother," he says curtly as the Queen passes by. She goes to pray as she does every morning, always at the same time. She too is a creature devoted to rigour, and duty; she has seized her days and clutched them in her fist to prevent them from floating through her.
She pauses to greet him, her voice as mellifluous as ever and her eyes just as warm, and then suddenly, he turns to look at her as if he is looking at a stranger, as if she is speaking a language he does not know. "I wanted to tell you that I'm going to see some girls today, to choose your new maid."
"What's wrong with my maid?"
"Well, I figured she might ask for a leave as the wedding approaches."
He blinks, he stalls, he bogs, unnaturally, the sand stops in the hourglass. The raven glides over the towers, unnoticed.
"Yes, of course." he says, sheathing his sword, and the sand flows again, grain by grain; the funnel shrunk.
Everything in his life is part of that rigour, even people, even her.
She has been in his service long enough to know without asking when the scar pulls to the point of requiring medication. She has been in his service long enough to know that a slight frown in his eyebrows is enough to make her close the curtains and prevent the light from worsening the pain in his head, to know that he likes his venison rather raw, that he hates that doublet because the sleeves are puffed and he feels like a court jester. And she tacitly made it disappear.
She does everything without uttering a word. She doesn't need to ask, she moves when he moves, she has adapted to him like a second skin, and she doesn't seem harmed by the edges.
Yet he is harmed by something, as she pulls off his boots in front of the fireplace. He sees a flat sea where he would like to see a storm. He sees grains flowing and wishes to crash the glass.
"Do you need anything else my Prince?" she has a seraphic expression on her face, and he sees deception. She speaks in a firm, devoted voice, and he hears betrayal.
He stares at her with the eye that looks like a needle, feels like it, then shifts his gaze to the fire and says "I will be in need of your assistance tomorrow, for the whole day."
"The whole day?"
"Yes. Why? Do you have something better to do than the duties you are paid for?"
She is no novice to his bitter tongue; somehow, stupidly, naively and recklessly, she is able to imbue it with treacle when it enters her head. It doesn't matter anyway, her foolishness will end as soon as she takes her vows.
"No. Of course not. I'll be at your service, my Prince."
"Hmm, until?"
"Until?"
"You should be the one to tell me. When is the wedding due?"
Her eyes widen like two large moons and she seems to crumple in on herself, on the floor she is kneeling on, under the Prince's unwavering, iron eye. She feels her throat tighten and yet his hands are steady along the armrests. She feels her lungs crackle against her ribcage. "I—"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Why didn't she?
"My prince, I thought your Grace should not be bothered with such trivial matters."
"I decide what to be bothered about." He says in an imperative tone. "When would you have bothered to inform me? Is this how you show loyalty to your prince? Keeping things from me?"
She glues her eyes to the floor, she cannot hold the Prince's gaze, not when he is like this, even though he has never been like this. He looks angry, he looks outraged? As if he has been wronged. That look makes her blood run cold, and then it melts in red down her cheeks and neck. It would be too easy to blame the chimney behind her back, easy but necessary, to keep things in order. Prince and servant, nothing more. What else is there?
There are heavy sighs falling in the dark, stranded between the sheets as his bones boil and tense at the climax, desire spilled, wasted. But that's fine. To not be all that Aegon is. This too has become rigour, part of the order of things.
It is the order of things to watch her kneel at his feet and wish to spill his desire into her mouth. As is seeing her nails always neat and tidy scratching the floor as her back arches against him, as is seeing the blood reddening her cheeks and neck, and wanting to lick it as far as it goes.
Someone else will do it. An ordinary man of no consequence in the order of things, the real one.
"You may go." he says coldly, hoping the frost of his tongue will cool the feverish blood under his skin.
She rises from the floor with a bowed, desolate head. "I bid you good night, my Prince."
The next morning he asks her to change the sheets, and he turns his back on her, ashamed, as if she knows she is in those sheets.
He takes a bath while she does her chores, finishing exactly when he does, because she moves when he moves. She helps him put on a dark green robe, unperturbed by his nudity, because that is her duty and it no longer makes her blush.
There's never been clumsiness in her hands, but there is today. Aemond feels her hands heavy as boulders when she prepares the ointment for his eye, when she leans over him to remove his eyepatch. She doesn't speak to him as she always does, oozing that glimmer of amusement when she brings up the servants' petty feuds and wars.
"You're rather quiet today." He asserts later, as she buttons his doublet "Has the armistice been reached in the kitchens?"
She opens in a brief smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I don't know, Your Grace. I find myself spending a lot more time outside the Keep these days."
"Is that so?” He retorts, narrowing his eye “Hmm, is that why my books are still on the desk?"
She finishes her buttoning and ties her hands on her modest skirt. "I am sorry, Your Grace. I will see to it that they are put in order at once."
"I have no use for your apology. Why didn't you do it when I told you to?"
"Your mother gave me a leave for a few hours yesterday."
"And why did you ask my mother and not me? You are in my service, not hers."
She keeps looking down like a suspect on trial and swallows. "I went to Flea Bottom to buy some fabric for my wedding dress. I was ashamed to ask you for a leave for something so frivolous. As a woman, I thought your mother would understand."
"You will do no such thing in the future. Hide things from me and leave the Keep without my permission, or I'll have you punished. Am I being clear?"
"Your Grace, I…” she pauses, she looks down, she swallows, but it’s now or never. “You should know that I will no longer be here after the wedding. I am going to formally resign my position. Your Mother has already-"
His eye goes wide, and wild, and he breathes loudly until he is snarling. "Are you deaf or dense? Did you not hear me? You will not leave my service."
The moons in her eyes are full now. She looks at him, begging him to let her go, because that is the natural course of things. She will marry a common man, give him a couple of children and live a quiet life in the country, where her groom has a smallholding of land, their only source of wealth if they do not want a life of misery in Flea Bottom. And she is fine with that. She has accepted it. She is like any other common girl, she cannot dream, her blood is only red, there's no castle nor crown waiting for her.
She has accepted her fate with the calmness of a stream that lets itself be carried along by its current. She is happy like this, because as far as she could, in that silly way in which all ordinary girls dream, she dreamed, even though her dream is made of flesh and blood.
She had shivered when he had leaned over her when he taught her to read. She had breathed in deeply to know what he smelled like. She had felt ice in her stomach under his gaze when she read a few pages to him. And that is more than dreaming.
She cannot remain in his service, because she is an ordinary girl and more than dream, she cannot want.
"Your Grace..." she begs, going down to the floor "I beg you. Let me go my way. I believe I have always served you to the best of my ability and if I’ve ever failed you in something, name it. I will do anything to make it right."
Aemond bogs again, but in something far more paralysing and at the same time overwhelming than all his rigour. Perhaps it is the sight of her on her knees again, her head bowed and devoted, and the fact that he wants to touch that devotion, wants to taste it and swallow it.
Slowly, he lifts her chin with two fingers, eye blind to everything else; his thumb moves over her lower lip as if to know its edges, as if he has wanted to do this all his life.
"Anything?" he asks in the voice of another, the one stranded in the sheets.
She nods slowly, and the movement rubs his thumb against her teeth for a moment, forcing him to swallow, to give himself control, not to push his finger in. He is not Aegon, He is not Aegon, he is not Aegon.
"Would you be willing to please me?" he asks, and his question reaches some remote place in her, that place where a girl can dream and want freely. In that place, if he had asked once, twice, a hundred times, she would have bent to his will, not to the duty of the servant who must please her lord. Sure, that too. But first of all to her will. It is a question that need not be asked, for there is but one answer.
"Yes..."
Blood flows into her cheeks, breathing out fire from her lips. "How...? How do you want me to please you, my Prince?"
"With this..." he replies, pushing his thumb over her lip.
Her hands move fluidly over the belt and buttons of his breechers as if she had done this countless times before. She helps him dress, she knows his body even though she has never touched him. She has never touched a man in her life, not like this. Aemond reads the embarrassment on her cheeks and he basks in it with a glimmer of pride, because he will be the first.
Gently, he places a hand behind her head, tilting it a little, and looks at her with his heavy, clouded eye, enthralled. "Open your mouth..."
He knows she's never done this before, but the hot alcove of her mouth is enough to make him open his mouth and let out air in a broken cadence. She raises her eyes as if to ask if she is doing something wrong, and the sight, real and not the outcome of some delusion hidden in the dark, smothers his breath. He begins to thrust into her mouth slowly, hardening quickly as she continues to look at him and welcome him into her mouth with the devotion with which one kneels to the Seven.
"Gevie..." he pants hoarsely, brushing his fingers through her hair "You look more beautiful than I thought like this..."
His hand in her hair never tightens, though his hips move faster and the wet sound is the only one that keeps his panting company.
"Your cheeks..." he instructs her "Hollow your cheeks..."
And just as when he was teaching her to read, she listens , sucking agonisingly slowly. “Fuck—” he curses, threading his long fingers through her hair and pulling at the roots; he thrusts faster so that she has to grip his waist with her hands but when he senses she can’t breathe, he lets of her head and slips out of her scorching lips, hissing at feeling the cold air of the room.
She’s panting hard, with her mouth open and slick with him. But she has little time to catch a puff of air. He thrashes her on the carpet, with a rough kiss full of teeth and growls, and his hands move like talons, pulling her modest skirts up to her waist.
“No—My Prince—” she muffles on his mouth, pleading but desperate all together “We can’t—”
“I won’t ruin you, I promise.” he says rummaging through her garments “Just let me feel you this once—”
He finds her core with his large hand, hot and slick, and she whimpers loudly in his open mouth. “Do you get this wet for your groom, hmm? Or just for your Prince?”
She unconsciously bucks her hips against his hand and he smiles, delightfully, against her neck, licking a stripe down her throat. “I’m in need of an answer, my sweet girl…” he says raising his head, the leather piece is about to fall behind his disheveled hair. “Have you touched yourself thinking of me?”
Shame washes over her as well as pride does him. “You did, didn’t you?”
His retrieves his hand and licks her off his fingers as if he was waiting for nothing else, staring at her with his eye pitch black.
“Do it.”
“M-my Prince?”
“Touch yourself. Now.”
She looks away, reddening even more, but he grasps her chin and forces her to look at him. “Do you want that permission to leave my service?”
It takes her a minute to swallow her shame, and then her hands is slipping between them. He pulls himself up on one arm to give her space to spread her legs some more, to watch closely as she starts to move her little hand on her bundle of nerves. “Look at me.” He commands, and she flutters her eyes with a bit of prudery before obliging.
Her breathing becomes heavy, just as his, slowly touching himself to mimic her, as he has done countless of times before but this is different. This is like the first time. He can watch her chasing her pleasure because of him, with him. He can watch the sweat beading her neck, her lip trembling. He can hear the sweet lewd sounds she makes for him.
She grows more desperate by the moment, swaying her hips on the carpet, grabbing his shoulder and neck until he falls on her. He groans upon feeling her cunt against his cock and by now they’re both too close to need hands anymore. He starts to grind against her, his hard flesh slicking ever so easily on her wetness, swallowing her whimpers and moans as he pants and rasps on her lips “Go on, sweet one. Come for me, hm?”
She does so, gripping his shoulders until digging her nails on the fabric, moaning with her mouth slack open.
He keeps grinding against her, frantic, panting, the eyepatch is somewhere on the ground and she watches him in the stupor of pleasure, like she’s experiencing a vivid dream, but the weight of the prince on her is real, his cock rubbing against her core making it twitch for more, his coarse voice as he rasps “Gods—‘M so close…” and then the jolt of warm seed on her belly.
He falls on her breathing hard, making her wince, but she can't find the strength to slip away, to pull down her skirt or move the long silvery lock that has gone into her mouth. She must leave everything as it is, and then leave it to be the ordinary girl without dreams.
For two days, her presence around the Keep is rather scarce, barely traceable in the Prince’s chambers. But his breakfast is always ready on his desk, his clothes always clean and well folded on the chair.
Aemond does not send for her nor does he seem to care where she is. He returns to his rigour, to his books, to his training as soon as dawn breaks.
One of the Kingsguard shows up in the courtyard and stands there to watch, waiting for the Prince to finish his duel.
"My Prince, I've done some research after our last conversation."
"Well?"
"Just as you said, your Grace. A modest cottage and a piece of land near Duskendale."
"Good." He says, sheathing his sword and glancing up upon hearing a distant caw. "I want you to send two city guards there, and burn it all down."
The guard blinks, widening his eyes. "My Prince?"
"You heard me."
The guard leaves and Aemond hears cawing again, closer this time. He glances up and the raven greets him, flapping his wings in the newborn sun.
Everything is in order.
#liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen x reader#ewan mitchell#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen fanfic#house of the dragon#hotd fic#aemond fic#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond smut#dark aemond smut#dark aemond targaryen#the order of things
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Object of Desire (1/3)
[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]
[ warnings: dubcon, hate sex, sex content, smut, angst, domination, violence, swearing, humiliation, hard chauvinism ]
[ description: Aemond is forced to marry a widow from House Arryn as part of the alliance and support of his brother in the war against the Black faction. This story is an Anon Request, sorry it took me so long. I know anon wanted it to be a softer and sweeter story, but it didn't fit Aemond's character and what I think would be going on in his head. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. Lots of humiliation, violence and chauvinism. ]
Part 2 − Object of Despair
Part 3 − Object of Delight
Epilogue
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
My other works: Masterlist
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He thought the greatest humiliation of his life was behind him when he lost an eye, when his brother and nephews gave him a pig instead of a dragon. He thought that now that he was a man, rider of the greatest dragon walking the earth − he would finally get everything he deserved, a wife from a dignified, respected House, and with her an offspring, his inheritance, an extension of his lineage.
He could not hide his expression of disappointment, disgust and bitterness when his mother informed him that instead of one of Lord Baratheon's daughters he would be marrying Lord Arryn's niece − his grandfather, intent on strengthening his brother's position on the throne felt that depriving Rheanyra of the support of the Eyrie, her mother's kin, would greatly weaken her in the ongoing war.
He would have endured this change without a word were it not for one thing.
The woman was a fucking widow.
Already intimate with another man who had taken her virginity, she was worn, marked, like an overbitten apple that now someone had to eat to the end to keep it from rotting.
He imagined in the back of his mind how the court, which both feared and mocked him, would spread rumours that the One-Eyed Prince was not only crippled but must marry a woman devoid of value and her greatest virtue, for no other lady would agree to be his wife.
However, he knew what duty was and intended to fulfil it.
Despite his mother's suggestion, he did not want to see her before the nuptial day. He felt that he did not want to further exacerbate her bad enough appearance in his eyes; he feared that she was not only worthless but plain ugly, her mind empty and shallow.
Although the nuptials were to take place in the noble family, knowing that this would not be her first wedding it was decided that the whole ceremony would be modest, only the most loyal lords and relatives who supported their cause were invited.
Looking at his reflection in the mirror in shame and disgust, at his emerald tunic adorned with golden threads swirling in embroidery reminiscent of dragon's heads, he thought it seemed too refined for such an occasion, for such a woman who could offer him nothing.
He knew that there was no fault of hers in her husband's sudden passing from this world, that it was pure politics, but he could not help thinking that it would have been better if she had died with him.
Waiting for her in the Great Sept, he felt nothing − he had not even bestowed a single glance on her when he heard the sound of trumpets, indicating that she and her father had entered the temple and were heading towards him.
As he felt her presence beside him he immediately noticed out of the corner of his eye that she was dressed in a blue gown, flowers of the same colour in her hair − curiosity forced him to at least glance at her and he swallowed loudly as his gaze met her violet eyes.
The colour of the Targaryens.
He froze, feeling his heart suddenly begin to beat faster, unable to look away from her irises, from her long, dark lashes and eyebrows surrounding her eyes like a sky surrounding the sun − unintentionally his gaze studied quickly her entire silhouette and face.
He swallowed with difficulty, turning his head away, realising that her figure was pleasingly girlish, she was young, too young in his eyes to be a widow − her dark hair was tied back, myosotis tucked into her curls at the sides of her head, her gown made of some thin, smooth, shiny material shimmering blue and purple at the same time.
He couldn't focus on what the Septon was saying; he only glanced at her again when Daeron handed him the cloak with which he was to cover her − her gaze fixed on him, her eyebrows arched in sorrow as if she was in pain, her eyes gleaming, slightly reddened, as if she was barely holding back tears.
He felt like asking if she was so disgusted with him, but no sound came out of his mouth.
With a stony face expressing indifference, he threw his cloak embroidered with a three-headed red dragon over her back and then took her hand in his, small and surprisingly smooth.
She didn't look at him when, in a trembling, soft voice, she repeated the words of her vows with him. He tried to remember her doing it for the second time in her life, that she was someone else's, warming someone else's bed, but he couldn't.
She seemed so innocent.
They hadn't exchanged a word during the wedding feast; he watched from the corner of his eye her demeanour, her face − she seemed to him absent, sad, ashamed.
He thought with a squeeze in his throat, filled with jealousy and envy, that she was a beautiful young woman, and someone had her before him.
He took a loud, impatient sip of wine from his cup, its tart, slightly sweet aftertaste spilling over his tongue, dulling his mind.
He felt like his head was going to burst.
They both tried to put it off for as long as they could, however, eventually his mother suggested that his spouse was surely tired and should retire to bed.
He pressed his lips together at her words, rising silently, looking at this strange, frightened girl out of the corner of his eye, her face turned towards him, her eyes open wide in terror.
"Come, wife." He hummed coldly, without emotion and heard her swallow hard − she followed him quietly as he left the hall, heading down the dark torch-lit corridors to his chamber.
He watched indifferently as her servants helped her undress from her beautiful gown, slowly untangling the curls of her hair, one of them wanted to remove the flowers from them, but he protested.
"No. The flowers are to stay. Let at least some semblance of innocence and purity remain." He sneered, saw that the corners of her mouth twitched, her eyebrows arched in pained humiliation.
He cocked his head, intrigued that she endured his words and what was happening with such humility.
He thought that if she behaved like this, perhaps he would take pity on her and actually put his child inside her, so that she could somehow regain her dignity, to be the mother of his heir.
"That's enough." He said at last, when she was left only in her nightgown, from under which he could see the outline of the pleasing shapes of her womanly body, waiting patiently until they were left alone.
She was looking somewhere far away, sad, tired, humiliated, her face, although pale, as if filled with mourning, was smooth and pleasant, the shade of her eyes seemed to him more blue in the firelight.
Proof that they shared ancestors, a common heritage.
For some reason he felt some kind of affection for her at the thought.
He got up from his seat with a loud creak of wood, walking with a slow, lazy step towards her − he saw that she twitched but did not look at him, her lips parted slightly in an accelerated breath, betraying her nervousness.
He walked around her, looking at her as if she were an object, assessing her figure, the shade of her hair, the shape of her face from every angle. She swallowed quietly and lifted her chin, looking at him with some kind of challenge, a decision that she would accept what was about to happen and give him no reason to mock her.
He hummed at the thought, stepping behind her, feeling her flinch all over as she felt his large hands touch her waist and then slide lower, to her womb − he felt surprised, licking his lips with his tongue, that his manhood swelled hard in his breeches when, in some sudden, involuntary reflex, her small hands grabbed his wrists, yet not stopping his movements, just trying to maintain some semblance of control over what was happening.
She let the air out of her lungs nervously, closing her eyes for a moment as his nose sank into her sweet-smelling, smooth hair, his hands stroking her lower abdomen trailing over it in tender, slow movements as if he imagined she was already carrying his child, his reason for being proud and pleased with her.
"This poor man, whose name I can't even remember, died without an heir. Why?" He whispered in her ear, a note of menace in his voice, his fingers digging into the fabric of her nightgown and her stomach, forcing her to take a step back, bumping into his throbbing manhood pushing against her buttocks. He heard her gasp softly, swallowing loudly, her body quivering in his embrace.
"The will of the Gods." She replied softly, her voice melodious, warm, pleasant to his ear. He hummed again, acknowledging her answer, his hands again beginning to stroke her womb in an unhurried, tender gesture.
"Why would I need a wife who won't give me an inheritance? Hm?" He asked in a tone as if he was curious and intrigued − he felt her whole body tense up in fear knowing that he was mocking her.
She drew in air loudly, suddenly tightening her fingers on his arm as his hand slid lower, between her thighs, the tips of his fingers began to brush her there with calm, steady strokes.
His free hand rose higher, to her neck, tightening around it warningly when he felt her buttocks begin to rub against his length, feeling a pleasant wave of heat surge through his spine and lower abdomen. He looked down at his fingers between her thighs, even through the material feeling the moisture leaking through it.
"A wife is a gift. Like a sword, a book or a horse." She cooed softly, responding with a rocking of her hips to the touch of his fingers. He involuntarily chuckled at her words, charmed that she understood exactly his approach, that her mind was not obscured by bottomless female fantasies, but stood in reality.
"Why would I need a chipped sword, an empty book, or a blind horse?" He asked lowly, his hand from her neck moved higher − his fingers cupped her cheeks, forcing her to turn her head towards him, to look at him, her violet eyes misty, bright, beautiful.
She smiled and giggled softly, startling him completely, bringing him out of his thoughts.
"It's amusing to hear you speak about blindness, husband. I hope the lack of your eye doesn't bother you anymore." She whispered with a satisfaction that made him snort in fury − she squealed quietly and closed her eyes as his fingers dug into her cheeks and shook her, as if he wanted her to come to her senses and remember who she was standing in front of.
"You are nothing, whore. Do you understand? Nothing. A worn-out cup to be filled with seed. I don't have an eye, but I do have a fucking dignity that my mother deprived me of by forcing me to marry a creature like you." He hissed, shaking her head violently once in a while, wanting it to get into her little empty head what he had just said.
She looked at him with hatred, her gaze seeming darker, more dangerous to him, her tongue hitting her palate with a quiet click of her saliva as she whispered a single word in his direction.
"Pathetic."
He didn't even know when his hand tightened in her hair, slamming her head against the table that stood in front of them forcing her to lean forward with a violent gesture − she squirmed loudly and cried out, clenching her fingers on the tabletop as she tried to catch her balance − he kicked her ankle with his foot forcing her to spread her thighs wider.
"You like it rough, hm? You find yourself better at being a whore than a wife? Very well then." He growled, his free hand undoing the buckles of his tunic, untying his breeches quickly, releasing his throbbing erection, giving it a few sure squeezes at the base, for some reason what was happening, their quick, rapturous breaths aroused him even more.
"Fucking male pride. Take what you want, you won't break me." She hissed with such hateful envy that he chuckled out loud, somehow impressed by how brazen she was.
"There's a little dragon burning inside you, isn't it? We shall see. I'm a man full of patience." He sneered, lifting her nightgown up in an impatient motion, exposing what was between her thighs, her rosy, puffy folds glistening with her moisture.
She pressed her lips together, struggling to hold back the sound of discomfort as he pushed against her, forcing the fat, pink head of his cock between her tight walls. He sighed heavily, feeling how wonderfully she clenched around him on all sides, hot and surprisingly soft.
"− fuck −" He gasped out, spreading her thighs wider with his leg − she cried out loudly as he sank all the way into her with one sure thrust, her fleshy muscles throbbing againt him in panic.
They both began panting loudly as, in some subconscious, natural reflex, he began to pound into her with the impatient, aggressive stabs of his hips.
"− fucking whore −" He growled angrily, clamping his hand painfully tight on her hair, her mouth parted wide in a helpless moan as he suddenly quickened his pace, looking down, feeling a wonderful thrill of elation at the sight of his manhood opening her slick folds wide again and again with deep, brutal thrusts of his hips.
"− bastard −" She cried out, responding however to the pushes of his hips with a fierceness from which his voice stuck in his throat. He was no longer sure, groaning low with pleasure, feeling the way her walls squeezed him wonderfully, sucking him inside, whether what they were saying was true or just a test of strength and dominance, an attempt to establish who would have the last word.
"− shut the fuck up − to think you still have the strength to babble − shall I put it in your mouth so you'll finally be quiet? −" He snorted through clenched teeth, gripping his free hand over the soft, smooth skin of her firm buttocks, slamming into her like mad.
It seemed to him that they were both moaning and panting too loudly, as if they were in some kind of frenzy, his thighs slapping against her bare skin with a sticky smack again and again, barely sliding out of her.
"− fuck − o-oh fuck, stop −" He gasped out as he felt her muscles suddenly clench greedily against his manhood at his words, intensifying his sensations. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as he heard sweet, loud moans of fulfillment begin to erupt from her throat, her body trembling all over − she whimpered when he didn't slow down, chasing his own fulfilment.
"− I know − fuck, just a moment longer − shhh −" He hushed her and groaned low, sighing in relief when he felt that wonderful, relaxing feeling, bliss in his mind and whole body, delight as his seed spilled deep inside her, right where it belonged.
His hips rocked inside her a moment longer with her mumble of displeasure, her eyes closed, her breathing ragged, her fingers trailing over the table top as if she couldn't calm down.
"− it's alright − easy − it's alright −" He whispered, panting heavily, stroking her soft hair with slow, tender gesture, her eyebrows arched in pain as she wept loudly, tears one after another began to run down her face.
He wasn't sure if she was crying from relief that she had it behind her or from grief that she had to go through this again.
"− I know − I know −" He hummed, running his fingers over her smooth, dark curls, for some reason feeling the need to reassure her, fulfilled and content after what had happened between them, his half-soft manhood still twitching deep inside her, all slick from their shared moisture.
"− I don't blame you, wife − that man was weak, as was his seed − you will soon bear me a son −"
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Aemond Taglist:
(bold means I couldn't tag you)
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foxfaced, dragonhearted - oneshot.
dark, mean prince regent aemond x wife reader
for my 200 followers poll, i've actually had this one cooking for a while so i'm happy this option won! this is absolutely filthy, i'm sorry in advance.
word count: 2.4k
i don't do taglists any more unfortunately, its mostly because i never remember and then feel bad about it so i've made a second blog just for reblogging my fics! @huramuna-fics -- follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!
content: slight dub-con, smut (specifics below cut), angst, mean aemond, toxic relationship, like in no way is this healthy, good god, smut with little plot, reader is described being from riverlands w/ auburn hair and brown eyes, no use of y/n, not beta read, i literally went into a haze writing this there are probably mistakes
tonight you belong to me - patience & prudence • vampire - olivia rodrigo
warnings: p in v, choking, breath play, dom/sub, degradation, creampie, cockwarming, orgasm denial, breeding, aemond is so mean here thats its own damn warning
Aemond knew what he wanted and the sacrifices that needed to be made to get such things. He wanted a dragon, it took an eye to get it. He wanted the Conqueror’s crown, it took his brother being burnt to get it. He wanted a legacy that would surpass his lifetime, etched into the very being of Westeros itself. The sacrifice needed for this would be to chain himself to a woman he likely wouldn’t be interested in.
That is where you came in.
You were sweet, he supposed. Sweet in a way that made his teeth ache. Sweet in a way akin to a mouse and how it looked up at the cat just before his jaws snapped around the mouse’s head.
He didn’t need to like you. Many marriages were forged in dislike or just plain indifference, set to a mutual goal. He supposed your mutual goal was children. All he needed was to use you as a vessel, a womb for his seed to take hold.
You poor thing, you didn’t really understand that he didn’t truly care for you. You were nice enough looking, of course– hair that reminded him of autumn leaves, always styled in some intricate style with half a hundred braids, dozens of pins and decorative pearls. You reminded Aemond of a fox, dark eyes against muted auburn fur, lips always pursed, sniffing the air in search for hounds on your tail. You certainly were a skittish, jittery little thing.
The marriage was a quick affair, done at the Sept two days after Aemond wore the Conqueror’s crown for the first time. You weren't a part of some major house, all of the major houses were too close, too greedy, their breaths hot against his neck as they shoved their wedable daughters at him. The last thing he wished for was to be indebted to some trivial lord who thought his name elevated him to the same stratosphere as Aemond– a paltry lady of some low house bred in the Riverlands would do just fine, he expected his Valyrian seed to dominate any of their week genes anyhow.
He had met you once before, many years ago before he lost his eye. When he was forced to tag along on some meager diplomacy meeting with his grandsire– he remembers it as being forced, but in reality, he wished to attend. What else was a second son with no dragon to do? – and you had been there, hiding behind your father’s trousers. You had been wearing a blue dress, he remembered this distinctly, as it stood out against the ruby red of the apple you had offered him.
Aemond had tried to speak with you, but you only communicated in nods and soft noises– something you only partially grew out of. He never understood why he remembered this girl, as you were insignificant in the seas of faces he’s met over his life. Mayhaps it was your quiet nature that he remembered, something that, now at his age and state of mind, struck him as malleable, easy to mold into what he needed you to be.
And so it shall be.
–
It was about two and a half moons after your marriage, he returned from a late council meeting. Rubbing his eye, feeling the familiar thrum of pain right behind the socket, he was already in a particularly sour mood. The council meeting had gone south, ending in most of the lords bickering over one another like children.
It irritated Aemond to no end, the strain of an oncoming headache ever looming. He still struggled with intense pain from his eye, or rather, his socket and severed nerves. The pain was debilitating at times and if anyone dared to test his patience when it was particularly bad, he would snap at them like a cornered animal, no matter who it was.
Raising his head, he noticed the hearth was still going strong, multiple candles still lit in the solar, despite it being late at night. The now familiar crop of auburn hair was peeking from behind the couch— his wife was usually never up this late.
“Why are you still awake, wife?” he asked as he took off his gloves, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“… reading. I was waiting for you.” you murmured in your usual hushed tone, the sound of your book closing was louder than your voice.
“I told you not to do that. It’s unnecessary.” he grunted in response, undoing the latches of his leather doublet.
“I-I don’t mind it… I just sleep a bit easier…” you continued, no doubt twiddling the end of your braid between your fingers— an anxious habit.
“You need proper rest. I won’t have my wife looking like a sleepless, sloven mess,” Aemond chastised, discarding his shirt. “Now, what are you reading?” he was becoming increasingly irritated with you, feeling as if he had to force you to take care of yourself and unlatch you like a leech from him. When you looked upon him with your wide eyes filled with uncertainty and fear, he felt the overwhelming urge to wrap his fingers around your throat and squeeze until you passed out or mayhaps went limp, like a doll.
“Oh,” you slid the book towards him on the side table, it was a book on the history of Old Valyria and its language, usually used for children to begin speaking it. “Nyke j-jaelagon… naejot ēdrugon… va ao.” I wish to sleep next to you.
Aemond’s brow furrowed. “What use do you have to learn High Valyrian, wife? Issa dōna ābrazȳrys mijegon nykeā notion isse zȳhon bartos, wanting naejot gūrēñagon mirros ziry daor.” My sweet wife without a thought in her head, wanting to learn something she cannot.
You reached for the book, your comprehension not skilled enough yet to pull what Aemond was saying to you. Before you could grab it, he slammed his hand down on the book, effectively snatching it from your grasp. You pouted her bottom lip. “I want to learn… mayhaps it might bring us closer together.”
Aemond scoffed, the sound sending a sting of pain right into the core of your chest. “We are as close as we need to be, little one. We are married in the eyes of Gods and men and we fulfill our marital duty by trying to produce heirs, hm?” He placed the book back on the shelf. “This nonsense of wanting to be closer is moot. I won’t hear of it anymore.”
A glaze of sorrow flashed through your eyes before you got up from the couch, tightening the housecoat around your shoulders.
“Come to bed,” he said, moreso as a command than a suggestion. “I know you are cold, ābrazȳrys.” Wife.
You made a small noise of discernment, crawling into bed after him.
He looped his arms around you, pressing you to his bare chest. He radiated heat like a furnace and was quick to warm you up– you were always so cold, he noted. He surely hoped that your children together would inherit his fiery blood and not the weak-willed, uninsulated Andal blood you possessed.
Aemond bounced from being indifferent to you, paying you no more mind than a maid or a whore, to needing you, every part of you. He didn’t see you as a person, moreso an extension of himself, latched onto his body until he consumed you entirely, your bones fusing together as one. To him, you were a doll or plaything to entertain him, testing the mettle of your will, to see if you were of poor craftsmanship and would break. He had always broken his toys as a child.
You could tell by the rhythm of his breathing, he wasn’t going to sleep just yet– you’d become very attuned to his moods, his small intakes of air against your neck causing your skin to prickle into goosebumps. His lips ghosted over your throat, one of his arms coming up to wrap near the base of your windpipe, not yet applying pressure, but the threat was there.
No, it wasn’t so much as a threat than it was a promise– he quite liked applying pressure to your airways when you coupled, his lone violet eye centered intently on yours as they went from wide to half-lidded, soft whimpers of pleading to stop, sometimes for more, more. He relished in holding your very life in his hands and you let him.
“Mayhaps I should get you a collar, wife,” he hummed, his voice husky and deep, reverberating deep within your chest as your heart pounded. “But I think you like my hands much better, don’t you?”
“Y-yes,” you breathed, the small swallowing bob of your throat felt against the palm of his hand, causing him to grin. “... I fancy them– on my tender neck… between my legs…” you responded, feeling slightly bold at the notion you put forth. The heat of his body permeated your skin, warming your core into an ever familiar feeling.
Aemond all but growled at your comment, positioning the both of you to where you were laying with your back upon him, as if you were lazing upon him like a chair. “Feeling courageous tonight, are we? No matter, my dear, you will break all the same,” his mouth pressed to the shell of your ear, teeth nipping at your lobe. “Like every night before, and every night to come– your life is in my hands,” he enunciated this with a squeeze to your neck, eliciting a small mewl from you. “Is it not? Say it.”
“M-my life– belongs to you, husband,” you managed to squeak out.
“Not husband, not now. You know the rules.”
“M-my king, your grace,” you rephrased quickly.
He clicked his tongue in slight admonishment. “A bit slow on the take tonight, little one,” Aemond muttered, slotting his leg between yours and kicking your thighs apart. “Keep them open.” his voice was dripping with something between venom and sticky sweet honey. He felt akin to a God every time he was in the sky, every time he sat the throne with the crown on his head, and every time he rested his hand on your pretty little throat as he sheathed himself to the hilt inside of you so easily, so free of resistance. “So slick for me, just from the smallest of chokes– fucking whore.” he hissed, starting a slow, deliberate pace as his hips met against your bottom. The pair of you were like two threads, intertwined with his legs pretzeling around yours, keeping you spread open.
Your breath hitched in your throat as he continued to bully that sensitive, spongy spot within you– but you craved so much more, feeling waves of heat emanate from your sensitive bud as it screamed at your brain, begging to be touched. You made the critical error, thinking your husband was too focused on his own pleasure to notice you going for your own, as your hand slowly descended between your legs, rubbing small circles upon your pearl.
How wrong you were.
His arm came up further, his bicep pressing to the bottom of your chin, his free palm slapping your hand away from yourself. “Are you truly fucking stupid tonight, wife?” he spat, stilling his thrusts. “When did I say you could touch yourself? Have I fucked you stupid already?” Aemond huffed in frustration. “My poor, dumb wife– you cannot do anything right, can you?” he slid you off of him, then flipped over to loom atop you, taking both of your hands within one of his, his large hand encapsulating your wrists with ease, trapping them above your head.
You sniffed, tears welling at your lash line, threatening to spill– not just from his downright mean admonishments, but from your stolen gluttony, your pleasure stolen so close to the precipice. “‘M sorry, your grace,” you cried, “Forgive me.”
“You’re lucky you have such a sweet cunt,” Aemond mused, his immodest and downright sinful language going straight to your core as he nestled inside of you once more, menacing atop you like a darkening cloud. “I forgive you– and will even pleasure you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To come?”
You nodded fervently, your lamenting tears spilling over and running down your cheeks.
“I’m feeling quite generous, then– I’ll let you. If you beg me.”
“P-please–” you blubbered, “Please let me come, my king.”
A sickly smirk came over his face once more as he pushed forward again, not bothering with the slow and meticulous pace he had before. His hips slammed into yours as he surged into you, as if you were nothing more than a cocksleeve for his pleasure. And yet, and yet– his hand didn’t move to the apex of your legs, chasing his own high before he would give into yours.
“Aemond, please, please– please touch me, f-fuck, your grace– my k-king, please!” you were all but wailing now, half in ecstasy and half in pure beseechment, pleading for just some semblance of the lecherous, stimulating and lewd sensation that only he could give you.
He took mercy on you, the pad of his thumb zeroing in on your leaking folds, giving your clit a cheeky pinch. It was a delightful pain– that was what being with Aemond was, what it came down to. Every waking moment with him was thrilling, sublime, agonizing, unending torture– and you fucking loved it.
Your mouth hung open, you were sobbing freely now, your lips quirked into a euphoric and maddened smile. “Thank you, tha-nk you, t-thank you, I love you, I love you,” you gasped, your lungs ballooning with air as you begged him further, “P-please, around my neck–”
Something animalistic came out of Aemond at your request, his hand draping around your throat like a necklace. “My sweet, dumb wife– you don’t know what to do unless I tell you, unless I let you, unless I guide you to your release, hm?” he prostrated each word with a deep thrust. The combination of his ministrations on your bundle of nerves, the head of his cock callously beating into your sweet spot, and the squeeze of his hand around your neck– it was enough.
With a garbled string of words, prayers, denotes of love, pronouncements of his prowess, his titles, his name– the coil inside of you snapped, lighting every nerve you had in your body on fire. You saw stars as your climax wracked through you like a tempest, the absolute vice grip of your core sending Aemond into his own completion, his seed painting your walls and then some.
In your fucked-out delirium, you thought you might’ve heard him say something– you didn’t decipher it until later when you were half asleep, his softened member still lodged inside of you somehow as he curled you into his chest.
“My love, my wife– I love you.”
#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond x fem!reader#aemond#aemond one eye#hotd fic#aemond fanfic#aemond smut#dark aemond smut#dark aemond angst#my writing
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Greater of Two Evils - Part 5
Summary: Reader returns to her childhood home only to move to a new home the next day. How will she cope?
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Dark! Modern Aemond x Fem!Reader
Warnings: DUBCON to Consensual, AFAB reader, Smut (p in v, oral sex f&m receiving, orgasm denial, teasing, creampie, Dom vibes, choking, food play?), verbal arguments, cursing, tension, feelings of anxiety, feelings of hate, manipulation, Aemond not being a total jerk at the end? Lmk if there’s any I missed!
Word Count: 4790
A/N: This was split off of part 4, then I added some smut. Enjoy!
Masterlist
Your childhood bed was warm and stiffer than you remembered but you slept well regardless. Something about being home, being safe, surrounded by familiar smells and sounds, allowed you to fully rest, but now, the sun had long since risen and it was time for a nostalgic breakfast.
Pulling on some pajama shorts and a crewneck sweatshirt, you drug your sleepy self from bed, lumbering down the steps to the living room, rubbing your eyes. The smell of bacon permeated through the small cottage home and as you neared the bottom of the steps, you heard your mother call your name from the kitchen as she had when you were growing up when breakfast was early ready; allotting you time to get out of bed and get downstairs before the food went cold.
Sleep wouldn’t quite leave your eyes and you reached up to rub the drowsiness from them with your sweatshirt sleeve, yawning. Your mother scolded you lightly, “Dear, we have company, you should go upstairs and change-”
Your arm dropped from your face quickly to find that evading your nightmares wasn't an option in this personal hell of a life you were sentenced to.
Silver hair. Eye-patch. Finely tailored suit.
Maybe that song your dad used to sing in the back garden was right, maybe the devil does in fact wear a suit and tie.
“What are you doing here?” Your voice is flat and devoid of fear despite the fact you very much were filled to the brim with it. Maybe anger at him invading such a sacred place of yours took precedent… finally.
Your mom turned around with a hand on her hip, “That’s no way to speak to your-”
Aemond raised his hand, silencing your mother with a soft smile. The action made you nauseous; no one silences your mother so easily. “Please, it’s alright.” He turned to you, “I came here to meet your parents and ask formally, this time, for your hand in marriage.”
Your eyes widened and you looked at your mom. She shook her head with a sweet smile, “Honey, if you were running here because you were scared of marriage, you should have thought of that before you got pregnant. Now here, Mr. Targaryen is trying to make things right.”
‘Trying to make things right’ felt like a stab in the gut, fueled by betrayal.
“Mom I-”
Aemond cut you off, “Perhaps we can speak alone?” He looks over to your mother with the smile of a snake and she returns it, mayhaps without the reptilian features.
“Of course, I’ll be out in the back garden with your father,” she tells you before she wipes her hands on her apron and exits the room.
You stare at Aemond as he stares back at you with his lone eye. He hears the backdoor open and shut before he speaks. “I told you to stay.”
You pull up a chair opposite of him. “Like a dog,” you bite back. “What did you tell my parents?”
A sly smirk pulls at his lips, “I think you understand the predicament we’re in.” He leans back, grabbing his teacup and bringing it to his lips, “your mother loves me by the way.” He sips, smiling like a Cheshire cat, lone eye studying his prey.
“She also prefers my brother over me so I’d take her approval with a grain of salt.”
He frowns slightly, bringing the cup back down to the table. “They know the baby is mine and they know I am planning on taking care of you, and it, financially.” His eye flickers up to you triumphantly, “And they also know that I proposed to you, my girlfriend of three years and you had your doubts and came to see them.”
You narrowed your eyes, “You told them we have been a couple for three years and they believed you?”
Aemond smirked, shrugging lazily. “Apparently you do not talk to your parents enough for them to know much about you.”
Anger rose within you, making you begin to sweat with loathing. How did Aemond seem to get away with every little thing? It was like he walked and the grass parted a path for him. He seemed untouchable; making your cause seem hopeless.
“Go upstairs and pack, we’re leaving.” HIs command was stern with no room for contest.
You shook your head despite this, “I’m not going with you. No.”
Aemond stood from the table slowly, towering over you. His hand snaked down reverently from the top of your hair, along your cheekbone, landing beneath your chin and pulled your face up to look at him. “I’ve done things in a quite unorthodox matter at the beginning of this relationship-”
“This isn’t a relationship.”
He barely contained a sneer, you felt the anger boiling just underneath his skin but he kept it from burning you…surprisingly. “Whatever you want to call it- relationship, understanding-”
“Containment-” you cut.
“-whatever,” his voice raised slightly, “you may call it.” He returned to his false softened hum, “I believe I can do better by you and our child. You have to give me that chance.”
Your eyes met his lone blue and you knew you had no choice….for now.
“Okay.”
He looked half shocked, probably suspecting more of a fight. “Okay? Okay. Yes,” he pulled his hand from you. “I will arrange for us to leave immediately. Go upstairs and pack what you need.”
You stood from the table, “All of my essentials are in Sunspear.”
Aemond pulled out his phone, bringing it to his ear. “Well, we aren’t going back to Sunspear so I’ll just buy new essentials unless anything cannot be replaced.”
You looked at him in confusion, “Where are we going then?”
Someone on the other end of the line began speaking so he mouthed what looked like ‘King’s Landing’ before he started barking orders into the phone.
Kings Landing.
The drive to the Crownlands took a few hours and every bit of that time was spent with Aemond on the phone, rearranging your life, unenrolling you from your college, and closing your account at your bank in Sunspear. With every call, you started to grow more and more anxious.
How is he able to do all of these things without my permission or consent?
At the final call, the one where he closed out your membership to the student credit union, he looked over at you. “We are close to my estate now.”
You remained staring out the back door’s window, “How were you able to do all of that without my permission?”
The car slowed and began to turn, Aemond leaned up to the driver, mumbling the code to the driveway gates. Once he leaned back, he looked sideways to you, “I thought you were well aware I had plenty of connections.”
A pit grew in your stomach as you drove through the gates of the estate. A large, white stone home sat proudly in the nicest part of King’s Landing; the homebase of Westeros’ rich, powerful and corrupt. A tall hedge bush ran along the property lines, behind it, you could see glimpses of an iron-wrought fence at least twelve feet high. Physically, there would be no escaping the property.
The car parked beneath the carport at the very front of the house, Aemond opened the door and exited his side, you followed; pulling the handle and exiting. Aemond rounded the car, grabbing your arm a little too harshly and leaning in next to your ear. “We are to be married soon, wait for me to open the door.”
His harsh scolding gave you chills as he pulled back from you with a smile as if nothing had happened. “Allow me to show you the manor.”
Red roses adorned the foundation of the home and when you stepped inside, the floors were marble. Nothing was out of place, everything was extravagant and lavish. Aemond had walked you through the entire first floor (where a butler or maid was scattered purposefully about every three rooms) before leading you upstairs. You had hoped the second floor didn’t have another random person who would pop out from behind a plant or tall vase just to add to your embarrassment as you were paraded through the home as its new captive; fortunately, there were none.
Aemond led you to a set of double doors, pushing a single open and leading you through gently. “This is our room,” he stated plainly as day.
You shook your head, “No. I want my own room.”
He fixed you with a look that scorched your skin. “Absolutely not.”
So you used his own logic against him with the words ‘be a river’ giving you the courage to do so. “Aemond,” you reasoned lightly, lighter than natural for you, “I uh, don’t want to assume anything but to my understanding… you want the image of a perfect life.”
His brow furrowed, immediately with shock and before it could resolve to anger, you spoke again.
“I see the white house, the roses, the perfectly manicured yard. I saw the butlers and maids downstairs alongside the decorations that I wouldn’t particularly attribute to your style - not that I know your style, we are just strangers whom you’ve decided should conceive-”
Aemond snorted, anger clearly beginning to rise within him but you continued on.
“I also saw the Seven Pointed Star several times throughout my tour. Decorations…books… and I know that’s the predominant religion of Westeros. You being a politician and all, I’m sure you want to look the part, even if you don’t believe in it, I can almost guarantee you don’t.”
“I do,” he retorted.
You smiled, taking a step toward him, “Interesting.” He looked at you with a thin veil of confusion. “Anyway, what I’m getting at is that it’s quite obvious that this house,” you gestured vaguely around you as you stepped closer to him, “is all for show. You moved me here,” pointing to yourself, “for show. I know your intentions, I understand what I am to you…so I ask you to allow me to have my own room until we are wed. If anything, it’s only for show.” You smiled up at him, feeling you aced him.
He simply smiled back, leaning down slightly. His smile made your triumph falter and fade. “I knew I liked you for a reason, you’re incredibly…perceptive.” His eye leveled you with a glance from your eyes, to your shoes and back up again. “Fine,” he straightened, “you’ll get your own room…until we are wed.”
You blew hot air through your nose, feeling anger festering in your pores. “And when is that?”
Aemond turned from you, pulling his suit jacket off and placing it on the mattress. “Two weeks.”
Your blood ran cold, “Two weeks? How can you plan a wedding in two weeks?”
Aemond laughed as he loosened his tie, “I’ve had someone on it for a while now-”
“Show me my room please,” anger, resentment, hate boiled through your veins and ignited your heart. “I need some space.”
Aemond chuckled, “Take your pick.” He motioned toward the door, expecting you to find your own way out. You turned and began marching for the door when you heard him call out, “Just remember, you said the bedroom is ‘just for show.”
Turning back toward him, you glared. Of course he wouldn’t let you leave without an innuendo and threat. “Fuck you,” you spat and turned back for the doors, pushing hard. Before you were out of earshot, you heard him laughing to himself with a “soon enough” coming from his lips.
You picked the room furthest from his, on the other side of the second floor entirely. Locking the door as soon as you got into the room despite the fact that the door could be unblocked from the outside. So, for extra measure, you managed to push a dresser in front of the door, more effectively blocking yourself in.
Safe.
The feeling of dread left you quickly and you felt safe enough to take a shower, wrapping yourself in your towel and laying in the soft bed. You check your phone for the first time today to see you have no messages or calls. You try to call your dad, explain why you left in such haste but your phone would not ring out. No phone service. No carrier.
The fucker turned off my phone too?
Bitterly anger turned into hopelessness which turned into tears. And like how most of your nights went recently, your tears lulled yourself to sleep.
A field of tall grass surrounded you as the soft wind blew your hair. You looked around you to see a river rushing along the base of the hill you were standing on. The river rushed proudly against the grey landscape pushing and pulling where it dared. Then suddenly, the river changed its course, pummeling straight up the hill for you. Sand and loamy clay was left dry where it ceased flowing. Now, at the bottom of the river lies the grass that surrounded you, held you, protected you. You had mere seconds to think before the river reached you and you had yet to think of anything but the cold waves approaching. Suddenly, the sky overhead was dark and thunder thumped hard against the sky. Thump. Thump. Thump.
You awakened to thunder, sitting up in bed. You look around the room in a daze from your previous slumber. The night is dark, starry, clear.
The room thunders again.
Knocking.
Aemond calls your name from behind the doors.
“Go away!” Your voice doesn’t tremble, you’re safe behind the doors with the dresser blocking you in. The sounds cease, you find sleep again with less ease.
In the morning, you stand staring at the doors after having moved the dresser, contemplating if your hunger is worth emerging from your hiding spot. The grumble in your stomach pushes you to open the doors and reassures you that Aemond won’t try anything stupid in front of his hired help. You walk to where you remember the kitchen is, bare feet padding against the cold marble floors, without seeing a single person. The sun has been up for a few hours now and you grow uneasy at the fact there aren’t people here to bear witness and pass judgment on Aemond if he were to do something inappropriate but the house is quiet…too quiet. You wonder if he is even home.
You stop in the middle of the kitchen, listening for footsteps or even life; all you hear is the ticking of a grandfather clock several rooms away. Aemond must not be home.
Relief trickled through you as you opened the fridge, cool light flooding across your face. Picking the easiest thing, a yogurt cup, you closed the fridge then searched the multitude of drawers before you found the silverware drawer and plucked a spoon from it. Quickly, you headed back upstairs with your scavenged breakfast in case Aemond came back early. Opening the strawberry yogurt cup and dipping into it with a spoon, you ate a bite on the way back to your new room until movement stopped you dead in your tracks.
Your eyes locked with Aemond as he was stepping out of your room.
“What are you doing?”
A flash of a glare ran across his face, if you blinked, you would have missed it. “You’re not supposed to eat food outside the kitchen or dining room.”
You narrowed your eyes, reiterating, “What are you doing in my room?”
He challenged you, narrowing his own back. ���Not. Your. Room. I own this house.”
“Sorry, my space in this hellscape you call a home,” you shifted your stance.
He took a step toward you from the door, “Don’t ever lock yourself in again.”
You laughed, “I’m not your free use slave. You can’t come in and fuck me whenever you want-”
Aemond shook his head, “I was worried about you last night, you had screamed in your sleep-”
“You good-for-nothing jackass…I don’t talk in my sleep, let alone scream. Quit lying and stay the fuck away from me.” Anger overrode your body as he took more steps toward you, causing you to fling the yogurt cup at him, splashing across his face and body.
He was shocked for several moments, mouth hanging agape, before his eye settled on you; you trying to suppress your laughter behind your two hands clasped over your mouth.
“You little bi-”
Before he could finish, you turned tail and ran, gleeful you’d made an actual mess of him and feeling some sort of victory in doing so. You heard him swear behind you then, the thundering footsteps closing in quickly behind you.
With nowhere to escape to, you ran into his bedroom, shutting the doors behind you with barely enough time. His pounding on the doors rattled the wood just after you had locked the handles. He called your name behind the wood and you just laughed again, feeling bested the beast in his own home.
“You’re gonna have to be quicker than that- '' came your sing-song voice in a mocking tone.
Immediately, the banging ceased. The speed at quick Aemond gave up his pursuit gave you an awful feeling in your stomach but thinking about it was short lived when you saw that in your valor of throwing the yogurt on Aemond, you had spilled a long drop down your shirt and thighs. Cursing to yourself silently, you made your way into the bathroom.
Flicking on the lights, in search of whatever vanity drawer Aemond stored his washrags in so you could wipe the pink yogurt from your only pair of clothes. You didn’t find it in any of the top drawers so bending down, you continued your search for something to wipe off the residue. Soon, you found the drawer containing the washrags and plucking one from the drawer, you stood, turning on the water and running the rag under it until it was fully soaked and warm. Only then, did you look up from the vanity countertop and into the mirror; jumping in fright.
Aemond was standing behind you, smirking. Like a cougar watching his prey from the trees.
You turned quickly, and tried to shove the wet rag in his face only for him to grab you and spin you around to face yourself in the mirror, your hands subdued tightly behind your back. You then noticed another door, slightly ajar, it looked like it led to a large walk-in closet that must have been connected to the hall.
“That wasn’t very nice of you-”
“Leave me alone,” you struggled weakly in his grip. The pain in your wrist igniting once more.
He chuckled and pressed himself harshly against you, smearing the pink goo across the back of your shirt. “I think we need to clean up, don’t you?”
“Nope, all fine,” you gritted out as you struggled in his hold.
His nose came to press against your throat, you felt your heartbeat quicken as he inhaled your scent. “You, at least, need to clean me.” Without giving you time to process, he hauled you toward the shower, pushing you in and then stepping inside himself. You offered him only a quizzical glare before he turned the showerhead on and began soaking you through your clothes. You huffed and backed out of the water stream and he closed you in, water now drenching him and his clothes; he didn’t seem to care as he began to strip the wet clothes from his body. “Clean the mess you made and you’re free to go.”
It seemed too easy, too simple. He definitely wouldn't leave it at that.
Regardless, you began collecting water in your hands as he continued to strip. With trepidation, you moved your hands to his face, wiping a splatter of pink from his cheekbone; trying not to look at his smug expression. His skin was coarse against your fingers. Something about the action was intimate, close, you hated it; it made you feel at ease in his presence.
He bent down, stripping his underwear from his body, completely nude now. However, the rest of the mess was left on his clothes, his skin was clean now.
“I’m done,” you announced with no emotion, trying to conceal embarrassment behind impassiveness.
He tutted gently, “You’ve made quite a mess of my cock too. You need to clean that up as well.” He glanced down to his member, returning his triumphant smirk to your face.
You narrowed your eyes, “That’s your own doing. I’m not-”
He brought a hand up to your thigh, collecting some of the yogurt that hadn’t been washed away and rubbed it along his cockhead.
“Seems like you did make a mess, sweet river, now be a good girl and this’ll all be over.”
HIs honeyed tone was laced with something addictive and once again, you felt yourself falling victim to whatever charm this snake held over you. When his hand came up to your shoulder and pushed you down, you found yourself falling to your knees for him while your glare never left his face. That was, until you were face to face with his manhood, tip smeared with pink. Your mouth watered against your wishes and your eyes glanced back up to him as water trickled down his toned abs, valleying around the base of his and his heavy sac.
Just do what he wants, a voice told you and you gave in.
Carefully, you stuck your tongue out, licking some pink from the bottom of his ruddy head. You heard him shudder at such a small action and it excited you; the thought of reducing him to your whim as he often did to you. So, your tongue swirled around his head again, taking just the tip of him into your mouth and sucking wet and slowly, letting saliva, mixed with yogurt and precum fall down past your lips to be washed down the drain with the rest of the water that fell off of him. You felt him buck against your mouth, releasing a small, barely audible whine when you pulled back from his charge. His hand flew to your hair, eye scrunched shut. He didn’t attempt to move you further onto his cock, rather, hold you steady. “Fuck- please,” he all but groaned as you continued licking and sucking just the tip.
Smiling, you pulled off of him. “I think you’re clean now.” Your hands in your lap, his hand in your hair. He opened his eye and looked down at you with an annoyed, lazy glare. “Finish,” he all but demanded.
You shook your head. “That would make a bigger mess.”
He rolled his eye, “Okay, let’s see how you like it.”
And before you could process what he was doing, he pulled you up, pulling down your pajama bottoms and underwear in one swift motion, backing you against the cold, tiled wall of the shower and sinking to his knees before you. His mouth was on your cunt like a madman and he hiked one of your legs up with a strong hand, giving him freer access to your womanhood.
His tongue circled your clit like a vulture before he zeroed in, suckling gently. Your hands flew into his wet hair, entangling as you whined and threw your head back a little too harshly against the wall, making the back of your head sting in residual pain but you didn’t care, all you could focus on was the intense pleasure he was ripping from you.
His other hand came up to play with your entrance, lithe fingers dancing, teasing, but never acting in the way you wanted them to, needed them to. You ground down, trying to impale yourself on the fingers that played at your entrance to no avail. Aemond chuckled against your folds, pulling himself from them to look up at your ecstasy ridden face.
“Don’t like it?”
You huffed, running a hand over your eyes, wanting nothing more than to hide yourself from his goading. “Shut up.”
“How about I grant both of your wishes while you grant mine?” He stood, pulling your top and bra off, depositing them in the heap of clothes at the bottom of the foggy shower.
His hands ran up your ribcage, stopping just below your breasts and cupping them. He placed tender kisses on each one, tongue running along the soft skin.
“Which is?” Your breath was heavy. This is wrong but at the moment, it’s so right.
“I’ll shut up and we both get to come,” he added a kiss to your collarbone.
“Are you actually asking me permission?” You could have laughed.
He suckled on the skin just below your ear, making you repress a breathy whine.
“I told you I’d treat you better.”
You chuckled this time, grabbing his wet hair and pulling him away from your skin so he could look at you. “Okay. Fuck me Aemond.”
His face cracked with a soft smile and he cocked his head, “Manners…”
You rolled your eyes and grasped his cock, stroking the velvety skin, pulling it closer to your aching core. “I think we’re long past manners…don’t you?”
Aemond huffed a singular chuckle through his nose before he hiked one of your legs up and aligned himself, sinking into your core in a slow, purposeful thrust. You moaned at the feeling of him stretching you; how he made you feel so full. No one could make you feel like this and you were painfully aware that he knew it.
He began thrusting into you in earnest, chasing a high he had been denied by your lips and newfound victory in your cunt. He steadied himself with a hand on the wall beside your head as his rough pounding became faster, pulling and pushing against that delicate spot inside you that had you whining and wrapping your arms around his shoulders and neck.
“Play with yourself, “ he commanded through rough thrusts.
Your brain was nearly too fucked out to comprehend he had even spoke.
He grunted, delivering a harsh thrust. “I said play with yourself.” He panted, “M’ Close and want you to cum on my cock to finish me.”
You obeyed a bit too quickly, moving a hand down between where you two were joined, rubbing your clit gently and sometimes, teasing him by moving further and caressing his shaft as if emerged and sunk back into your heat.
“Fuck- fuck- don’t do that.”
You cocked your head to the side, bobbing with each snap of his hips, “Do what?”
Your playful ignorance ignited a more severe side of him and his hand came up and wrapped around your throat, “Don’t- fuck, you like that don’t you? You like it when I’m rough with you?”
It was true, the moment his hand wrapped around your throat possessively, you clenched around him and nearly came. You could be just as brazen though.
Before he knew it, your hands intertwined in his hair, pulling him close to you. Your mouth was on his lips, kissing him with a fever that took him off guard. Lips interlocking, you sucked on his plump bottom lip before forcing your tongue down his throat that he greedily took in.
Suddenly and without warning, Aemond thrusted forward, driving deeper inside you and groaning against your lips as he came harder than he ever had. You felt the hot spend coating your insides and nearly sent you over the edge as he pulsated, hot and heavy in your cunt.
His lips slowly fell from your own as he came down from his high and pulled back, looking at you with a strange reverie in his eye as if he was studying a new species of animal only he had just found.
His cock, still lodged deep inside of you as you ground yourself against him, making him break his trance and hiss in overstimulation; pulling out of you. “You lied,” you said simply as his cum started dripping down your thighs. “But I guess that’s all you ever do, isn’t it?”
His eye searched your own, a confused look on his face.
“You said you’d shut up and we both got to come. Only you came and I didn’t. Oh, and you didn’t shut up. You talked a whole lot.”
He chuckled, turning off the shower and kicking the drenched pile of clothes off to the side, “Well, I know how I can fix that.” He took your hand and moved you to sit down on the shower floor. “Lay your pretty head on those clothes and spread your legs.”
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A CHRISTMAS TRIP PART 2 | SMUTMAS
The requested part two from @msassenach ❤️
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece! Reader
Warning: Smut. Pet names. Loss of virginity. Oral (f receiving). Naïve reader! 18+ MDNI
Part one
You were a quivering mess within minutes on the end of Aemond’s tongue, his name falling in whimpers from your mouth because of it.
You weren’t sure what Aemond’s end goal was here, you had already cummed twice and were quickly on your way to a third one. He was lapping at your cunt like a starved man, groaning every now and again about how delicious you tasted. You wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t any plan in mind and he was just truly enjoying himself between your thighs.
“Fuck,” Aemond muttered out before slipping his thick muscle inside your hole. “Mpmh- you taste so good- can’t waste a drop.” He barely made sense to your delirious brain, just the ramblings of a pussy drunk man.
“Aemond,” you squealed, fat tears rolling down your cheek at the intensity. “Please, please, please…”
His mouth was trying to suck you dry as he slurped at the juices on your clit, sucking and licking all the sweet essence you were giving him. He was trying but deeply failing especially when he groaned some incoherent praise into your pussy, the vibrations travelling through you, making your cunt clench around nothing and pour like a waterfall.
“Uh-Aemond,” you sharply gasped when you felt two fingers insert themselves in your hole.
His fingers were curled inside of you, thrusting in a sloppy pace while his tongue licked at your clit. When he began to suck again, you completely lost it, thighs shaking around his head. You screamed out for him, unable to control yourself as you squirted all over his face, making a pretty mess on the settee beneath you.
You believed Aemond could live like that mouth attached to your cunt. He seemed so content, a glowing grin when he looked up at you as if he was completely satisfied.
“You make such sweet noises when you cum,” Aemond chuckled to himself, your juices dripping from his lips. His chest was heaving, completely out of breath. The almost frightening thing was how he didn’t even seem to care. A crazed look sat on his face instead, eyes completely blown out and wide as he stared down at your leaking cunt. “You’ve made such a mess.”
You flinched when his fingers traced your still quivering legs.
“So sensitive, hmm,” Aemond tutted, shaking his head. “You’d better make a move to the bedroom before we ruin my parent’s furniture anymore than we already have.”
“The bedroom,” you gulped, slowly lifting yourself from the settee you were lying on. You weren’t even thinking, letting his hand pull you into the direction of his bedroom.
Aemond wasted no time when he shoved you through those doors, hands eagerly tearing at your clothes to get them off. You tried to help him, moving your arms up above your head so he could rip your t-shirt off. Once you were finally naked, his hands were all over you, grabbing at your ass as his mouth landed on your nipple.
With his body flush against yours, you could feel how hard he was, his boner pressing against your stomach. It made you feel feral and without thinking your hand travelled downwards, getting a feel of him through his trousers.
“Fuck,” Aemond moaned into your mouth, fingers digging into the globe of your ass.
His reaction made you smile, feeling for a second you had an upper hand as you rubbed at him through the material. But it didn’t last long, not with Aemond shoving his hand between your cheeks, finding your sopping cunt.
“I can’t wait any longer,” Aemond shoved you into the bed.
Goosebumps covered your skin as you listened to Aemond strip himself of his clothes. You were anxious on top of the sheets, wriggling until your head rested on the pillows.
It wasn’t long before Aemond was joining you, hovering over your body completely bare as well. Your hands reached for him, wrapping your hands around his neck as you pulled him in.
“I want to make you feel good now,” you told him, fingers brushing the loose strands of his hair as you lent up to kiss him again. “Let me make you feel good.”
“Oh trust me when I say this,” his cock slipped against your folds, tip brushing at your tip before resting by your hole. “You’re going to make me feel more than good.”
You both moaned into each other's mouths when Aemond sunk into your walls, bliss taking over as you stared into each other’s eyes. There was a sharp pain at the intrusion but you ignored it, letting the
Aemond seemed entranced with you as he thrusted himself into your walls, lips parted as he looked down at you in awe. He hand traced the side of your face, being so gentle and delicate as his thumb brushed your skin. He didn’t stop there, his thumb playing with your bottom lip and opening your lips wide.
You weren’t yourself, not the innocent naive girl that Aemond knew when you lulled out your tongue to suck on his thumb. You were some twisted version, someone that you could only be comfortable to be in front of him. Even Aemond was taken aback by your action, his mouth widening at the sight only to pull into a knowing smirk.
“Who knew you were such a slut for your uncle?” Aemond taunted, taking his thumb from your lips with a lewd pop. “If only your mother could see you now."
#squirmhoneysmutmas#dark aemond smut#dark aemond x reader#dark aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen smut
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THE BLOOD CROWN
MASTERLIST
[Aemond Targaryen Fanfiction ]
[Dark Romance / Enemies to Lovers / Revenge]
[warnings: smut, sex content, angst, fights, domination, murder]
[Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character ! I fem!reader]
Content for adults. 18+
Summary
"𝗜𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗞𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗲, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗤𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹."
Queen Alicent had spoken the truth when these words had left her mouth, the moment the King decided not to punish Princess Rhaenyra's son for taking the eye of her child. In the night, in the safe place of her chambers, she gave the order to have Lucery's Velaryon taken and sold into slavery. But a regrettable misunderstanding causes Larys Strong's men to take, not the culprit, but Aemma Velaryon, Rhaenyra's youngest child, and banish her to a life of suffering and loneliness.
Aemma Velaryon had not been seen since then but the gods do not forget and sometimes fate strikes back harder than you would have expected.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Part 16 Part 2
Part 17
Part 18
Part 19
Part 20
Part 21
Part 21 Part 2
Part 22
Part 23
Part 24
Part 25
Part 25 Part 2
Part 26
Part 27
Part 28
Part 29 Part 1
Part 29 Part 2
Taglist:
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If you want to read it on wattpad, here the link:
𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗢𝗪𝗡 𝗜 AEMOND TARGARYEN - bananadrink - Wattpad
#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#aemond x oc#aemond x fem!reader#aemond one eye#aemond the kinslayer#dark aemond smut#dark aemond angst#dark aemond#dark aemond targaryen#modern aemond angst#aemond targeryen angst#aemond angst#hotd angst#ewan mitchell smut#aemond targaryen smut#hotd smut#aemond smut#aemond x wife#aemond x wife reader#aemond fanfic#hotd fandom#house of the dragon fandom#ewan mitchell fandom#aemond fandom#hotd fic#hotd fanfiction#aemond fic#rhaenyra targaryen#game of thrones
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The Shadows of The Lost Court
Dark!Aemond x F!OC - 18+ MINORS DNI
Word Count: 8.6k
TW: dubcon, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Shameless Smut, Angst, Fellatio, Misogyny, Internalized Misogyny, Non-Consensual Drug use, Religious Imagery, Symbolism and guilt
Art made by the lovely @nyctophilic0vitnir - thank you so much sweetheart! <3 And thank you so so much @ewanmitchellcrumbs for organizing this @hotd-bigbang , you are amazing!
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Elisabeth shuddered and stopped, turning around, coughing to try and relieve her dry mouth.
She knew. She knew… She knew something. Something was following her.
Leaning against a grubby, crumbling wall, Elisabeth tried catching her breath. There was nothing there, neither on the left, nor on the right. Only cobwebs; cobwebs, moss and the smell of decay.
‘Is The Stranger a something or a someone?’
Tonight was different. The milk came sooner than usual.
Elisabeth struggled - where some people love the rush and the calmness afterward, she hated it. Hated the way it made her sick. Hated the way it lamed her tongue; hated the way it hid her. She knew better than anyone that her doses were calculated. Maester Rithyr must have gotten the order for her to be silenced, not addicted. That wouldn’t look good.
Elisabeth peered out of a window, only to see thick tendrils of fog curling up from the ground like ghostly fingers. The dim light filtering through the mist gave everything a spectral, otherworldly hue. She took notice of how broken everything looked: shattered windows, splintered doors and debris scattered across the dusty floor. She sighed heavily as she rearranged her long, dark brown hair under its veil, trying to keep it in place amidst all the chaos. And then, she heard him again - his footsteps echoing through the ruins.
The sound made her feel uneasy; it was too quiet, too lonely. For a moment she wondered if she was in trouble or hurt. But then a chill ran down her spine and she realized that perhaps it wasn't just the desolate ruin around her making her feel so cold and scared.
“You swore to obey me. You swore before the gods, you brutish whore. After all I’ve done for you…”, the voice echoed around her.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He was closing in on her. The staircase seemed to be miles away, yet still, she pushed herself away from the moss-covered stones and cautiously started walking. Elisabeth grunted, her legs burning. It was as if she was walking against a current of water, one that swept her slowly closer to him. She stepped over a rotting tapestry and tightly clung onto the handrail of the staircase.
‘Why would The Stranger think of me like that? Is it time for me to… die?’
Carefully descending down, she peered up the stairs. The window let in cold, humid gusts of air and Elisabeth was sure that she could see his dark robe in the shadow. Knowing that the Queen’s Ballroom had no other exit, she trudged past it, stopping to catch her breath along the way.
Out. Out of Maegor’s Holdfast, her mind urged her. But where would she go? As soon as the Kingsguardmen saw her, they would gently escort her back into her chamber. That’s the way it has been for a long time. Biting her lamed tongue, she quietly walked down to the entrance and glanced out. No one was there. No one, except for the occasional rat that scurried through the lower bailey.
“I saw the way that the Strong bastard looked at you. You were with him, weren’t you? Was it not enough to tell him about our political strategies, but to also give him your useless cunny? Do you even know the shame you bring onto this realm?”
Her breath hitched as she saw him closing in on her, his dark cape billowing in the light wind. Glancing up at the serpentine steps, she felt a thick raindrop splashing down onto her. That was just what she needed - collapsing on the slick stairs, The Stranger close behind her. No, risking embarrassment by climbing over the ledge into the Godswood was far more appealing to her.
“Leave me be! I beg of you!”, she whined, her lungs on fire.
'I cannot do this anymore, not long, anyhow, my feet... my lungs... The Stranger... Death...', she thought, unable to focus on anything else than him.
The Godswood was an ancient and sinister place, a twisted forest lurking within the heart of Maegor's Holdfast. Towering weirwood trees with their deathly white trunks and faint streaks of crimson formed a menacing roof above, and the loamy earth seemed to swallow her every step. Elisabeth took a raspy breath, feeling the icy, dank air fill her lungs. The stench of decay surrounded her, the smell of putrefaction and rot. Rain drops pelted down onto her skin, the soil beneath her feet sodden.
Elisabeth moved with a sense of urgency, her feet burning as she weaved through the dense trees. The pattering of rain on the leaves above offered her some concealment as she made her way between the shelter of one tree to another, hoping to avoid detection by her pursuer. Suddenly, a twig snapped behind her and she whirled around, only to hear the sound of footsteps growing louder and louder.
Her heart in her throat, she ducked behind a gnarled oak tree, taking cover from the ominous presence that was closing in on her. She could feel every drop of cold rain as it streamed down her face and hair, running down her back and soaking through to her skin. Each breath was ragged and tumultuous as beads of perspiration bubbled up on her forehead. Elisabeth shuddered uncontrollably in the frigid air before finally forcing herself to keep moving forward through the relentless downpour.
Elisabeth could hear the sound of her own heart pounding in her chest as she tried to make her way through the Godswood. She was shaking with fear, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. She knew that The Stranger was close behind her; she could feel his presence like a dark cloud looming over her.
She stumbled over a tree root, nearly falling to the ground, before weakly righting herself and continuing on. Her hair was plastered to her face and neck, her clothes were soaked through. However, insignificant concerns like the dampness penetrating her to the core were overshadowed by her urgent need to elude her relentless pursuer.
Abruptly, a chilling sound pierced the silence, causing her blood to freeze in her veins. It was the eerie scrape of something sharp grating against the gnarled bark of a tree, almost like the sound of a blade being sharpened before an execution. Her heart raced as she whirled around, and there, amidst the gusty winds, stood The Stranger, his ominous dark robe unfurling like a spectre from the shadows.
"You can't escape me."
Elisabeth recoiled in terror, her wide-eyed gaze darting around frantically, searching for a possible escape route. However, the Godswood resembled an inescapable labyrinth of winding trees and dense underbrush, leaving her utterly trapped.
The Stranger took a step forward, his eyes fixed on her. Elisabeth saw the hunger in his gaze, the hunger for her soul. She knew that she was doomed. With a cry of despair, she turned and ran, darting between the trees as fast as she could. The Stranger was right behind her, his footsteps pounding on the wet ground.
She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, cold and ...familiar? Shaking her head quickly and looking up into the sky, she saw the towers again. She probably ran around in circles, her dazed mind tricking her into thinking she had been trapped in a forest.
Frantically sprinting out of the oppressive Godswood, she sucked in a deep breath of fresh air as her gaze fell upon the dilapidated Outer Bailey. The once-glorious stone walls loomed ominously over her, crumbling inward from age and neglect. Threadbare tapestries hung limply in the breeze, swaying like ghosts in an abandoned graveyard. Gaping holes in the walls revealed chipped statues that had been carved centuries ago, still standing guard despite their years of neglect. In the far distance, the towers soared into the sky, dark voids against a backdrop of gray clouds.
Elisabeth inhaled deeply as a thick, unsettling aroma engulfed her. The scent of lavender and jasmine combined with the decaying smell of rotting fruit and mildew. In the distance, Elisabeth could hear the faint sound of buzzing from unseen insects lurking beyond the shadows. She stumbled forward, mesmerized by the air that was heavy with an ominous foreboding.
At last she reached the entrance to The Sept - an imposing structure made entirely out of pale stone blocks that glowed in the fading light. Stone steps rose up to meet two large wooden doors while several small windows peeked out like watchful eyes looking down on her every move.
Elisabeth, feeling the stinging of her lungs, ran into the Sept and fell down on her knees. She laid atop the golden seven-pointed star on the floor and looked up at the statue of the Mother, trying her hardest not to look at the Stranger. To calm her head, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, running her dry, cracked hands over her burning calves. The tears continued flowing over her pallid face, running down into her dirty gown.
‘What is happening to me? Why on earth would the Seven punish me so?’
She remembered her wedding. It was magnificent, aye. But then again, it had to be. After Joffrey’s death at Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding tourney, she was quietly whisked away from the Stormlands and settled into the Red Keep as a way of keeping the Lonmouth’s - and to a greater extent the Baratheon’s - good graces, so as not to let them favour Princess Rhaenyra’s claim in the case of King Viserys’ death.
The time until the courtship was quiet, that much Elisabeth still remembered. She grew up alongside Princess Helaena - Helaena being three years older than her. Endless hours of handiwork, study and prayer had shrouded her in relative solitude, so when she turned four and ten, she was shocked to be invited to the Royal Table more often and to be invited for strolls with Prince Aemond. Back then she had still been Lady Elisabeth, not 'Princess Bess'.
Later she understood why the engagement happened. Prince Aemond had to marry to secure the crown’s security and to show the green faction that they had gotten the Stormlands support.
She often asked herself why they had chosen her over the Baratheon girls. They were more comely - Elisabeth's stature was short and plump, giving her the appearance of a child much younger than her age. Her brow was rounded, her cheeks plump and her eyes large with dark, scared pupils. Her Monmouth blood - the one that made her relation Joffrey so beautiful - must have passed her by. Her long, dark hair was thick but formless, hanging in her face without curls or ringlets. It was clear to her that Aemond was not interested in her, not in the romantic sense at least.
As days turned into weeks, Elisabeth discovered that Prince Aemond was the first man with whom she could engage in conversations almost as equals. His cold, yet encouraging words had ignited a spark within her, urging her to delve deeper into her thoughts and ideas. Over time, an unexpected fondness began to blossom in Elisabeth's heart for him. In his unique manner, he exuded a charming gloomy aura that drew her in. Many hours passed in their quiet companionship, their noses buried in books, immersed in shared moments of silent contemplation. Their intellectual pursuits were often overseen by the watchful presence of Princess Helaena, serving as a discreet but ever-vigilant chaperone.
But now, as she lay on the floor of the Sept, she wondered if she had made a grave mistake somewhere along the line in her life. Should she have taken her vows? Life as a septa would’ve suited her far more than whatever tragedy her current situation had turned into.
Aemond had changed since they were wed. Princess Helaena said that that was the case for most men, yet somehow, a small glimmer of hope still arose that it might have been different. He had become more... mean. It was as though he was a different person entirely.
Although... he had always been the quiet sort. The kind of man that you could hear exhaling slowly whenever he heard a foolish remark, the kind of man that judged everyone for everything, the kind of man that doesn't even think himself superior - he believes it.
Elisabeth couldn't help but think of the Stranger. It was a foolish thought, she knew. But in some ways, Aemond reminded her of the mysterious figure. Both were dark, brooding, and unpredictable.
Elisabeth had always been on edge when Queen Alicent was around; her hawk-like gaze followed her every move and her scornful words cut deeper than any blade. Every time Elisabeth tried to be independent or think for herself, the Queen would chastise her that those were qualities meant just for Husbands.
After months of having to constantly please the Queen and ignore her own wants and needs, Elisabeth felt like a teetering ball ready to burst with the slightest push. She was too afraid to say anything, though, in fear of making things worse.
Then arrived the fateful day of her wedding, a lavish spectacle replete with tournaments, sumptuous feasts, and exhilarating hunts—a grand display of House Targaryen's power and influence. The exuberance of the festivities infected all who attended, making it effortless for others to revel in the celebrations.
However, beneath the surface of the revelry, Elisabeth harboured a mixture of anxiety and excitement, uncertain of what her future held in store. In the midst of it all, Prince Aemond had become a steadfast presence in her life, forging a deep connection with her. He seemed to grasp the essence of her being, affording her the precious gift of solitude for introspection, or so she believed. He made sure to squash her hopes.
For most, that had been a grande and joyous event. For Elisabeth, it was the start of her misery, though she did not yet know the full extent. As the Queen had instructed her, she treated everyone courteously, demurely.
That she did, or at least she thought that she did. Her husband disagreed, though. As soon as they were escorted into his chamber (he had wished for the doors to be closed), he spun around and pushed her against a wall. Aemond asked with a steely voice, towering over her, if she had been cavorting with the Velaryons, the way she had smiled at them, the way Jacaerys’ lips lingered on her hand as he greeted her.
Aemond questioned if she thought him to be blind. Elisabeth whimpered and gulped, trying her hardest not to hold Aemond's hard gaze, when she explained that she was told to be courteous to everyone, only to be cut off, when Aemond had pushed her even harder, making her yelp in pain, her shoulders burning from his strong grip. He ordered her to hush and questioned her why she would associate herself with usurpers, bastards and sodomites.
What followed was of no particular interest to her, not anymore, anyways. Someone outside of the chamber, presumably Maester Myntheon, cleared their throat and told them to settle any disputes after the ceremony. Aemond had quickly slipped off his breeches - the fact that he didn’t even care enough to fully undress stung her after it had happened - and made sure to get her naked as soon as possible.
She laid there, freezing, looking up at the tapestries next to their bed as he quickly stroked himself. ‘Do not do anything, lest he should think you a whore’ ran through her mind so often, that she almost thought that a small version of Alicent sat in her brain, spewing her nonsensical rules over and over so she could drive herself insane.
“Open up.”
When Aemond saw her puzzled expression, he sighed, shook his head and gently pried her legs open, pulling her down the bed so that she was close to the ledge, closer to him and his half-hard member.
“I need to get to your cunt. Don’t make this more difficult for us than it has to be.”
Elisabeth felt her face heat up, and even though the room was dark, she could feel a heavy blush take over her neck and cheeks. She opened her legs wider and tried to steel herself for what was to come, but all too soon Aemond was pushing himself inside of her. She gasped as he entered her roughly, not giving her time to adjust. He kept thrusting into her with more force than necessary, making it hurt even more than it should have. Did he know it hurt? Did it hurt him?
She tried to cry out but he put a hand on her mouth and told her he was almost done. Tears started streaming down Elisabeth's face as Aemond kept going for what seemed like an eternity until finally his body went limp on top of hers. He rolled off of the bed without saying a word and left the room without so much as glancing at Elisabeth again.
Elisabeth lay there in shock, touching herself gingerly where Aemond had just been. For the first time ever she felt ashamed of herself; despite all that had just happened she still felt pleasure deep within herself that made her feel worse than before - something no one had prepared her for or warned about prior to this momentous night.
Was she a wanton whore? Was.. was Alicent right?
That was that. After that, he visited her fortnightly, stated his needs and left again. Although, Elisabeth noted quickly to herself, he had gotten gentler after seeing her bruised cunny. Proving she was a virgin had been no great feat. Her fear had made her so stiff and dry that there were multiple splotches of blood on the bed sheet, so many that even Alicent deemed to congratulate her. That was also the time where Alicent had started giving her milk of the poppy and after that, Elisabeth could not remember anything reliably.
Even if she could, she noticed it was not the time to reminisce anymore. His eyes were dark and bright at the same time, void of feeling even while raging with anger. The candles flickered nervously on the altars as he stalked into the room and slammed the door shut behind him. Slowly turning around, she tried looking up at him despite her shaky vision. He was tall, wearing a cape with a large hood that covered his face.
If he wouldn’t … glide and give off a sense of dread, one could almost think it was Aemond himself. Yet, the way she knew him, he would not have spent such a long time chasing her and taunting her. He made it clear enough to her, she didn’t matter.
“Have you come to confess? To repent?”
The Stranger offered her a hand, which she eyed cautiously.
“Have you come to take me? Or are.. You taunting me?”
He laughed ominously. “You know me, I could never taunt you in a sept. But… taking you? That is a very bold request, Lady Wife.”
Lady Wife? Elisabeth shivered and groaned, taking his cold hand. She was not instantly taken away to the realm of the dead, which made her glad and worried at the same time.
“Wh… why..? And… why Lady Wife? I’m Elisabeth, don’t you know?”
The Stranger helped her up and held her for a while until she gained complete function over her legs again. Letting her go, he stepped away again and looked around the Sept.
“You're quite perplexing. You've yet to respond to my allegations, and instead, you've led me on a convoluted journey through the Red Keep, Bess.”
Calmly folding his arms behind his back, he strolled through the small hall, making sure his eyes were firmly on her shaking form.
“You even took me here, just to ask me to be with you, despite your previous reluctance. Has something changed, perhaps due to a newfound perspective from The Maiden?”
Elisabeth cocked her head to the side, trying her hardest to identify the figure in front of her. Why would… why would The Stranger care for her relations with Princess Rhaenyra and her sons?
Why would… why would he want to engage in an amorous congress with her? Was that a cruel way the gods were testing her?
“Well… You chased me… I thought you meant harm to me…”
The figure hummed and it almost looked like his face turned into a doleful expression.
“I could mean you harm depending on the answers you shall give me. We are in a sept - if you lie, you are damned. Do you know that?”
Elisabeth took a few steps back and lowered her eyes again. So it was the Stranger. He was asking about her sins so that she might repent before he took her away. That realisation hit her gut like a punch. Tears started welling up in her eyes.
“I… yes, I do, but believe me, I-”
“I shall decide for myself if you are innocent, Lady Wife. Spare me your tales of woe.”
Closing the distance to her again, the figure gently took her chin into his hand and forced her to look up into his eyes. He quickly smoothed her hair and wiped the tears from her face.
“Before I ask you though, I need to take you. I need to take what is mine; you have ignored me long enough and now that you’ve asked me, I would be a fool not to take you up on your offer.”
Elisabeth whimpered and stood rooted on the spot. If it weren’t for the weird pull in her stomach, she would have pleaded, would have fled. But something… Something about the way the figure touched her so gently, so caringly, made her heart leap in ways that have seldom happened. Nothing made sense anymore.
On one hand, she wondered why on earth the Stranger wanted to take her, yet on the other, she knew that what the Gods willed was destined to happen. And if that wasn’t the Stranger? Well, but who would it be? A dream figure? But why would she dream of such things? Was she so depraved and craven? Maybe she was. In that moment, delirious and flush with adrenaline, she threw all concern out of the tiny window of propriety that she still had in her foggy mind.
Placing a trembling hand around the Stranger’s waist, Elisabeth nodded lightly.
“Take me then, if you must,” she whispered. The Stranger smiled in response and embraced her tightly, pulling her close to his chest as he kissed the top of her head.
They stayed like that for what felt like eternity and Elisabeth swam in a sea of emotions like never before. She could feel his heart beating against her own, slowly but surely drawing them closer together.
He smelled familiar. Something in her mind told her she knew him; the smell of leather, dragons and sweat. Could it be...?
At long last, the figure pressed his cold lips onto hers, almost possessively. Even though it had been one of her first kisses, he guided her strongly, making sure that she couldn’t doubt him or his intentions.
Bess tried her hardest to banish the thought of Aemond in her head. No, it couldn’t be - Aemond never kissed her. It had to be the Stranger. Was that the metaphorical kiss of death?
Answering her doubts, the Stranger slowly started to undress her, as if he was uncovering a precious gem. His hands moved with a slow and patient rhythm, almost like a ritual or dance as they explored every inch of her body. He caressed her curves and memorised every quirk on her figure until Bess had no more will left in her to resist.
For a moment it felt like time had stopped. As if the entire world was focused on them and their lovemaking; their own little bubble of pleasure and passion that nothing could penetrate. Aemond let out a low moan of pleasure as he drew his lips down Bess’s neck, relishing in the taste of her skin against his tongue. She shuddered beneath him as his fingers slowly moved ever lower, exploring each inch of her body without an ounce of inhibition or shame. She gasped when she felt his tongue swirl around one sensitive spot near the base of her spine before finally coming to rest between her legs, ready for exploration…
Elisabeth found herself melting beneath Aemond’s touch as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her body in response to his ministrations. His fingers seemed to know exactly where to go and what buttons to press – it was almost like he was born again.
It was almost like Elisabeth had been born again. The grogginess in her mind had subsided almost as soon as she had felt the pleasure; so had the illusion of the Stranger. But then again, her Aemond had never been kind, gently, loving in bed. He had always been rough with her, pulling her hair if he got too excited. And this man…Her Aemond had never touched her the way he did right now. Was she still dreaming?
Aemond stepped back, the space between them electric with passion and anticipation. His smouldering gaze locked with hers, and she felt a rush of heat that paralyzed her body and mind. Even though he had desired her since the day they were married, he thought she despised him, yet now in a sept the intensity of his longing was palpable. The air around them was thick with desire.
"I need you to taste me. I need to see you naked, on your knees, here, in front of the gods. Elisabeth, I finally want to claim you as my own, as my wife, and not as a piece of meat I spill my seed into every fortnight."
Despite all of her hesitance and apprehension, Elisabeth obeyed without any objection; he was still her lord husband and adhering to her spouse was the utmost important action she could take as a dutiful wife.
With trembling, cold hands she took his long, hard member and guided it towards her mouth. Was that her punishment? But for what? She had done nothing to warrant this perverse humiliation, but as he placed a hot, determined hand on the back of her head, she knew that she hadn't had much of a choice.
Gently, Elisabeth opened her mouth and engulfed Aemond’s cock. She could feel him shudder at her touch, and the heat that emanated from his body caused her pulse to race. His breathing was ragged as he gasped her name again and again, urging her on.
With a gentle hand, she guided Aemond’s hips closer to hers before taking him deeper into her mouth. The sensation of his velvety smooth skin against hers was electrifying. Her tongue gently danced around him, exploring every inch of his manhood until he could no longer hold back the intensity of his pleasure.
Elisabeth felt embarrassed and exposed; this seemed like something she should never be allowed to do in front of the gods. But the sheer pleasure that it evoked in both herself and Aemond kept her going. Gods, it felt so wrong yet so right at the same time.
"Fuck. Yes, Bess... You belong to me... Not to The Strong bastards, not to Aegon, not to anyone else... You're... fuck... mine..."
Aemond's hands tightened around her head, making sure she was as deep as her mouth allowed her to be as he released a long moan before spilling himself inside her mouth. It was hot, salty and Elisabeth tried her hardest swallowing it without looking up at him.
With a throbbing head, she released him and covered her face in shame. She knew the milk was dangerous - yet making her dream of death and running through the Red Keep? Taking Aemond's cock like a... a dirty Harlot?
That was more than she could take. Now he knew that she was a weak person, that there was only a weak will buzzing around inside her. The last thing she needed now was the usual gloating expression on his face - his unbearable questioning.
“I’ve done all you wanted. Ask me your questions, so that you might finally understand that none of this was ever my will,” she said as she wiped her mouth, her voice brittle.
Aemond gave her a cold look of confusion and cocked his head to the side, closing his breeches and slipping his doublet on again, after he had caught his breath.
“What wasn’t your will? Giving yourself to me here?”
Elisabeth sighed. "You're my husband. Your wish is my command."
Aemond, in his usual fashion, looked away from her in shame, flaring his nostrils.
"Alright then. If it is your wish again to make me feel like the worst human being in the world, then I shall do so too. I thought I could take you to your chambers again, get you a hot bath... Alas, my Lady Wife, you asked for the interrogation yourself."
He walked over to the Statue of the Mother and gave her a cold look, his tousled white hair gently floating down his back. His eyepatch made him look even scarier than it usually did.
"I've heard rumours that you've taken moon tea. Do you want to avoid giving me an heir? Swear on the Mother."
Elisabeth shivered and slowly dressed herself again, making sure not to break eye contact with Aemond. The milk made it's presence - or rather, abscence known again - it made her desperately queasy. The aftertaste of Aemond's spunk in her mouth certainly did not help.
"I swear on the Mother I haven't been taking Moon... Tea."
Aemond raised his eyebrow in a quizzical manner.
"Then what is that concoction that Maester Rithyr brings you? I can't imagine it being a skin cream."
If looks could kill, Aemond would've joined the Stranger's embrace right then and there.
"Do not mock me, Lord Husband. You and your filthy snake of a mother know exactly what it is he brings me," she seethed, her voice thick with venom. "It is exactly the thing that made me think you were the Stranger chasing me through..."
Anger was not the only thing that bubbled up inside her. Retching, she emptied her stomach onto the marble floor, the large marble hall making the splattering sound of her vomit uncomfortably loud.
Aemond's eyes blazed with fury, one hand pulled back in a fist ready to strike. But before he had the chance, Aemond's gaze fell on her frail, sweaty body next to a pool of her own bloody vomit and his arm fell limp. He was held in place by the sight, unable to move or even blink as his anger turned into fear.
"Bess, gods, tell me what it is he gives you! Come clean to me, you foolish girl!"
Elisabeth flinched and wiped her lips, groaning weakly. Aemond had not seemed like someone who would lead her into danger or punish her for being honest - if he wanted to be so cruel, he could've hit her when she cursed his mother. She took in a deep breath and tried to rid herself of the sour taste in her mouth, then nervously patted her clammy palms on the stained fabric of her dress. Leaning against the statue of the Father, she felt a little bit safer.
"From the moment we were wed, your mother has given me milk of the poppy. Told me you'd stop trying to give me an heir if I continued to act the way I did."
Coughing, she shook her head and gave Aemond a cold look. His face was unreadable - no reaction was a reaction, Elisabeth noted and took a deep breath before continuing.
"The people in front of our door at our bedding ceremony told her of your indignant attitude to me and my inability to give you an heir after that. She... She thought I was denying you and that you were too courteous to take what was yours."
Elisabeth heaved once more, so Aemond propped her up and held her hair back. As she vomited, a worrying amount of blood appeared - it was nearly just that. Frowning, Aemond used a piece of fabric from her dress to clean up her lips afterwards.
"Please continue," he whispered into her ear, his breath hot on her skin. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and wished she were in bed with a warm blanket instead of being forced to confess. But the more she said, the better chance she had of avoiding drinking that awful milk again.
"She was always displeased with me and she did not hesitate to tell me so. She told me the Daeron's future wife - a certain Clara Lannister," she gave him a sharp look putting a finger to her lips, signaling to him that it was a secret and that he didn't hear it from her, "would have made a much better wife to you than I have. She's even more pious, meeker, prettier..."
Aemond huffed. "Clara's a feeble twelve year old hussy and she has wrapped the court around her pretty little fingers. I still cannot quite comprehend why my mother would try... try to drug and shut you up."
Elisabeth raised her eyebrow and gave her husband a sorrowful look. “You remember why, don’t you my Lord Husband? You were displeased that I was fraternizing with the Strong bastards. You said to her that I wasn't serious about state affairs. You told her you couldn't go through with our marriage vows and that I was too...” A tear slid down her cheek as she shook her head. She wanted to avoid any more tears rolling down, so she looked up in an effort to stop them. "You called me Bess just as the others did to show how much of a simpleton I was and you continue doing so! You would've beat me senseless if I'd have called you Monny!"
Aemond let out an exasperated sigh before taking a seat next to Elisabeth on the cold marble floor, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulders in comfort and pulling out a handkerchief from underneath his cloak which he tenderly offered for for her to clean herself off with.
“It’s fine,” he said gruffly. “We all make mistakes.” He put a finger under her chin and lifted it towards him so she had to look him in the eye. “I thought you hated me after our marriage ceremony, and I foolishly told my mother about it in a fit of anger.” Despite his words, there was something uncomfortable in the way his gaze held hers.
Elisabeth erupted into desperate sobs, pounding her fists against his chest with each cry. The dried blood that stained her hands flaked off like dust as she grabbed him in despair. "How could you do this to me? We should have talked it through, together! Instead of understanding why I had changed after our marriage, all you ever did was lash out at me and let your mother drive me to the brink of madness - treating me like a stranger and I can barely recognise myself anymore! If I didn't love you so much, I would hate you right now. But even then, my heart still aches for you... Oh gods, Aemond..."
The strain of her confession was too much for her. Elisabeth tipped forward, still gripping onto Aemond’s tunic with her bloody hands, as she lost consciousness in his arms.
Aemond caught her, gently placing her down onto the floor, then stood up and looked around the sept. He felt torn; part of him wanted to believe what his mother said but the other part of him knew it couldn’t be true. He had made a horrible mistake by allowing his pride and anger to drive him to such lengths, and he now he had to face the consequences alone. With a heavy heart, he summoned some guards who helped move Elisabeth’s lifeless body to his chambers where she could rest peacefully and recover from her ordeal.
Aemond was left with an overwhelming feeling that something fundamental in his life had shifted during that conversation in the Sept — not just between himself and Elisabeth but also between himself and his mother — an unspoken understanding that things would never be the same between them ever again. As he walked off in a daze towards his chamber, thoughts of revenge raced through his mind as he planned how best to confront her about it all — but for now, all he could do was hope that Elisabeth would recover quickly enough so they could make sense of everything together.
He was determined to take care of Elisabeth and as he watched her sleeping in his chambers, the rage that had been building up inside him slowly melted away. He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and sighed resignedly — he had no control over what happened next, all he could do now was to care for her. As best as he could, Aemond pulled the blankets over her body to keep her warm and placed a pillow underneath her head for extra comfort. He sat by her side all night, silently willing for herto open her eyes so they could talk this out together, but it seemed like she wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.
The hours dragged on and his frustration only heightened with every minute that passed until finally Aemond couldn’t take it anymore. He ordered one of the guards to stay with Elisabeth before storming off in an attempt to clear his head. As he walked through the corridors of the castle, images of their conversation in the Sept replayed in his mind but try as he might, Aemond still couldn’t make sense of it all – what did this all mean? Could they ever go back to the way things were before?
Aemond was prepared to take matters into his own hands, he always was. He thought that this evening would end in him seeking a divorce or a mistress at court, arguing with his senseless simpleton of a wife, yet nothing could have prepared him for the confrontation he would have with her.
Storming up the steps up to her apartments, he quickly shooed away Ser Criston Cole and opened the doors. He followed the light through the Entrance Hall up to her solar, where Alicent sat quietly on a settee, getting her feet rubbed by a lady in waiting. She raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Whatever's the matter, Aemond? Is Helaena all right? Did Aegon do something?"
Aemond's nostrils flared with fury as he fought himself to remain silent. How dare no one tell him - Elisabeth's husband - that his own wife had become a shadow of her former self, her mind so clouded with drugs she was practically a ghost? He could feel the rage building in his chest, threatening to escape and take over.
"Milk of the Poppy. Have you lost your damned senses?"
Alicent flinched a bit at his dangerously low, cool tone and sent her lady out. He could not make out her facial expression - it could have been anything from boredom to indifference - which angered him even more. Trying not to act too rashly, he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.
"Say something! And don't you dare deny it, I know it was you! Maester Rithyr told me everything", he lied effortlessly. He knew he had to - everything else would put Elisabeth in great danger.
Alicent lowered her eyebrow again, donned her slippers and stood up. Her face changed into a caring and hurt one, leaving Aemond a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Wasn't it you who told me she was cavorting with Jacaerys? Didn't you complain of her disobedience, my dear?"
'So it is my fault now', he thought and took a deep breath, stepping closer to her and grabbing her tightly by the shoulders.
"What I wanted was for you to give her spiritual guidance and help in transitioning into her role as a princess. Why-"
"You cannot turn Mice into dragons, Son. Everyone knows that Bess doesn't fulfil your needs and our doubt will only be confirmed if she continues to be barren."
Alicent interrupted him icily and tore herself from his grip, sitting back down.
"I have received a raven from Boros Baratheon, he said his daughters had only just flowered. What do you think? Or would you rather prefer Clara Lannister? I could..."
Aemond was taken aback, this conversation had gone way beyond his expectations. How could his own mother suggest such a thing? He knew he had to put an end to it before it was too late.
"Stop right there, Mother", he said sharply interrupting her mid-sentence. "Contrary to popular belief I like Elisabeth a lot and do not wish to take another wife."
He glanced coolly around the chamber and smiled unsettlingly.
"You must forget yourself, dear Mother. Helaena is Queen Consort now so it should be in her responsibility to judge on these issues and you know how much she likes Elisabeth. And besides, if the court would know of your... hysterics, who would continue to take you seriously? You know how your dear father, the Hand, dislikes your moody tendencies."
His words must have struck a chord - Alicent paled significantly and shrunk in her seat, clasping her hands on her lap.
Aemond continued with a calm, yet terrifying tone:"I don't wish for you to continue giving her the drug. I think the milk of poppy may be causing her infertility and I won't let that happen. You barred me from having heirs - who knows what you did with Helaena or you will do with that Lannister girl? It's almost treasonous, you know."
Alicent was desperate and scared, she picked at the skin around her nails to distract herself from what she knew would be a losing battle.
"My son-", her voice was small and trembling. She wanted to argue with him but his implacable gaze made it difficult for her to even look him in the eye. He had always been so strong willed, just like her own father. She had never been able to get through his hard shell of pride and arrogance, no matter how hard she tried.
"I only wish the best for you and our kingdom," she said softly trying to reason with him but he merely scoffed in response.
"Then how can you suggest me taking another wife? It would do more damage than good." His words were cold and final - this conversation was over before it began. Aemond stepped away from her and towards the door, pausing momentarily as he grabbed the handle."Remember our discussion mother", he said sternly before leaving the room without another word.
Aemond stepped out of the chamber, feeling a mix of anger and disappointment. He had hoped that his mother would be able to understand his point of view, but it seemed she was too entrenched in her own ideas about Elisabeth's faults to do so.
He walked down the corridor that led to the castle courtyard, trying to clear his mind of all thoughts. But as he walked, he couldn't help but think about how much he had changed since he had been married with Elisabeth. He had never imagined himself being such a cold and vengeful man, no.
The thought brought a sharp pang of guilt - what if word got out that the heir presumptive to the Iron Throne was considering taking another wife? It could cause widespread scandal and potentially put him at odds with some powerful houses. He shook his head in dismay, knowing that this wasn't an option for him - not now, not ever.
Aemond made his way to the training yard to clear his mind. He picked up a sword and began to practice with it, swinging it in powerful arcs and thrusts as if he were fighting some invisible enemy. His body moved in sync with the blade, becoming increasingly faster until sweat was dripping down his face from the exertion. The familiar movements soothed him - they allowed him to forget about the pressures of court life for a time, giving him respite from all of its trifling problems.
Once he felt sufficiently calm, Aemond returned back to his chambers and changed into some clothes more suited for the upcoming feast. As he finished dressing, he noticed something odd - there was a faint light coming from his bedroom. He rushed over to see what she was doing, hoping that she had woken up again, which she had, indeed.
Elisabeth looked up at Aemond with an anxious expression on her face before hastily turning away from him. "I don't wish to cause trouble," she muttered quietly before standing up and making her way toward the door without another word. "I shall just... retire to my chambers, Lord Husband."
Aemond watched as she stood up, feeling confused and slightly hurt by her actions - why was she so distant? What had happened happened to her?
"Elisabeth?"
He said her name softly, stepping closer to her and taking a gentler tone. He had meant to apologize for his earlier words, but something else came out instead.
"I wanted to thank you, for telling me the truth yesterday. I know it must have been difficult for you. I spoke with my mother and she will never give you milk of the poppy again if she values her life and social standing."
Elisabeth's dark eyes widened as she stared at him in shock. She had completely forgotten the events of the previous day and that Aemond had cared for her after her hallucination - another one of the side effects of the milk. His kind words made the feelings of guilt and confusion wash over her anew, and it was hard not to be taken aback by his unexpected familiarity with her. If she wouldn't have felt that painful yearning in her soul for more of the drug, she would've believed that she was still dreaming.
"L-lord Husband? How...? Why...?"
He smiled, realizing that she must'nt have remembered what had happened yesterday.
"It doesn't matter now," he said kindly. "What matters is that I would like for you to join me at the feast this evening, so people can see how beautiful and intelligent my wife truly is."
Elisabeth gave him a weary look before returning his small smile. She quickly glanced at her reflection in the mirror, before blushing self consciously.
"I give thanks to the Father for leading you to discover the truth... Before we go, can I take a moment to change my clothes?", she questioned quietly, gazing up into his eyes. Once they had filled her with unease but now caused her heart to flutter with a hint of love.
Gently laying a kiss on her forehead, Aemond motioned for one of his loyal servants to come forth. He commanded them to fill the grand bath with steaming hot water and to bring a most exquisite dress for her. "Let me be the one to tend to you my darling. I must have you look as though you are mine," he uttered in a commanding yet affectionate voice.
The servants quickly scurried to do his bidding, bringing forth everything Aemond would need to make Elisabeth beautiful. They filled the bath with fragrant herbs and oils, as well as a variety of soaps and lotions for her to use. They also brought forth an exquisite gown of rich green silk and delicate lace, complete with matching slippers.
Elisabeth silently slipped into the soothing hot bath while Aemond knelt down beside her and began to lovingly bathe her body. He took great care not to scrub too harshly on her bruises and scrapes, something that she had not expected from him. The heat and his gentle touch made her trust him more with every second. "Lord Hus- um, I mean, Aemond, might I ask you soething?"
Aemond squeezed out the sponge in his hand and gently caressed her body. He truly missed out on all of this due to his anger against the Blackss, he noted grimly in his mind and gently started brushing her long, dark hair.
"You may speak freely, Elisabeth."
Elisabeth flushed and hastily sought to conceal the exposed parts of her body, aghast at being presented thus before her husband. "I had been given milk of Poppy yesterday, which has stripped my memory," she ventured nervously, attempting to tread carefully knowing full well his notorious temper. She hoped that whatever grievances between them had subsided in his mind and uttered in an almost meek voice, "Could you tell me what happened? I..."
"Elisabeth, you do not need to be so shy and meek around me," Aemond said soothingly. "I know that is not your true temperament. I will try to reign in my anger more if it makes you feel better." Reaching for a cloth, he dried her body before helping her out of the tub and into the dress they had brought for her. As he arranged it around her frame, Aemond thought about what he should tell herknowing that avoiding certain topics would not help them move forward any better. He gathered his thoughts before finally speaking gently yet firmly.
"I do think it's best for us both if I... do not recapitulate everything, my darling." He tied the ribbons at the back of her dress and gently guided her to a seat, giving her a few pins and such so that she could arrange her hair. His member twitched slightly as he thought back to her, naked on the marble floor, her lips flush against his skin. "You hallucinated something about The Stranger, ran around the Red Keep and then you confessed to being drugged by my mother. We then reached an understanding and I carried you here," he said matter-of-factly, trying his hardest to banish the thought of her full, naked figure from his mind.
Feeling a little flustered, Elisabeth swiftly pulled her hair into a loose bun on her head, letting one or two strands flutter down onto her chest. “Oh, I'm sorry to hear I subjected you through this, I thank you for listening to me and for forgiving me," she said softly. After finishing her hairdo, she stood up and bowed towards Aemond. “Thank you, my Prince, for everything. Shall we go and have dinner?”
When the doors to the Hall opened, a hush fell over the crowd and all that remained was an eerie stillness. With an air of grandeur, Prince Aemond Targaryen strode in, his purple eye sweeping the room like a hawk, the other hidden behind his leather eyepatch. But what shocked the court even more was who he had with him. Princess Elisabeth Lonmouth walked tall and proud beside her husband, having not been seen much since their marriage six months ago. She appeared almost otherworldly with her petite stature and unusual looks, her dark hair waving languidly as a gentle breeze wafted into the Hall. Her chin was raised high and there was no hint of submission or fear in her presence.
The star of Aemond Targaryen had risen again - ready to face the Dance of the Dragons with Elisabeth by his side.
#hotd big bang#house of the dragon#asas fics#hotd#aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond one eye#aemond x oc#aemond fanfiction#aemond smut#fanfiction#i love my mutuals#aemond fic#dark aemond#dark aemond smut#hotd fanfic#hotd fanfiction#alicent hightower
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A snake in the bosom
Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5
PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader
WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.
WORD COUNT: 5.3k
Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶
taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke
The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.
A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.
A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.
And you did.
You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.
You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath.
Not looking didn't do much good.
It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.
It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.
It shouldn’t and it will never.
The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.
The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.
Not for long.
“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”
You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”
You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.
There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.
“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”
Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.
You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.
Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?
They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.
“Husband.”
“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”
“Is something the matter? Is the King—"
"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.
The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.
There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.
Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.
The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.
A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.
It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.
He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.
You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.
“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”
There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."
Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“
"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”
Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”
You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”
The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.
“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”
Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”
“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”
With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”
“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”
You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.
“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.”
You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells.
“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”
“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”
“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”
Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.
“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.
You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”
“I see. And why do you hide it?”
“I do not, your Grace.”
“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”
“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”
“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”
“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”
“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”
Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.
“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.” He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”
Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.
“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"
“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.
“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”
Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.
“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”
You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.
“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”
Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.
“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”
Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.
“Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”
“My prince?” asks one of the guards.
“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”
The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King.
One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.
Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.
You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him.
You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth.
He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.
But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”
The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.
“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.
His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”
Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.
When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.
He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.
“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”
“You know why.” you mutter.
“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”
“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”
He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.
You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”
“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”
You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.
“Both.”
“Both?”
“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“
The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.
“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”
“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.
“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.
It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”
He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.
His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”
“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.
“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”
He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.
“No…”
“No? I thought so.”
Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”
“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.
He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.
“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”
He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.
He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”
Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.
“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”
You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”
You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”
The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.
The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.
“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.
“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.
You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.
He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.
"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.
“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”
The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.
“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”
You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.
“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.
“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.
“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.
“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”
Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.
“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.
He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.
“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.
“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”
You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.
“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”
He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.
Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.
“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”
“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”
The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.
“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”
“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.
It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"
“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”
You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.
He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.
You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”
Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”
You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”
He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.
thank you so much for reading!! 💕
#a snake in the bosom#liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen x reader#dark aemond#dark aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x you#ewan mitchell#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen fanfic#house of the dragon#hotd fic#aemond fic#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond smut#dark aemond smut#dark aemond targaryen#aemond x wife reader
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The Fall from the Heavens Universe Series Masterlist
[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]
[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, arranged engagement, obsession, violence, swearing, bullying, chauvinism, mention of injury, character's death ]
[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]
The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29
Characters & Series Moodboard
Lady Strong Moodboard
Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard
Alys Rivers Moodboard
#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#aemond x oc#hotd aemond#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell fanfic#dark aemond#dark aemond targaryen#dark aemond smut#dark aemond angst#aemond kinslayer#prince aemond#aemond#aemond one eye#house of the dragon aemond#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x oc#ewan mitchell smut#hotd smut#aemond fanfic#hotd fanfiction#hotd fanfic#hotd fic#ewan mitchell fandom#aemond fandom#house of the dragon fandom#hotd fandom#aemond targaryen angst
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even in undeath - chapter 1.
lich king aemond x reader
a 'world of warcraft' AU.
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The Lich King is the master and lord of the Scourge. Consisting of thousands of walking corpses, disembodied spirits, beasts of the north, and damned mortal men, the Scourge is a terrifying and insidious enemy.
word count: 2.3k
@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.
content: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, DUBCON, smut, heavy heavy angst, graphic depictions of violence, allusions to cannibalism, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, suicidal thoughts and ideation, mutilation of corpses, obsessive aemond, dark aemond, a happy ending is not in our future.
PLEASE MIND THE TAGS! This story will be pretty dark.
story playlist
It was dark and cold. There was a faint dripping of water somewhere off to the side, but you couldn’t quite see where. The echoes of whimpers ricocheted off of the craggy walls, stinging your eardrums.
This was the descent into madness, wasn’t it?
You weren’t sure how long you’d been chained up for— how long had it been since your village burned to the ground? Since you watched the ghouls rip apart the cow farmer from down the road. Since you watched hellhounds crunching on little Mary Jay’s bones. Since you had watched your mother and stepfather plead and beg for their lives, for forgiveness, for mercy, for absolution of their supposed sins before the death knight’s sword lopped their heads off.
How long has it been?
Shifting slightly, the chain tied to your throat clinked against the wall. There was no light, no passage of time to be had in the dank, pitch black cave they stowed you and a few select others in. You only had on a ragged potato sack as a dress, the sensation of dirt and grime caked on your hair and under your nails making you feel less than human.
But— you were still human. For now. The Scourge had ravaged the Eastern Kingdoms without mercy, swiping through the North and South like a fast traveling plague, curdling and damning everything it touched. Hordes of undead zombies, ghouls and hellhounds were the first to raze the cities, driving out the people like mice from the walls. Then the banshees came, along with the necromancers to raise the dead, adding them to a forever amounting army.
Not even Quel’thalas had been able to resist it, an ancient elven city hewn in magic.
What chance did you have?
More than most, evidently. Your mind wrought itself over and over as to why— why were you alive? Why were you still human and not merely a risen thrall?
The clinking of armor scared you as it ascended the hallway. You pressed close to the wall and closed your eyes.
Please don’t stop here, please don’t stop here.
Clink, clink, clink… closer… closer…
Then it passed, descending further away. You let out a breath, your blood still pumping in your ears.
Clink, clink, clink. They were coming back. Clink… silence. You felt bile rise in your throat as you shook, the chains rattling noisily. You knew they were standing there, you knew they were here for you.
A harsh tug upon your chain, your head hitting the floor— some words were mumbled, the voice sounding far away and broken. Your eardrums rang with the ferocity of your fall, drowning out any semblance of what your jailer was saying to you. Then, you were tugged upward, the cool metal of the collar biting into your skin as you were dragged like a petulant child away from your cell…
You didn’t want to open your eyes. You couldn’t face the horror you knew was around you— corpses, living ones and dead, the clatter of bones, the heavy breathing of gargantuan abominations, bodies and faces of countless people stitched together into a new body, hewn with thread and necrotic magic until it gave way to something else entirely. Something unnatural, something made of nightmares. The dermis of those who were used to make the monsters would still twitch, reach out on its own, and if it had a mouth, it would be twisted into a scream. You swore that you heard them whispering as you were dragged by.
The monstrosities were one of many abhorrent creatures at the Scourge’s disposal. Hellhounds, ghouls, gargoyles, wraiths, crypt lords, geists, banshees, and other things of horrific nature were only some of the power wielded by the Scourge. It felt like it was all pulled out of a child’s fairytale, changed and twisted and defiled into what it was now.
It all felt like a very bad dream.
Your eyes opened on their own and you took in the image of death knights, former paladins who served a higher power, the Light— now are nothing but undead heretics, glowing eyes and gaunt stares that bored through you.
Some of the monsters chittered as you were dragged past them, leering and looking hungry.
‘Scrawny that one. Perhaps she will suffice for hellhounds to pick their teeth.’
‘Speak for yourself, her skin will do beautifully on a new abomination.’
‘She won’t be knighted. Merely a maid’s bastard, I’ve heard.’
You forced your eyes to close once more, the sudden light stinging them. You forced yourself into another time, a better memory than what you were experiencing.
They were right, you were a maid’s bastard. Your mother had served in the royal keep for years, with you under her feet. You didn’t know who your true father was, nor did you care.
You became attached to the second son of the King— Aemond Targaryen. He was a sprightly boy with near white hair and luminous violet eyes. The two of you were attached at the hip.
Childhood friendship blossomed into more as you grew into teenagers and young adults— you shared your first kiss together, you held hands and shared sweet nothings. As he trained by day to become a paladin of the Light, he held you close by night, vowing to never let you go. You were both terribly in love and so terribly, terribly naive. He was your first in everything– your first friend, your first kiss, your first lover. You promised yourself that he would stay your first and only.
‘You can never marry a maid’s bastard, Aemond! You’re a prince of the realm-‘
‘I don’t care! I want her, father. I’ve always wanted her!’
Your mother quit her job at the castle— moreso, threatened into quitting by some of the King’s advisors. She was given a considerable amount of coin and told to take you far, far away and to not contact the prince again.
Heartbroken, you left him your sapphire ring, the only thing of value you ever had, which had been passed down through your mother’s family for generations.
It was left on his desk with a note of few words but much feeling.
‘I love you. I’m sorry.’
That was over ten years ago. You hadn’t seen him since, but you missed him horribly. Especially now. You wondered if he was still alive, fighting against the Scourge like his knightly vows dictated.
Maybe he was married and moved across the sea to Kalimdor where it was safer.
Or maybe he was dead. Dead like almost everyone else you knew.
You heard a rumor, fleeting and without much more information, that his father had died– no, that his father had been murdered. The fall of the king, Viserys, is what started the Scourge war. Did Aemond know, wherever he was?
You imagined him holding his arms around you, kissing your neck and fanning his breath over your skin. He liked to encompass you completely with his body when you laid together— you never could emulate the feeling with heavy blankets and pillows, as much as you tried. Putting yourself back into that memory, you wrapped your arms around yourself, willing warmth into your body.
But you didn’t feel any warmth. All you felt was cold, cold down to your bones. They felt brittle, like ice, splintering into shards as you were thrown on the floor again in a different room. Pain bloomed in your arm as it cracked at an awkward angle. Broken.
Your ears rang again as your mouth opened into a scream, tears of pure anguish squeezing from your eyes. But you didn’t hear a thing besides the rush of blood dampening your senses— and the sickening crunch of your broken bones.
‘What have you done to it, Lady Deathwhisper? It looks broken.’
‘It’s human bones are so brittle, it was merely a slip of the hand. I cannot help that their living constitution is so weak.’
‘His grace will not be pleased if it is broken beyond repair.’
‘Worry not, Lady Alys. Most things can be mended— and if not, it can always be raised.’
‘Physical defects aren’t the only issue. What of its mind?’
You feel an acute sensation over your skull, reaching into the depths of your cranium. Its cold, but not stinging— like a soft caress upon your brain as your mind is rifled through like a tome. You can feel your memories being perused, all of the most intimate moments of your life flashing in your head like playwright’s prose. The physicality of your mind being invaded wasn’t painful, but the act of your memories being ripped from you was damning. Tears fell down your face on their own, your mouth opened into a silent scream.
‘She is the one— I saw it. You are lucky that you did not break her mind completely, Lady Deathwhisper.’
‘As are you. You do not have a deft hand when it comes to memory perusal, Lady Alys. I am surprised that it still has a brain in its skull.’
‘Shut up and bring her to him. He will be pleased she is still alive. Barely.’
You felt yourself being moved again, still reeling from the invasion of your mind. You tried to put yourself back into the safe haven of memories, but they were… locked. Locked behind an iron door with no keyhole. They were lost to you.
What were you trying to remember?
Flashes of white hair and violet eyes flitted behind your eyelids, soft caresses and kisses, heavy breathing and love filled promises, the sensation of skin to skin…
Your eyes opened, vision bleary. A helmed woman followed behind you, wings outstretched. You could see the glint of green eyes under her helm. Val’kyr. The woman behind you was a Val’kyr, a spirit guide who defected to the side of the Scourge. They could move between the realm of living and dead as simply as taking a breath.
“The little human is awake,” she mused. “Your mind isn’t broken after all? I do see a glint of intelligence behind those eyes. Keep them on me, you shan’t wish to look upon Lady Deathwhisper.”
You didn’t want to speak, words caught in your throat like food stuck in your craw. A val’kyr was basically an angel of death and talking to one must mean you are dead.
You wish you were.
The chains scraped against the floor, which was no longer stone like before, but rather, hardened ice. You were ascending upward, it seemed. The architecture of the building was nothing like you’d ever seen— dark metal was plated upon the walls, inscribed with glowing runes. The runes looked… familiar to you, somehow. But the memory that contained them was locked away, or mayhaps stolen by the Val’kyr, Alys.
The temperature was cold, you were being lofted upon ice, of course, but you didn’t wholly feel it. You were partially numb, heat radiating from your broken arm. You knew you should be feeling pain— but you were just… numb.
Your escorts stopped in front of two large doors, inscribed with the same glowing runes. Against Alys’ advice, you glanced at ‘Lady Deathwhisper’. She was skeletal, floating upon the ground with no legs to speak of. Her robes were purple fabric, molded around an incorporeal body. She spoke in a language you didn’t understand, the scratchy voice of hers coming out of a bone skull, but the mouth wasn’t moving, maw open as the words came out.
You should have listened to Alys.
The door opened with a rumble, opened by ancient magic, likely imbued by the runes, as they flickered and flitted above your head as it opened. The room beyond was open and bereft of almost anything, except for a throne. A throne forged of ice and swords.
Someone was sitting upon it in a lazed position, one plated gloved finger tapping on the arm of the throne.
“We’ve brought her, your grace,” Lady Deathwhisper growled, shoving you forward. You skidded across the floor, which felt slick like grazing atop an ice-capped lake. “Alys confirmed it is her.”
The clinking of armor caught your attention, the sound of metal grazing against ice. It was irritating and made you grind your teeth. As whoever was on the throne got closer, the force was oppressive. Whimpers and tiny cries were ripped from you as they walked towards you, the aura exuding from them causing you to fall flat to the ground, feeling as if someone was sitting atop of your chest and not letting up.
The steel plated boot was in front of you now and your hair was grabbed rather harshly, pulling you up.
Don’t look, don’t look. You cannot look.
“Look. At. Me.” the voice growled. It was quiet but commanding at the same time, rattling in your bones and making a home amongst the marrow. It felt familiar… so…
You lifted your bloodshot eyes, not out of your own volition, but from the authority of the voice.
“Hello, little dove.” he mused.
It was him. It was… it… Aemond. You knew him so well, even with ten years gone. His chiseled jawline and chin and the dimple of the tip of his nose…
But his eye was missing, a jagged scar bisecting it. In its place was a sapphire. The sapphire from your ring, grown into something to make home in the socket.
You felt everything and nothing all at once, your stomach flipped and flopped like a fish hoisted from the sea, sputtering for air. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t–
Your best friend, your lover, the one you vowed to never forget, to never forsake.
Aemond Targaryen.
Aemond Targaryen was the Lich King. A defiler, a mass murderer, an unholy being in his own right.
“Now you won’t be able to leave again, will you?” Aemond murmured, his violet eye roving you. It was glowing slightly– his skin was a pale gray pallor, cheeks sunken slightly. He was undead.
Your eyes rolled back in your head, vision going black.
#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond x fem!reader#aemond#aemond one eye#hotd fic#aemond fanfic#aemond smut#dark aemond smut#dark aemond angst#my writing#even in undeath#hotd au
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Answered Prayers: Dark Series
HOTD Aemond Targaryen x Fem OC
Part Two : A Lady's Thoughts
Summary: First infatuation, then obsession. Prince Aemond has found the lady of his dreams and the gods give him a way to keep her. But the Lady is more than she seems.
Dark Romance / Enemies to Lovers
Pairing: HOTD Aemond Targaryen x Fem OC
Word Count: 1648
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, Angst, mention of murder/suicide, medieval-canon sexism, coercion, some DUB/CON - NON/CON (not much, unwanted kiss and touching), Profanity
Thank you to @arcielee for beta reading and advice!!!
Answered Prayers Masterlist
Fire's Masterlist
Enjoy! Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated.
I, Lady Mira Costayne, of House Costayne, confess to the murders of my father and stepmother. I poisoned the wine, not my stepmother. I cannot live with the guilt…
You throw down your quill on the page, leaning back in your chair with tears rolling down your cheeks. With shaking hands, you take another sip of wine, trying to steady yourself. The visit from Prince Aemond earlier has shaken you deeply, leaving you terrified and at a loss for how to deal with this situation.
You had planned this so carefully, deciding it would be less risky to kill them here at the Red Keep rather than at home at the Three Towers, where their habits were better known. You forged the letters from an unknown mistress, acquired the poison, and did everything according to plan. The only thing you did impulsively was to stand on the balcony for a few moments to gather your courage and clear your head. That led to your unplanned meeting with the prince and enabled him to notice the vial in your hand. You thought you had hidden it before he saw it, but you obviously did not.
You know you have committed a grievous sin, but you cannot find it within yourself to regret it. You were his only daughter but your father was never loving towards you; his disdain for your mother grew as his chances for a son dwindled, as if it were entirely her fault he did not have a son. His disregard for her health was something you could never forgive him for. His callousness over her death and quick remarriage caused you to hate him, vowing that he would not decide your life for you. You wouldn't let him choose your husband, a man nearly his own age.
So you killed them. And as you sit and search your conscience, you cannot find remorse for what you’ve done.
You planned on returning home, playing the grieving daughter for a respectable period of time, before taking control of your own destiny. You intended to marry who you chose, when you chose.
That was your plan. But Prince Aemond, for reasons only he and the gods can understand, threatens to expose your crime unless you stay and marry him.
‘Why?’ you ask yourself for the hundredth time since he left your chambers earlier. You had no idea the prince had any interest in you; he seemed to barely even notice your existence while you’ve been in the capital. You try to think back on any interactions with the prince, wondering if you missed something in your preoccupation with carrying out your plan.
You recall the day you arrived at the Red Keep with your father and stepmother; it was a warm, sunny day, and you were rather tired from traveling. You remember wishing you had worn a nicer dress when you were greeted by members of the royal family. As you were introduced to the prince, you dipped low in respect and smiled politely. You thought his appearance was quite regal, despite the scar and eyepatch. His manner, though, was distant and aloof, as if he wished he were anywhere but greeting your insignificant family to the Red Keep.
The next time you remember seeing him was when you were enjoying the gardens with some new acquaintances you were making amongst the other young lords and ladies. You noticed him standing alone, simply observing everyone, as if engaging in idle chatter was beneath him. While some ladies you met have said they are deterred by his missing eye and scar, others have expressed interest in gaining the young prince’s attention, but all attempts have been politely rebuffed.
You wondered about him later that night as you tried to sleep. He’s a royal prince, and he’s strikingly handsome despite the injury to his face. He claimed the largest dragon in the world, so he is obviously brave. You’ve heard he’s dutiful, scholarly, and a formidable warrior, with many beautiful ladies who would love nothing more than to have his attention. You would have been flattered if he had approached you.
You don't remember seeing him at the tourney, all you can remember is how unpleasant it was, revolted by the sheer stupidity of it. Come to think of it, why can men brutally kill each other, and it’s viewed as an honorable sport, but you avenge your mother, and it’s called murder? It makes no sense to you as you shake your head.
You think you may have seen a glimpse of silvery white hair when you were in the library. You were trying to occupy your mind with a book when you felt you were being watched, but you were probably mistaken.
The evening of the feast was wonderful; the food was delicious, and fortunately, your dinner companions were quite engaging. You had a lovely time, while Prince Aemond again looked uncomfortable. ‘Is it really so difficult for him to relax and have a pleasant conversation over dinner?’ you asked yourself.
Afterwards, you allowed yourself to forget your worries and enjoy dancing with several lords. At one point, you felt quite breathless and flushed, but you were delighted at being asked to dance by several handsome lords. You don’t recall seeing the prince dance with anyone; every time you noticed him, he was still seated with a pained expression on his face.
The night you met the prince by sheer chance, you were already nervous about what you planned to do. You tried your best to be cordial and act normally, but it was difficult. He was also clearly trying to be engaging, and if you were not so preoccupied, you would have found him rather charming. You felt that if he could only be more at ease, he could be pleasant company. You allowed him to escort you back to your chambers, placing your hand on his arm, feeling taut muscle beneath your fingers. Despite yourself, when he kissed your hand, the whisper light touch of his lips on your skin was not unpleasant, and his request to accompany him for a walk in the gardens was most unexpected.
The next morning, after your father and stepmother were found dead and everyone was so kind to you, you let yourself breathe a sigh of relief. No one suspected you; everyone believed your stepmother killed him and then herself over a mistress. You would mourn quietly for a few days before being the dutiful daughter and taking them back home.
Everything had gone perfectly until you saw Prince Aemond in your chambers. You had no idea how he came in or how long he had been hidden in the shadows. You were more than nervous and confused, for this was most improper. Right away, you wondered if something in your chance meeting with him had aroused suspicion.
Your heart sank when he showed you the empty poison vial, questioning you about it. You tried to think quickly of something to say before your blood ran cold from his words.
"Please consider your words carefully; lying to your prince could cost you your tongue."
You knew then that no lie could save you. Your only hope was to try and play upon his sympathy for your situation. At first, he seemed kind and understanding. For a moment, you thought perhaps you were succeeding, that he could understand your plight, and let you return home.
"You and I will marry, keeping your secret safe."
Those were the last words you expected to hear. You reacted instinctively, pulling back from him in shock.
You immediately felt the harsh tug of his grasp on your hair, yanking your head back painfully, bringing tears to your eyes. He was hurting you with one hand while the other was gently wiping your tears. ‘I don’t understand what he wants from me,’ you thought.
At that point, you were frightened. When you felt his lips brush against your cheek and heard his whispered words, you feared he was truly mad. But then he kissed you—not a gentle kiss like you had shared before with a young man, but a fierce kiss, full of passion. It was overwhelming; only when you felt his hand on your body like no one had ever touched you before did you panic and plead for him to stop.
"Do not be afraid, my sweet girl. I know I cannot claim you yet, though I do not know if I can wait until we are wed," His voice was low and raspy with want. Staring intently at her, he reminds her, "All will be fine so long as you remember that your life is in my hands. One word from me, and your murderous ways will be known, but I am willing to overlook your sins, for I am mad with need for you. You are the answer to my prayers, and I will not be denied."
You tremble with the memory. Prince Aemond has been like a cold stone statue every time you encounter him. ‘Where has the intense passion come from? Why me?’ you ask yourself again.
You are exhausted. You know you should try to sleep. You look at the unfinished letter before you before taking it and crumpling it in your hand. Getting up and going to the fireplace, you throw the crumpled parchment into the flames. While watching it burn, you think of your great-aunt, Lady Elinor Costayne. After the death of her husband, Lady Elinor was forced to marry King Maegor Targaryen. If Lady Elinor could survive being one of the Black Brides of Maegor the Cruel, you would survive Prince Aemond, one way or another.
Finally returning to your bed, your last thought before drifting off to sleep was of the second vial of poison hidden beneath the false bottom of your jewel case.
Taglist: @arcielee @persephonerinyes @valeskafics @boofy1998 @echos-muses @artemisra @marthawrites @randomdragonfires @khaleesihel @boundlessfantasy
#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#aemond smut#aemond fanfic#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#dark aemond smut#dark aemond#dark aemond targaryen
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OH YOU! Preview
Modern Aemond x Reader
Let me know if you would like to be tagged.
Inspired by : You the Netflix series
(Y/N) had just moved to Kings landing after a bad break up with her ex Cregan Stark (Y/N) needed something new.
“Hi I’m Jacaerys but everyone calls me Jace and I’m having a party and I just wanted to tell you your invited” Jace tells (Y/N) as he hands you a flyer with all the information.
“Thanks I’ll be there” (Y/N) says happily.
The address was to a big estate and it was magnificent (Y/N) walks up to the gate and it opens as she and some other people walk in and make way to the entrance and are let in by a beautiful woman who was Jacerys mother and her husband right behind her.
Aemond looked out the window and watched as all these people walk into his family home and loudly shouted but he stops and stares at one young woman who looks lost she was just breathtaking and Aemond wanted to know more so he used the secret passage way and listened in to her conversation with Jacerys.
“Where are you from?” Jace asks you.
“Oh I grew up in Casterly rock but moved to Winterfell with my ex boyfriend Cregan.” (Y/N) tells Jace.
“No way, your Cregan’s ex girlfriend, man he would not stop talking about you and when you guys broke up he called and talked about everything with me.” Jace tells (Y/N) as you looked at him shocked.
“He told you how I caught him fucking his child hood girl best friend on our anniversary?” (Y/N) asks Jace.
“He didn’t tell me all that.” Jace says sounding surprised.
Aemond listened on then made his way to his room and looked you up and found everything he needed to know about you.
“Oh my you really need to protect yourself (Y/N) but don’t you worry I will help you soon.” Aemond whispered to himself as he looked at your pictures.
#aemond imagine#aemond targaryen imagines#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#dark aemond targaryen#dark aemond smut#dark aemond x reader
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A CHRISTMAS TRIP | SMUTMAS
Day three of Christmas Aemond x Incest kink
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece! Reader
Warning: Smut. Dark. Pet names. Fingering. Masturbating. Naive reader! 18+ MDNI
A/N: this one is a bit softer than my last two and also a rewrite of one of my older fics but changed in a few ways.
Support me through my Ko-Fi linked here.
When Alicent and Viserys had given him a weekend trip to a cabin for Christmas, the first person that came to mind was you. It was no surprise that his sweet niece would be the person he’d want to take. You were close, a bit too close, if his older sister had anything to say about it.
Borderline inappropriate, you had repeated your mother’s words to him.
But Aemond had just chuckled, telling you not to worry your pretty little head about it.
He loved how oblivious you could be, how naive.
"So you're just going to take Aegon?" You questioned through the phone, biting at your bottom lip.
“That was the plan,” Aemond stated casually as if it wasn’t even a question.
Your stomach stirred at his hoarse voice, trying to calm your nerves as you fiddled with your bedding.
“But you don’t even like him,” your tone was weary, unsure if he was playing with you or not.
“That’s true,” Aemond hummed, stringing out his words for a second. “Maybe I’ll just go by myself.”
“Right.” You were clearly disappointed, throwing your body back on to your bed in frustration.
“Unless…”
“Unless?”
“Is there something you want to ask me?” Aemond asked.
“Well…”
“If you want to come, all you have to do is ask- Actually, no.”
You tensed, biting at your bottom lip as you waited for him to continue.
“If you want to come, you’ll beg for it.”
“Beg?” You squealed.
Aemond chuckled at this, adoring the way you easily got so wound up whenever he teased you. “Uh-huh. I want you to beg me for it.”
“Please,” you whispered.
“You can do better than that.”
Aemond knew what he was doing was wrong but over the phone you clearly had no idea, not even noticing the sound when his zipper opened. He’s slow in his actions, carefully listening to your breathing on the other end as he takes his member in his hand.
“Come on, angel.”
You had felt that distinctive flutter in your stomach, making you feel uneasy but with another word from his mouth, you were eager to ignore it.
"Go on," Aemond hummed.
"Pretty please," your voice was soft, hardly pleading as you spoke to him. “Please take me to the cabin with you.”
“It doesn’t seem like you want it that bad.”
He was lying of course, really wanting to hear you whine for him so he could get off on just the sound of your voice.
“I think I might just take someone else.”
“Please,” you pleaded with him.
He liked that, thumb running over his pretty pink tip with a sigh. “Keep going.”
“Please let me go with you. Pretty please, Uncle.”
The sinful way he was picturing you on your knees, sat between his legs as you begged him like you were now. All while he squeezed his cock, delivering harsh strokes as he leaked out into his hand.
"Aemond," you droned out his name, taking a second. “Isn’t that enough.”
He knew he couldn’t get you to keep going for too much longer.
"Please, please," you repeated in a whiny voice. "Please uncle, I'll do anything if you let me come away with you."
His cock twitched with excitement at this, sucking in a harsh breath.
"Aemond," you called through the phone, furrowing your brows at the shuffling noises from his room. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, yeah," Aemond said breathlessly, trying desperately to hide what he was doing over the phone. "I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon then."
"Tomorrow." You grinned. "I can't wait."
"Of course you can't." Aemond was ever the cocky shit with you.
"You just have to ruin a sweet moment," you sighed, getting under your covers. "Good night, Aemond."
"Good night, angel."
When the phone hung up, Aemond repeated the way you begged in his head, hand pumping at his cock. He continued until he was spilling into his hands, the thought alone driving him wild. For now he’d have to hold onto the thoughts, for now.
-
Silence never bothered you when it came to Aemond, most of the time the pair of you bathed in it as you sat in each other’s company. But twenty minutes ago Aemond had pulled your legs into his lap, sliding his hand up and down your thigh as he read the book in his hand. For some it would be soothing but the simplest of touches for you had you completely flushed, nibbling on your lip as you kept peering over your book at him. You’d do anything for a bit of noise right now, so you could draw your attention away.
“Something on my face?” He questioned, catching you looking again.
You hid your face behind your book, shaking your head as if he could see it. “Nothing.”
“Nothing, huh.”
“Mhm.” Your eyes scanned the page, unable to focus on the words when his hands reached a bit higher.
“You’re very tense,” Aemond stated, hand wrapping around your thigh now as he gave it a light squeeze.
“I am?” You tried to act clueless but Aemond always could see right through you.
When his hand slipped under the edge of your skirt, you squeezed your thighs together on instinct, book dropping from your hand as you stared at him with eyes slightly widened.
“What are you doing?”
His smile was wicked as he stared back at you, “Let me help you relax.” His hands both worked your legs open, giving himself space to rub at your thighs. “Just read your book.”
“I can’t,” you let out in a staggered breath, hand coming to rest on top of his. You were unsure of yourself, in two minds whether you should push him away or not.
“Just close your eyes for a bit,” Aemond hummed and you listened.
His fingers worked into your muscles, rubbing the tension that you were trying to let go of. Your face was on fire as you relaxed against the cushions behind you, trying not to think about how the way your uncle was touching you right now could be deemed inappropriate.
Before you knew it, his hand was on your inner thigh, the edge of his fingers lightly grazing your panties. You didn’t know what to think, not when your panties were sticking to you from how wet you had become, pussy pulsing like never before. This was your uncle making you feel this way, you should have felt ashamed or tried to put a stop to this but instead all you whispered was…
“That feels nice.”
“It does,” Aemond chuckled, hand finally hovering over your core. “All I want to do is make you feel good.”
That was it for you, legs opening further in a pleading way as if almost begging him to touch you more. He took the hint, fingers pressing down against your soaked panties as you let out a delighted whine.
“I’ve barely touched you, niece,” He tutted mockingly, fingers sliding over the cotton material. “And look how wet you are.”
You couldn’t care at that moment, breathing harshly as if you had just run a marathon. All thoughts became jumbled in your brain when his fingers began to rub against you, not even needing to move your panties as he got you all worked up.
Within a second he was hovering over you, pressing you further into the cushions behind as he pressed his body against yours. Your eyes opened when you felt your lips pressed against yours, gentle as he tried to ask for entrance. But he didn’t need to when his fingers slipped into the waistline of your panties, pushing them down as his hand came in contact with your sopping cunt. With that your lips were parting in a desperate moan, allowing him to sink his tongue into your mouth.
“Uncle!” you yelped, feeling his ring finger sink into your walls.
“Enjoying yourself,” Aemond groaned into your ear, slipping another finger inside with ease.
“It’s-”
You cut yourself off with a wild whimper, a noise you had never heard fall from your lips before but it pours from your throat as his fingers thrust themselves inside of you. You can’t help but clutch onto his shoulder, eyes fluttering open when your pussy squeezed around his fingers for the first time.
“Kiss me again,” you were breathless, pouting up at him with your wet lips until you got what you wanted.
You weren’t sure if Aemond’s lips against yours were helping smother the fire in your body or adding to it. But you couldn’t help lift yourself further from the cushions, pressing yourself further into the kiss and into him. You only managed to stop when his thumb brushed over your sensitive bud, teasing you with it.
“Such a sweet thing,” Aemond murmured against your skin, leaving sloppy wet marks as he kissed your neck. “To think my own niece.”
“Aemond,” you cried when his thumb pressed against your clit again, rubbing circles into it this time. It was then you could feel your legs shaking ever so lightly, hips bucking up into his hand for more.
When you began to squirm around, feeling your thighs wanting to clamp together, Aemond made sure to keep a firm grip against one, pressing it down so he could continue his actions. He almost grunted when he felt your walls clenching around his fingers, imprinting the sound of your cries into his memory as you came for the first time. Along with the image of your wet eyes and parted lips, all fucked out over some simple fingering. He wondered how worked up he’d get you later with his cock bullying your insides.
“That was-” You couldn’t finish your sentence, not when he was already repositioning his head between your thighs.
“I’m not done with you just yet,” Aemond growled as he sunk his face between your thighs, giving you one last smile. “There’s a lot more where that came from.”
#squirmhoneysmutmas#dark aemond smut#dark aemond x reader#dark aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen smut
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Text
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐲𝐞
MASTERLIST
[Aemond Targaryen x female Lucerys Velaryon • fem! oc!reader]
[warnings: sex content, fights, harassment, angst, smut, domination, violence, targcest (uncle/niece)]
Only for 18+
[description: Boarding School - Modern Setting. Lucerya avoided her uncle for years but Aemond remembers and he is on his mission to make her life a living hell.]
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#aemond x oc#aemond x fem!reader#aemond one eye#aemond the kinslayer#dark aemond smut#dark aemond angst#dark aemond#dark aemond targaryen#modern aemond angst#aemond targeryen angst#aemond angst#hotd angst#ewan mitchell smut#aemond targaryen smut#hotd smut#aemond smut#aemond x wife#aemond x wife reader#aemond fanfic#hotd fandom#house of the dragon fandom#ewan mitchell fandom#aemond fandom#hotd fic#hotd fanfiction#aemond fic#rhaenyra targaryen#game of thrones
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