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barbieaemond · 2 months

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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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fragileheartbeats · 1 month

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⌗ 𝘈𝘚𝘖𝘐𝘈𝘍 𝘏𝘊 ⁝ 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 ( ♱ )

— 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘐, 𝘔𝘢𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘳, 𝘑𝘢𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘐, 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯, 𝘉𝘢𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯, 𝘈𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘐𝘐, 𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘐𝘐𝘐, 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘳, 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥, 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘐𝘐 <3

˚꒰🌼꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐈 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑹𝑶𝑹 ─ ♕

Possessive Protector

Aegon would view his sister as a crucial part of his reign, an extension of his own power and influence. He would be intensely protective, viewing any threat to you as a threat to his realm. His love would be as fierce as his ambition, and he would go to great lengths to ensure your safety and happiness, often equating the two. He might call you "My Queen," elevating you above all others in title and in his heart. His demonstration of love would be grand gestures, like dedicating victories or conquests in your name. His obsession is less about controlling you and more about ensuring your safety and happiness, albeit in a way that places you within a golden cage. He would be intensely protective, using his power to shield you from any perceived threat. He would lavishing you with gifts and luxuries from across the Seven Kingdoms, Aegon makes sure you have everything you desire—except freedom.

As you walked through the gardens, Aegon's arm never left your side, his presence a towering fortress that no fear could penetrate. "All this," he gestured to the sprawling city beyond, "is yours, as much as I'm yours. Together, there is nothing we cannot conquer."

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑼𝑬𝑳 ─ ⸸

Ruthless Dominator

Maegor's love would be terrifying in its intensity. He would see any perceived slight against you as a personal affront, worthy of his cruellest retribution. His way of showing love would be to remove any and all obstacles to your happiness—often permanently. He might refer to you as "My Heart," a term of endearment that suggests you are the only softness in his hardened world. His demonstrations of affection would be acts of protection and vengeance, ensuring you are untouchable and revered. He sees you as his alone, reacting violently to any perceived competition or dissent. His love is a suffocating force, controlling every aspect of your life. To Maegor, you are a possession, the only person he believes can understand him, yet someone he fears losing to the point of paranoia.

In the quiet of the night, Maegor whispered promises of undying loyalty and protection, his words a stark contrast to the tales of his ruthlessness. "You are mine," he growls, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "And those who dare even think to harm you will face my wrath," he vowed, a dark promise that chilled you to the bone yet filled you with a perverse sense of safety.

𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐒 𝐈 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑺𝑬 ─ ✦

Benevolent Guardian

Jaehaerys's approach would be gentler, his love grounded in respect and a deep desire for your well-being. He would go to great lengths to ensure you have a voice and agency, rare for the times. He might call you "My Light," seeing you as the beacon that guides his rule. His love would be shown through acts of kindness and the creation of laws that protect and empower you. He would be your unwavering supporter, always seeking to resolve conflicts in your favor. Jaehaerys's love is subdued and patient, believing deeply in the power of his bond with you. He's protective in a way that seeks to uplift and support you, though he struggles with the idea of you wanting anything—or anyone—beyond him. He treat you with kindness and respect, always striving to ensure your happiness and fulfillment, yet subtly steering you away from any paths that lead away from him. He sees you as his partner in every aspect, the wisdom behind his throne, yet fears the thought of you not needing him as much as he needs you.

Under the vast sky, Jaehaerys took your hand, his touch gentle. "With you, I see a future bright with promise," he said, his voice full of hope. "Together, we will build a realm where love and justice prevail."

𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑹𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑬 ─ 𖤐

Passionate Rebel

Daemon's love would be as fiery as his dragon. He would be impulsively protective, often acting first on his emotions. His term of endearment might be "My Flame," indicative of the burning intensity of his love. His way of showing affection would be through daring acts meant to impress you, sometimes bordering on recklessness. He would see you as his equal in spirit and adventure, always seeking to include you in his escapades. Daemon's obsession is wild and untamed, driven by a desire for your attention and adoration. He craves a partner in his adventures, sometimes at the cost of your own wishes or safety. He might keep secrets from you to "protect" you, believing that the end justifies the means.

As you soared above the clouds on dragonback, Daemon's laughter echoed through the sky. "With you, every risk is worth taking," he shouted over the roar of the wind, his eyes alight with wild love.

𝐁𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑬 ─ ✿

Gentle Watcher

Baelon would be the type to show his love through constant, steadfast companionship. He would be protective but in a more reserved manner, always there to offer a supporting hand rather than leaping into battle. He might affectionately call you "My Blossom," seeing you as the rejuvenating force in his life. His demonstrations of love would be thoughtful gifts and gestures, each meant to remind you of his unwavering presence in your life. Baelon's obsession is quieter, more reflective. He deeply values your presence in his life, seeing you as a guiding light. His protection is more about ensuring your happiness and less about control. He treat you with tenderness and care, always attentive to your needs and desires, even if it means putting his own aside. He sees you as his sanctuary, the peace he turns to in a tumultuous world, yet fears the day you might find sanctuary elsewhere.

In the quiet sanctuary of your shared chambers, Baelon offered you a rare book, its pages filled with tales of legendary heroes. "To inspire us both," he said softly, his gaze warm with admiration and love, "for you are the truest hero in my eyes."

𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐈 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑨𝑫 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮 ─ ✞

Paranoid Sovereign

In his youth, before madness took a strong grip, Aerys's love would have been passionate, marked by high highs and low lows. His affection could be overwhelming, suffused with an intensity that's both captivating and daunting. He would see you as his sanctuary, the only person he could trust, calling you "My Solace." His demonstrations of love would be lavish, yet erratic, reflecting his increasingly unpredictable nature. He would be extremely protective, seeing threats in shadows, often acting irrationally to safeguard you from real and imagined dangers. Initially tender and loving, his treatment becomes erratic, with moments of warmth punctuated by sudden, baseless accusations and demands for proof of your loyalty. He show his love through lavish gifts and public declarations of your importance to him, which slowly become attempts to isolate you from perceived threats.

Within the confines of the Red Keep, Aerys held you close, his gaze flickering with a mix of devotion and an edge of something darker. "You are the only light in a realm filled with snakes and shadows," he whispered, his touch both tender and possessive.

𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐈𝐈 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑬𝑮𝑮𝑨𝑹 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮 ─ ＊

Desperate Dreamer

Viserys's love would be fraught with desperation and a deep-seated fear of loss. His affection would be possessive, driven by the fear of losing another pillar of his identity. Having faced so much hardship, he would cling to you as his one true claim to happiness, calling you "My Treasure." His way of showing love would be through promises of future grandeur, envisioning a life where you both reign supreme. His protective nature would stem from his paranoia of losing you, just as he lost everything else, leading to controlling behavior masked as concern.

In the dim light of your meager shelter, Viserys's fingers traced the lines of your face as if memorizing each detail. "Soon, we'll return to our home," he murmured with a fervor born of desperation, "and I'll crown you as my queen, my only love."

𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐑 | 𝑺𝑰𝑳𝑽𝑬𝑹 𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑬 ─ ♫

Melancholic Poet

Rhaegar's approach to love would be deeply emotional, tinged with melancholy and a sense of destiny. He would view you as his fated companion, calling you "My Muse." His demonstrations of love would be poetic and thoughtful, often expressed through song or written words. His protective nature would be subtle, more about ensuring your happiness and fulfillment, believing that your paths are inextricably linked by the stars themselves. He treat you with a gentle yet distant affection, often lost in his thoughts and prophecies, struggling to balance his visions with the reality of your relationship.

On the shores of the Quiet Isle, Rhaegar played his harp under the moonlight, the soft melody a testament to his undying affection. "In every life, in every world, I'd find you," he said, his voice low, "for our souls are bound by the music of the universe."

𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑶𝑵𝑬-𝑬𝒀𝑬 ─ 𓆸

Vengeful Warrior

Aemond's love would be fierce, marked by a warrior's intensity and a readiness to confront any challenge. He would refer to you as "My Victory," seeing your affection as the most significant triumph of his life. His way of showing love would be through acts of protection and a readiness to engage in battle for your honor. His possessiveness could manifest in jealousy, quick to perceive rivals for your affection as enemies to be vanquished. He treat you with a volatile mix of passion and jealousy, often viewing any attention you give to others as a challenge to his claim over you.

Amidst the ruins of a conquered castle, Aemond declared his undying loyalty to you, his single eye burning with a fervent promise. "To the ends of the earth, I'd fight to keep you safe," he vowed, his arm around you a steel band of protection as he whispered in your ear "I would die for you."

𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐈 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑼𝑺𝑼𝑹𝑷𝑬𝑹 ─ ☁︎

Broken Monarch

Aegon's obsession would be tied to his lack of love, seeing you as his whole world. He would call you "My World" or "My Crown," indicating both his affection and his aspirations where you are concerned. His love is demanding, expecting your loyalty and affection as his sister. His demonstrations of love would be grandiose, aimed at solidifying both his and your status. His protectiveness would stem from a desire to be loved, viewing threats to you as threats to himself, and he would not hesitate to use his resources to eliminate such threats. Through public displays of favor and privilege, making sure everyone knows of your special status, yet this often feels more like marking his territory than genuine affection. He treat you with a mix of indulgence and expectation, showering you with gifts and attention but always with the underlying demand for your undivided loyalty and love.

In the opulent halls of the Red Keep, Aegon placed a delicate crown upon your head, his gaze locked with yours. "Together, we are invincible," he proclaimed, "and I will let no one, nothing, stand in our way."

@fragileheartbeats . Don't plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

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flowerandblood · 2 months

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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)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar

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thought--bubble · 2 months

Text

Things We Cannot Change

Dark Aemond X (Strong Niece Reader)

Warnings after the cut

Word Count: 1938

Aemond (Canon Era) Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners & Dividers by @arcielee

Based on THIS request

Warnings:: Reader's hair is brown. That's the only descriptor due to the request received, Breeding kink, Targcest, Virginity Loss. Mental abuse, mentions of canon deaths.

On your knees.

A place you thought you would never be, but alas here you are. On your knees looking up at the cold, cruel face of your uncle.

Once a boy you played with, read with, considered a friend. Now, he holds the life of your youngest brother in his hands. The only member of your family you have left.

"I ask you, Aemond-" He interrupts you with a cruel chuckle.

"King Aemond, my dear"

You cringe at the title. The war that ravaged both of your families put him on that throne. The thought of all you had lost made you sick.

"I ask you, your grace, to please spare my brother and I. There are so few of valyrian blood left." You keep your head bowed, your knees aching against the cold stone beneath them.

The both of you go quiet, you could still smell your mothers burning flesh, hear her screams as she was scorched and eaten alive in front of your very eyes. All for nothing, you thought. Your entire family is dead for Aemond to be the one to ascend the throne.

Your mother had been executed immediately, no court, no trial, just a woman and a dragon. Aegon II had demanded that you be executed as well, but luckily for you, he did not survive the trip back to the capital. Thus, your younger brother and you had been delivered to Aemond as traitors.

Followers of the false queen is what Aegon II had called you. Worthy of a public execution.

"On that front, we can agree bastard" He places his fingers delicately under your chin and tilts your face up towards him.

"I fear that dragon riders may become a thing that history boasts about if we are not careful in our decisions." He rubs his thumb gently across your bottom lip.

"So you and I shall marry, to preserve the bloodline," you audibly gasp at the absurd statement. You were now a mere strong bastard not fit to be queen.

"B-but your grace, I have been stripped of all royal titles. Surely I am not worthy to marry the King"

"You are not." he says curtly."But, preserving our dragon blood is of higher importance than that of courtly titles." He removes his hand from your chin and steps back, clasping his hands behind his back.

"The choice is yours, dear niece. Marry me or face the blade. If not to breed you, I have no further use of you."

You gulp audibly as your eyes begin to well. "I shall serve my duty to the realm your grace."

The betrothal was announced to the realm with mixed reactions. Some houses understand the reasoning others are very upset that a bastard would be queen and not one of their highborn daughters.

All concerns fell upon deaf ears because Aemond knew what he wanted, and he wanted you. As king, he would have exactly what he wanted.

Your life changed very little after the announcement of the betrothal. You were given chambers instead of being in the dungeons, but you were not trusted.

You were escorted everywhere you went, and the incoming title of Queen did little to garner you any respect.

Everyone knew what you were. A vessel to breed valyrian blooded babies and nothing more.

What was worse was the embarrassment.

Aemond made sure to embarrass you at any opportunity. He would have you serve him at meal times instead of servants. Pull his bath for him. Even perform his ridiculous hair care routine. All of it meant to demean you.

You had hoped that after the wedding, he would stop this disgusting showcase and allow you at least a modicum of comfort, but even in that thought, you were mistaken.

After the two of you had been escorted to your marriage chambers and left alone, Aemond ordered you to pour his wine and stand in the corner. Once again, as if you were a servant and the treatment had finally become too much for you to bare.

"I'll take the sword," you say after moments of silence have fallen between you.

"Pardon?" Aemond lifts an eyebrow and looks up at you.

"I will take the sword, i do not wish to live this way for years and years." You stand with conviction. "I ask only that you spare Aegon so that he might have children in the future."

Aemond chuckles and sips his wine. "The offer has expired, dear wife. You are mine now, to toy with as I please."

"I was kind to you!" The words almost echo throughout the room. The connotation is clear.

"You were." He simply nods and continues to look into your eyes, no clear expression on his face.

"Then why do you treat me like this? Like a-" You search your mind for the words but come up empty.

"Like a traitor? Because you are a traitor. You knew the laws of the world in which you live. You did not at any time attempt to talk my dear sister out of war, did you?" He stands up from his chair and stalks towards you.

"My sister Helaena took her own life, my nephews murdered in the cruelest of fashions." His breath is heavy as he glares at you with his one eye. "You were complicit in their deaths. How should i treat you?"

"As if I lost nothing? You killed Luke. You weren't complicit in it. You did it with your own hand!" You can feel your rage bubbling up in your chest and try to suppress it to no avail.

"You killed Rhaenys and Daemon. There is far more dragon blood on your hands than mine. " You regret the words as soon as you say them, expecting his wrath to be swift and harsh.

He clicks his tongue and looks away from you. "That may be true, but there will not be anymore dragon blood spilled by me. Least of all yours."

He walks toward you but stops when he sees you backing away from him and sighs. "There are things we can not change. The war. The losses we suffered." He continues to advance on you but moves much more slowly.

"Although I believe I can change this, your fear of me."

"I am not afraid." You attempt to sound convincing, yet the shake to your voice gives you away.

"Let me try," He says gently as he gets close enough to cup your face. "This needn't be a marriage filled with fear and hate. We are all that is left of the house of the dragon. Let us rebuild, together"

Your heart cramps in your chest at his words and soft demeanor. This is the Aemond you remember. The boy who was always gentle with you, kind. Not the monster who murdered your brother and countless others in a ruthless pursuit for the throne.

"I have known fear. I do not wish to spend the remainder of my days being the cause of yours." He presses his forehead to yours and kisses the tip of your nose.

"Will you stop? The public shaming?" A tear trickles down your cheek at the thought of continuing to live in this manner. The abuses mounting, the shame unbearable.

"Yes. twill not happen again." He takes your face in his hands and lifts until your eyes meet. "This i swear."

He gently kisses your cheek where the tears have started to fall.

"We have all shed enough tears for a thousand lifetimes." He wipes a tear from your other cheek with his thumbs. "No more."

He pulls you close to his chest, gently swaying from side to side. "Shhh." He tries to comfort you as he strokes your hair.

He very softly brings his lips to yours and whispers. "Let me be more than the monster, I implore you."

You press your lips to him in desperation. Do you love him? No.

Will you ever truly trust or forgive him? Most likely not, but you want to feel something. Anything other than the dull ache that you have carried in your chest since the day Luke died.

If Aemond was aware of your true feelings, he did not let on. He reciprocated your neediness with hungry kisses of his own before lifting you and carrying you over to the bed chamber.

"I always wanted you to be my wife," He admits between kisses. "Always"

You choose not to respond, instead pulling at his clothes. He drops you down onto the bed and rucks up your skirts. Pulling your small clothes down quickly.

"Close your eyes," He whispers huskily, kissing up your inner thigh. You comply with his demands, closing your eyes and turning your mind off. Surrendering entirely to the physical sensations you are experiencing.

He brings his hand to your heat, pushing you open before bringing his tongue down upon you. The feeling is overwhelming at first, and you can't help but cry out.

He tightly grips your thigh as he nudges his nose against your clit, running his tongue along your tight entrance. Never before have you felt something like this and as if your body is controlled by an invisible force your hips buck up towards his face.

He chuckles and grips your hips, holding you in place. "Patience my love, patience" He circles your clit with his tongue, the gentle flicking driving you to near madness.

"Oh gods," you bite your bottom lip as an unfamiliar pressure builds up in your lower stomach. "Aemond!" You clench at the bedsheets beneath you, the breath tight in your lungs as a searing fire moves throughout your entire being.

"Gods!" You arch your back as the feeling hits a peak before dropping back on the bed, your breath coming out in short huffs.

Aemond chuckles as he removes his breeches his hard cock slapping against his stomach. "Im going to fill you with my babes and everything will be better."

He moves on top of you prodding your entrance with the tip of his cock. "Hold onto me, this may hurt for just a moment" He warns, gentleness in his voice.

You head his warning, wrapping your hands around his back, as he begins to push into you, the stretch painful, not excruciatingly so but shocking nonetheless.

"eeeek," you can't help the slight screech that escapes your throat.

"Shhhh, it is alright." He comforts while he continues pushing into you until his hips meet yours.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his breathing labored.

You are ok. The pain, the fullness. It is something, and after so long of feeling nothing, the something, even if it is pain, is relieving.

He thrusts his hips against you, steadily increasing his pace. "You will be with child soon. We will be happy then, " He huffs.

You close your eyes and hold his head to you as he buries his face in your neck gently kissing at the sensitive skin there, and for the first time since the war began you feel calm.

His grip on you tightens as he buries himself to the hilt in you again. "We will be happy. we will" he grunts into your ear as the pressure once again builds up in your lower stomach.

As the two of you reach your peaks together, trembling and smiling you allow yourself to believe.

Even if just for a moment. That he is right. He is telling the truth.

That even after so much death and loss, the house of the dragon can stand tall and be happy once again.

To be added to taglists click HERE

#dark aemond x reader #aemond x reader #dark aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x niece!reader #ewan mitchell verse #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewanverse #ewan nation #ewan mitchell #aemond one eye #jess fics #my war criminal bf

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sepherinaspoppies · 2 months

Text

Only If For A Night (i/?)

pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.

warnings for this part: profanity, tea drugging, blood magic, sexism, I think that's it... more dark stuff later. READER IS LATINA !

wc: 4,027

series masterlist

my masterlist

pt2

notes: originally I was gonna have this fic be a one shot but it is sooo long that I decided to split it into three. this is an introduction part, aemond will be on the next (I'm half way done with that part).

She knows she is screwed when Doña Maribel broke the news to her that the last of the cempasuchiles were completely sold out in her shop. Making it five flower shops in the span of an hour that she walked to have fully run out of the bright orange flowers she needed for her ancestral altar that she and her abuela worked tirelessly on for the past few days. (marigolds, grandmother)

She wonders what to do next or perhaps where to go as she plays with the gravel beneath her shoes. Sure, she could walk another mile or so to another flower shop and try her luck there just as Doña Maribel suggested but she finds herself too tired to venture deeper in her small pueblo by herself. (town)

Even the walk back to her abuela’s was not something she looked forward to as of now. This was the time where she wished she had the ability to drive but alas she could not for even the streets of Mexico were more hectic and nerve wracking than back at the states. (grandmother’s)

She sighs in defeat. The cempasuchiles were the last thing on her abuela’s list of things she required for tonight’s first day of Dia de Los Muertos. The bright orange flowers illuminated the path of those who died, back into the land of the living and enjoy the offerings their family’s set up for them. (Day of the Dead)

Maybe for just tonight she could spare them.

She sets her three mercado bags beside her as she sits down on a bench right next to a bus stop that could lead her directly to her abuela’s home. The smell of citrus of the lemon tree above her eases her disappointment and feels that this is the perfect spot to reread one of her favorite books. (shopping)

George R. R. Martin’s, Fire and Blood Vol. 1. She wondered what it was like to reside in a world of dragons (before they were all extinct), dire wolves from the North, red priestesses from Volantis, and mysterious yet powerful witches. To live inside the walls of the Red Keep and tour around the secret passageways and to fight for the rightful Queen of Westeros, Rhaenyra and the other members of the Blacks during the Dance of Dragons.

Sadly, even if it was possible to venture deep into alternate fantasy universes. It all was pure fiction. Not real. Impossible.

‘And so one-eyed Aemond the Kinslayer took up the iron-and-ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror, “It looks better on me than it ever did on him,” the prince proclaimed.’

“Excuse me, do you happen to know when the bus is due to arrive?” She snaps her head up meeting the most beautiful and enchanting woman she’d ever seen. Eyes round and greener than the trees itself during spring. Hair long and black like ravens in the night sky. She was tall, taller than most of the women here with skin like porcelain that had not seen a day of sun, a rarity here in Mexico.

It was her mischievous tight lipped smile that made her feel loss of words. Unknowingly, this mysterious woman was the first person who spoke to her in English, not Spanish.

“Umm… I- I’m sorry?”

The green eyed woman smirked as if she knew the small effect she had on her. Gods she was beautiful.

“The bus–”

She shook her head out of her revere, coming to reality. “Oh, I’m not sure. Perhaps a few more minutes.” She informed, pulling her mercado bags closer to her side, allowing the green eyed woman to sit, not wanting to be rude.

She murmurs a quick thank you as she sits exceedingly close to her, shoulder to shoulder, flesh to flesh with her. Jeez, talk about personal space! However, the woman doesn’t seem to care or acknowledge that she has enough space for her own person. A feeling of uncertainty rests below her gut, telling her to be vigilant around her presence.

“How long have you waited?” She asks, breaking away the long silence between them. She almost shivers at the intensity hue of her eyes that bore right through her.

“About ten to twelve minutes.” She replies, looking anywhere else but her.

A satisfactory look sketched around the woman's youthful yet elderly face which she found odd. What could be so pleasing about the bus not arriving? The woman said nothing, only sitting rather straight, almost elegant in her simple long green dress. Though, in the back of her mind, she wondered if she felt hot underneath the heaviness of the velvet fabric. She sure as hell did.

“Wait, how did you know I spoke english?” She asked as the hairs on her arms stood up straight in some kind of chilling fear.

The woman’s eyes lowered and centered on the object sitting up on her lap. “Your book gives it away.” She snickered softly, tilting her head reading the bold letters of her very worn book she got at the thrift store for just two dollars. “An interesting read.” The green eyed woman said whilst her face held no sincere fondness of it for someone who found it interesting.

“You’ve read this before?” She asked curiously, little taken back, that she finally found someone else who read Fire and Blood Vol 1. Or anything by George R. R. Martin.

“Yes, almost like I've lived through it”

She opens her mouth to speak but the green eyed woman beats her to it. “I don’t mean to pry but where are you headed?” The smile falls off her face as she remembers the warning of stranger danger she learned as a kid.

The woman must have noticed the dubious look upon her face as she threw her head back in a laugh. “I ask because it seems a storm is coming our way. And it looks like an angry one.”

Sure enough, as she looked up the sky had turned into a deep gray with heavy clouds ready to pour any minute. Well this wasn’t forecasted in the noticias this morning, otherwise, she’d carry an umbrella. Or better yet, she wouldn’t have walked all this way if a storm was brewing. (news)

“My cottage is not very far from here,” the green eyed woman revealed, standing up from the bench, overlooking the seriousness of the clouds. “It is just around the corner. Would you like to come?”

She wanted to say no, that she was better off walking an hour back to her abuela’s house, even if it meant that she’d catch a cold in the pouring rain with blisters all over her feet. Besides, she did not know anything about this woman. Every bit of her mind screamed stranger danger! Don’t go!

But as she glanced between the heavy clouds and the green eyed woman with her hand extended out, all that doubt and worriment went away.

“I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out. If all goes bad, at least she had a name to tell the authorities.

“My name is Alyssandra Riveras.” The green eyed woman smiled, bowing at the waist.

Though still somewhat skeptical, she walks alongside Alyssandra to her cottage. She makes small mental notes in her head, counting the red stop signs, right and left turns and any other landmarks of important significance.

She was almost positive she could point her way back home. It did not help that five minutes into their journey, it started harshly pouring out of nowhere like a bucket of water had been poured all over, blanketing her vision.

Alyssandra’s cottage had sat on the outskirts of the pueblo, isolated from all civilization, hidden around tall and green pine trees. A faint voice in the back of her head screamed to run and never look back. She ignored it.

From a close distance, she was able to distinguish a small window with overgrown vines and branches wrapped around the perimeter of the cottage. Bones, bells, and crystal windchimes hung from the roof and windows, mostly likely put up for some kind of spiritual protection.

She was no stranger to the craft. Although raised catholic, both her mama and abuela had hung an old broom above their doorway to keep away unwanted guests and negative energies as well as pinning the mal de ojo sigil around the walls for the look of evil and envy against their family. (evil eye)

“Cempasuchiles,” she murmured in awe when Alyssandra’s small garden came into view. It was the most of the orange flowers she had ever seen, all bright and lively and huddled together.

“When the storm is over, you can grab as many as you’d like,” Alyssandra offered, peering over her shoulder, unlocking the door to her cottage. She nods following her inside whilst giving a grateful smile.

The interior of the cottage was small, meant only for one person to take residence. The same size as what a studio apartment would be back in the states.

In no way was the inside minimal, in fact it was the opposite. Almost all of the walls were covered with shelves with small trinkets adorning inside such as little statues, crystals, herbs and other supplies.

In the center of the room lay a huge stone like table, old and antique bearing the resemblance of something medieval. And something about it, sent shivers down her spine along with the same faint voice, telling her to run.

She ignored it, again.

“Give me your belongings, and change into this,” Alyssandra says, tossing a strappy white chemise. She exchanges her poor-soaked mercado bags that contained pan de muerto, churros, and tamales for her ancestral ofrenda. (bread of the dead, offering)

She turns around to protect her modesty, seeing as there was no other room to change nor did Alyssandra point her to the bathroom, so she lifts the drenched garment over her head and sheds away the last clothing she had on her body, leaving her completely bare in her birthday suit.

She couldn’t help but to feel Alyssandra’s eyes watching her very intently, examining every inch of her body as if it met her standards or so. She knows she should use her hands to cover up and give Alyssandra a piece of her mind, or better yet introduce her to a knuckle and hand sandwich for the way she was looking too closely.

Yet her body feels frozen, unable to move under the green eyed woman’s gaze.

“Would you like some tea to keep you warm?” Alyssandra asked, moseying to the kitchen.

She blinks, whatever paralyzing feeling she had dispelled away. “Um, yes thank you.” Alyssandra nodded, pulling what looked to be a kettle on the stove. Meanwhile, she slipped on the white chemise in a hurry to not feel as exposed anymore.

She takes the time to analyze the rest of Alyssandra’s cottage as she hears the droplets of rain hit the rooftop harder and the sound metal being filled with water. Various of the same purple flower plants were placed near the entrance, she notes to herself that these couldn’t possibly be lavender but another species or something within the same family.

A small cot laid in the corner close by the hearth, with multiple open ancient books and scrolls spread on top of the bedspread. She almost wants to look through the pages and read Alyssandra’s interests but she doubts she could as she observes the handwriting is unreadable from where she stood.

She walks forward to where the hearth is, feeling slightly warmer as something immediately catches her eye. Above the mantle, hung on the wall was a medium sized portrait of a small boy, appearing no more than three years old. He stood straight, almost regally with his hands behind his back. His face held no gentleness or warmth like a child should have.

Gods forgive her, but the child looked cruel like the gueritos who bullied her in elementary school when she was just trying to make new friends. (white boys)

Though, for an evil looking child, he sure was beautiful. The most striking thing about him was his set of eyes. Wide with his left eye a dark violet and his right a dark green similarly to Alyssandra’s. His hair was straight and cut short right below his ears. She looked closer at the portrait, thinking if her eyes deceived her as she noticed the peculiar color of the boy’s hair.

Silver.

Curiosity takes the better of her as she asks, “Is that your son?”

Alyssandra turns, holding two mugs of steaming tea. “Yes, that’s my beautiful little boy,” She places both glasses on the stoned table before she sits adjacent to her. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her the sad look on Alyssandra’s eyes. “He looks like you,” she points out though it’s somewhat of a lie in hopes to lift up Alyssandra’s spirits.

Alyssandra throws her head back in a chortle, “For all my hard work and labor, I had hoped he looked like me but nature loves to play its cruel jokes. He is a replica of his bastard father.” The thought of her son’s father left a sour and disgusting taste in Alyssandra’s mouth.

Alyssandra focused her attention back to her, “What about you?” She asked, sitting rather too straight.

“Do you mean if I have kids? Gods, no.”

Alyssandra smirked, “I take it you don’t like the idea of children. I did not either but after years of solitude, I changed my mind. I had other children before my son, but all of them died before they were due. You, however, are still young. Your mind can still change.”

She shifted in her seat anxiously, sipping the odd taste of the herbal tea Alyssandra provided. It wasn’t like she did not like children. She respected children and found them quite cute with their little tiny hands and feet and infectious laughs. But besides the point of appearance, children were a tremendous amount of responsibility that she found herself not ready for.

Not now. Not ever.

She could barely handle taking care of herself. Much less care and provide for a child for eighteen years or so.

“I don’t—”

“Oh but you will,” Alyssandra fired back without so much as blinking an eye.

She grimaced, knowing where this conversation was heading. And it was about to be a not so pretty one. She glanced at the window by the door, the rain was still heavy if not more.

“I thank you for giving me shelter. But I really must go. I was only just supposed to be out for some groceries and my abuela is probably wondering where I am.” Polite and respectful enough just as her mama taught her.

She grabbed her belongings that were hanging by the fire and stuffed them inside her mercado bag. Her hand was on the cusp of prying the door open when Alyssandra rushed to her side, wrapping her hand around her wrist.

“Wait. Please don’t go.” Alyssandra pleaded, “It’s just that you remind me much about myself. I didn't mean to cause offense, I’m sorry.”

Run. Say no and run now, While you still can…

There it was again that same paralyzing feeling closing in on her feet, preventing her to move. It was strange like a shield gluing both her legs down.

She nodded, murmuring ‘fine’ under her breath as Alyssandra slowly led her back to the woven chair with such gentleness as a porcelain doll. “I still need to call my abuela, so she can know I’m alright.”

Alyssandra twisted her face in a wince, “I’m afraid we’re too far out for any signals to catch a telephone call.” She held back the overweening snicker to herself, it was why Alyssandra chose her cottage to be settled this far out in this very modernized realm; so no one could find her.

Alyssandra wasn’t lying. No matter how hard she hit her Iphone against her palm or moved it around, there had not been a single signal bar glowing. She wondered if her abuela had started to grow worried and perhaps began to search for her. She hoped she didn’t and that her cousins kept her preoccupied with the rest of the decorations to notice the duration of how long she’d been out. She also wondered if they were still going to the cementerio, to clean and decorate the graves of their loved ones but with the amount of thunder and rain, she’d doubt it was still on the agenda. (cemetery)

Alyssandra prepared some more tea as the fire gradually faltered down. This one had a different taste than the previous one with tiny purple petals floating around. Alyssandra watched very intently as she sipped every last drop while she scarcely touched her own mug.

The green eyed woman began asking her multiple personal questions, mostly about where she was originally from (due to the fact that her vocabulary deemed to be more vehement in English than Spanish), her family, and if she had any siblings. She had answered them all. Letting her know that she was just visiting from the states to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos with her family she had not seen since the death of her sweet abuelo. (grandfather)

Alyssandra’s eyes glimmered even more when she explained how strangely, her very stern and overprotective mama had suddenly let her travel by herself to a country she had never been to in years since she was small. Her mama preferred her to be where she could keep a close eye on her because ‘uno nunca sabe’ especially if you’re a woman. (one never knows)

It was odd, alright. Especially when her mama gave her money that she didn’t have, and enthusiastically wished her good fortune on her travels. Yup odd…

But not to Alyssandra.

Alyssandra sat down after cleaning both mugs ready to ask the hard hitting questions she’d been warming her up to. “Have you ever been with a man?” Her eyes widened before breaking rounds of deep laughter that made the sides of her ribs ache and cramp.

However, there wasn’t an ounce of amusement displayed on Alyssandra’s face, but rather annoyance. What was so funny? It was a simple and uncomplicated question that meant no harm. At least not to her. He couldn’t harm her any more here. Alyssandra guessed perhaps it was the side effect of the tea making her humoristic.

“No,” She replied, wiping the humoristic tears at the corner of her eyes. “The opportunity has never presented itself?” Alyssandra asked.

All the humor that previously lingered had gone swiftly away, realizing that Alyssandra was indeed asking something so personal to her. “No,” She shook her head, feeling her face hot and red. “People don’t look at me as someone they want to be with. They’d rather be with someone exciting, adventurous, and outing. And I’m neither of those things. I’m a homebody who’s idea of fun and adventure is living through fictional books.” She answered truthfully, too truthfully.

Alyssandra watched her face transform into a deeper shade of red. “What is it?” She questioned, taking a hold of her hand, taking in the role of someone empathetic.

“I want my first time to be special. Like the fairytales I grew up reading about with the grand Prince sweeping the young maiden off her feet and taking her to his castle…” The way her eyes reflected small flashes of light made Alyssandra almost feel guilty for her true intentions once the repercussions of the tea ran out.

She remembers when she too wished for a dashing knight in shining armor to take her away, far away from the shit she had been through; the pain, the suffering, and the poverty. All of it. As Alyssandra grew well into her womanhood, she realized there was no knight coming to save her. Instead, there was a selfish Prince who spared her for his desires and her many talents beyond the acts of the flesh.

But Alyssandra needed her to go. She needed that piece that was stolen from her. She didn’t want the risk of going back and facing him again and repeating through the hell and agony he put her through. So sending her for it seemed like the better alternative.

“I know you probably think it sounds stupid–” She stammered, her face still beet red.

“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” Alyssandra softly smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze. Judging by the serene look upon her face, it was a good lie that she seemed to believe.

She smiled. Finally, someone who didn’t think of the idea of waiting for the right person was silly and unrealistic.

Her smile deterred, sensing something trickle down her nose, dropping against the skin of her hand.

Blood. Her blood.

Run!

“Alyssandra?” She whispered, puzzled at the sight of more blood spilling out of her nose. Every strand of hair in her arms stood, sensing a new type of alertness course right through her. She glanced at a very blurred Alyssandra with what looked to be a smirk written on her face.

“W-What’s happening?” She stood from the chair, but that soon turned out to be a bad idea as her knees gave out, sending her straight to the stoned cold floor. She glanced up, watching as Alyssandra sauntered in front of her, and as much as she wanted to crawl away her body was glued to the floor.

“Look,” Alyssandra said, crouching down at her level before she took her in her arms like a newborn baby, weighing little to nothing. “We don’t have much time. When you wake up, I need you to retrieve something of mine…”

She felt her back collide on top of the stoned table, “What was in that tea?” She questioned but Alyssandra was quick to shush her. “It doesn’t matter now. You drank it all willingly.” There was no argument there.

Alyssandra pulled out a jar with overflowing cempasuchil petals inside and circled the petals around her. Almost like a ritualistic circle she used to watch the brujas next door do. (witches)

“You need not to be afraid. You will not be harmed as long as you do what I say. Exactly as I say.” She gulped, nodding seeing as she had no other choice. “Bruja.” She spat but Alysssandra only chuckled, “I’ve been called much worse, little dove.” (witch)

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Alyssandra holding out a small knife. “I am in need of a sapphire. It was stolen from me many years ago. It is one of a kind, which is why when you see it you’ll know it is mine.”

She momentarily shut her eyes as the dark haired woman rapidly cut the middle of her palm spewing her blood on top of the petals. “Once you’re successful, you’ll come back here with the sapphire and gather some of my materials. The marigold petals with your blood coating them; The blood of whom you took the sapphire from and lastly you’ll lay on top of my precious table here to be transported back.”

There was an evil smile on her lips that she desperately wanted to punch it off. “And if I don’t get the sapphire?” She questioned.

Alyssandra combed away her unruly braided hair, “Then I won’t bring you back and you’ll be stuck there forever.”

Fuck.

“Stuck? Stuck where? Where am I going?”

Alyssandra clicked her tongue, “A place where fairy tales do not exist, my little dove.” If she wanted a Prince to sweep her off her feet. Alys would gladly give her one.

She attempted to wiggle herself out of this pendeja’s spell but whatever Alyssandra mixed in the tea it was compelling her body to still and her eyes to slowly falter shut in a peaceful sleep. (dumbass)

“However I should warn you, this spell is only valid until tomorrow. Until Dia de Los Muertos is over and even if you do achieve in retrieving the sapphire but it is after November second, you'll be permanently trapped with him.”

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#prince aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #dark aemond x reader #dark aemond targaryen

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themotherofhorses · 1 year

Text

you can pretend it's not meant to be (but you can't stay away from me)

summary: to you, he is fictional. but to him, you are everything and more. he can't live without you. and, really, there is no use in trying to run away, he'll always find you.

pairing: (somewhat) dark!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: explicit language. noncon to dubcon. abduction. massive obsessive tendencies on aemond's part. breeding kink. slight spitting kink. pregnancy.

note: hey this is me practicing writing smut because ive never ever done it before and i don't know jackshit like wtf is a dick hahaha im dreading posting this hahahasendhelpplshaha

masterlist | series masterlist

part two | part three | part four | part five

How did you end up here?

That was all you could ask yourself, over and over again.

It had only been hours ago, maybe, that you were sitting at home, rewatching the first season of House of the Dragon for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Perhaps you dozed off on the couch too, but that was it. You have heard of shifting techniques before- ways to visit your favorite fictional worlds- but you never sought to try them out yourself.

College left you too busy with assignments and textbook readings, as well as the constant and unwavering pressure to maintain both your scholarships and high GPA.

Ever the dutiful and driven daughter, hungry for academic validation and success.

Oh, fuck, your scholarships!

Your GPA!

All those assignments and discussions and exams!

And what about your family? Your mother and father? And your best friend?

Aemond Targaryen seems not to understand your words, and why you tell, beg, and plead for him to let you go. “Please, I need to go home,” you cry loudly, while yanking at the thick knots that bound you to his bedframe, “please! My family, my friends. They will be worrying when they don’t hear from me, and all my hard work and accomplishments, it will be for nothing! Please, I beg you, let me go home.”

But he just chuckles and kisses your forehead and says, “Oh, my sweet girl, I’m your family now. Or what is of it.” His lips feel so soft and wonderful, and how desperately you wish to enjoy the feeling. But not like this. You cannot think properly nor muster any sort of response, too distracted and stressed and focused on calming your breathing.

“Although,” he then adds with a smirk, “it truly is not considered a family until you have a babe of your own…or two.”

At his words, you tremble and whimper and try your best to break free, though it is all in stupid and foolish vain. There is no going anywhere, the knots are too tight and Aemond can easily overpower you. All you can do is stare up at the man you once considered your favorite character in the series, ever since the eighth episode aired and he stole your heart and soul and burrowed himself deep within your most inner thoughts and fixation.

“Do not worry,” he says, and you can see a twinkle in the violet of his eye. He rests a hand on your collarbone, gently drawing little shapes across the skin. “Good things will come out of this night, my love, I promise you that.”

Look on the bright side, you tell yourself, in some dumb attempt to steel your nerves, better Aemond Targaryen to lose your virginity to.

“You need to be quieter, my darling-” Aemond murmurs close to your ear “-we do not need curious ears listening in, do we?” He has you riding him, both hands clutching your hips as you do your best to bounce on his cock and match his thrusts. You’re sloppy and inexperienced, and a bit confused on what exactly to do, but it is so endearing that his lips curl into a grin.

Oh, you were made for me, he thinks, watching the way your glazed-over eyes try to hold his gaze. He will have you believe that by the end of the night, dawning if necessary.

There is much rush now that he found you, now that he has the chance to claim you.

You still moan, loud and high-pitched, and he slaps a hand flat over your mouth to shut you up. It makes your pretty and teary eyes widen more as you grab at his wrist, holding onto it while he tuts. “I’ll move my hand when you learn to listen to your husband and stay quiet. No one is allowed to hear my wife in her pleasure. No one but I.” At that, you bat your eyelashes at him, breasts heaving as he leans you down, so close your lips nearly touch, and Aemond can feel your heavy pants against his mouth.

“They will take you away from me, and ship you far across the world where I can’t find you,” he hisses, pinching your swollen nipple between his fingers, “I can’t have that. No, no, do you hear me? I will not survive being torn from you.”

The mere thought of losing you, either at the hands of his mother and grandsire or you returning to your homeland, fills him with sheer dread.

He does not know how to tell you that you are the girl of his dreams, everything he has desired and more. He has seen you in his nighttime slumbers and in the gleam of the summer sunlight and up among the black midnight stars.

But the words fall apart on his tongue, and all he can do is lay beneath you and marvel at your beauty: cheekbones and pretty puffy lips and the curve of your nose, the way your eyebrows furrow in pure pleasure, and how you look utterly delicious and ruined.

“You were made for me,” he breathes in awe, palming at both your breasts. You have to believe him, this sweet and pretty girl of his, how could you not? The gods above created you for him, he will make you see it. “You are taking me so fucking well,” and Aemond flattens a palm against your belly, where he can feel the slight bulge of his cock. “Look at you, you’re my dream come true.” He thrusts his hips up, fucking into you harder and deeper. It makes you squeal and go cross-eyed.

“Is this too much? I know you can handle it, my darling. My love, my sweet girl,” he purrs.

Aemond swipes at the drool pooling at your lips before stuffing two fingers in. “Fuck,” he whines, breathing hard, slipping his other hand in between your thighs, and with his thumb, rubbing at your clit. Your face twists in a gasp as you tremble, your entire body tightening until you cream over his cock, your loud moan muffled by the fingers in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he hums, slowing his thrusts, “Such a good fucking girl. Look at that, did that feel good, my love?” he asks you.

You nod, rocking your hips back and forth. Your thighs shaking and your face scrunching in complete bliss as you start again, taking his cock deep in your stomach with tiny bounces. “Please- please- please-” you babble against his palm. “I-I want- I need-”

“Want what, my sweet girl? Need what, my darling wife?”

You don’t answer, too overtaken by the pleasure. Aemond chuckles and leans upwards, to bury his face between your breasts. You are absolutely stunning, gorgeous, a living goddess; how he went this long without you is baffling. “You wish for my seed. Is that what you want?” he mutters against your nipple, “of course you do, this belly is too empty, isn’t it? My son should be sleeping inside.” His fingers pinch your clit, and you gasp again. “You’ll be the prettiest mother. You were made to carry my children. You were made for me,” and he pulls your face back to his, with a rough grip on your chin.

“Tell me,” he demands through a pant, “tell me how fucking badly you need my seed. Tell me…tell me right now.”

“I- I need it-“ you choke out, but then you shake your head. “No- No I can’t! I- I need to go- go home!”

Aemond laughs, so hard he flings his head back. The sight takes you by surprise before he shoves you off, causing you to land next to him on the bed. You stare up at him, wide eyed and puzzled and swollen and covered in countless bites and bruises. In one swing, he forces your face into the pillow as he mounts you from behind, fucking you hard. His fingers return to your clit, squeezing and tweaking and not caring one bit about your muffled yelps and whines

“You’ll learn, my sweet girl, but perhaps not tonight. I am your home now, do you understand? I’m your family, your husband, and the father to your children.”

He grabs a fistful of damp hair and yanks your face back, never once slowing his thrusts. Your mouth is open with many moans spilling out, eyes clouded with tears, and cheeks flushed. With his lips next to your ear, he whispers, “You are going nowhere.” Then propping himself on one arm, he trails small kisses up your back to your shoulder blade until his mouth slams down on yours in a heavy and wet kiss.

And when he pulls away, his fingertips squeeze your cheeks together as he demands for you to open your mouth. "You are mine," he grunts, "you belong to me," before spitting into it. "Good, now swallow."

And when you do, he smiles.

"There, see?" he coos, leaning to kiss your forehead as he feels you tighten around his cock. He was going to seed you again, deep inside your womb. Come the morning, he knows his son will be in there, and he can hardly wait.

"My wife, my darling girl, the only woman deserving of me and all of me. Only me." He watches you sob at that, pink lips pressing in a tight line as fat tears streak down both cheeks. "Oh, do not worry, my love. You're too lovely to be crying," and he uses his thumb to brush away the tears, "I'm here to give you the life you deserve," he vows, so lovingly, "you will want for nothing."

With a loud huff, you plop yourself on the couch.

The saying “home sweet home” never felt more sincere until now. It took much time and planning and effort and sneaking around on your part, but you managed to find a way to escape from Aemond Targaryen, though not without consequences. Your belly was growing only larger with every new moon, and your babe was starting to shift around more. At most times, you could feel the fluttering sensation across the bottom of your tummy, and every now and then, the tiniest kick.

It was adorable, you admitted, and you tried your best to find enjoyment throughout the pregnancy, sometimes wondering at night about who your child would resemble.

Would their looks favor yours? Or would they favor their father, with his Valyrian features- that iconic silver hair and violet eyes. The latter worried you the most. How could you even begin to explain why your child looked as if they belonged in the Game of Thrones series, specifically in House Targaryen?

Speaking of such, you had not touched House of the Dragon since you arrived back home all those months ago, too unwilling to turn on the tv and see the man whose child you were mysteriously carrying in your womb. It just did not make any sense, it felt more like a weird dream than reality.

But you were dying of boredom. The dragonling (you had taken to nicknaming the baby that, it sounded both cute and appropriate) was stealing away most of your time and energy, and your mother refused to allow you to do anything that could cause harm or add more unnecessary stress.

So you bit your tongue and swallowed down your grumbles and settled comfortably on the couch before opening Fire and Blood.

“Fucking crazy to think that this is a book of your family’s history,” you mumbled to your baby bump, “fictional my ass.”

So you read, to yourself and to your babe. Read about Aegon’s Conquest and the Year of the Three Brides and King Jaehaerys and his Alysanne and their triumphs and tragedies and legacy, and you read until you reached The Dying of the Dragons, the Blacks and the Greens, where you just sighed.

“And when Alicent sent for her second son to fly to Storm’s End, with the purpose of securing Borros Baratheon’s loyalty to Aegon II by winning the hand of one of his daughters, the Four Storms, the truth was finally known. One-eyed Prince Aemond, twenty and one, had taken a wife of his own in secret, a young maiden not of Westeros (according to Mushroom). Yet Prince Aemond lost her a month into their marriage, although by that time he had become so besotted with his bride, to such an extent that he could not bear the thought of living without her or taking another woman as his new wife.

With Prince Aemond refusing his mother’s orders, Queen Alicent had little choice but to send her youngest, Prince Daeron, in his place to Storm’s End. And by the seventh month, Prince Daeron wedded Floris Baratheon, and Prince Aemond One-Eye had reunited with his wife, who was heavy with child by the time he found her.”

You suddenly glance up from the book pages, feeling your heart hammering so hard in your chest that it seems at the end of your throat. On the wall, to your right, hung the calendar which you had taken to use as a means of tracking your pregnancy.

In two weeks, you’ll be at your seventh-month mark.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x modern!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond smut #dark aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd aemond #vic writes 🧸

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 1 year

Text

Dark!Aemond Targaryen: Size Difference

Pairing: Dark Aemond Targaryen x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

WARNINGS: Short reader; Non-con; Forced Breeding; Forced Pregnancy.

AN: I got inspired to write this out of nowhere. Please, reblog and give me feedback.

Aemond is absolutely infatuated with the way he towers over you. How the top of your head is barely able to reach his shoulder. How small and powerless you appear next to him.

It fills him with flaming desire and possessiveness to see your small delicate figure next to his robust one. The things he could do to you, if only you were married already.

He never skips the chance to ask your hand for one (or too many) dances, admiring the way his large hand envelopes your smaller one entirely and he can’t stop imagining how one single hand of his could cover your entire breast. The way you have to tilt your head upwards to be able to face him.

The fact that he’s enamored by you isn’t missed by the court. Rumors and gossip of the young and fierce prince having fallen for you. Your parent’s are overjoyed when a marriage proposal comes for you and even though you're not certain about Aemond, you bow your head and accept your duty.

Once you’re officially betrothed, Aemon will be much less careful when it comes to letting you know about his obsession for you. He’s always around you, continuously requesting your presence in the library to spend time together or summoning you for some supper together.

His hand will linger around the small of your back for more time than appropriate as he guides you through the extensive gardens for a morning walk. His hands enveloping your neck as he presents you with a diamond necklace.

If it’s a social event, Aemond will remain fixed by your side, a cold expression on his face as people approach you to speak. He doesn’t allow any man to ask your hand to dance, his eye squinting with annoyance if they dare to talk to you.

Aemond swears that the day of your wedding is the most marvelous day he’s lived. Even though you hold a solemn expression, Aemond still adoringly gazes at you, your delicate figure on the gorgeous white dress making his cock painfully ache for you.

That night, he’ll let out all of the filthy fantasies he’s been dreaming about.

As soon as you get to your private chambers, Aemond is quick to rip you out of the dress, shocking you to say the least. He swallows all of your protests with an intense kiss, easily holding you down on the bed with his hands intertwining your own on each side of your head.

It’s a struggle to fit his wide cock inside your tiny pussy and your wails of pain are more than enough to prove that, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

You’re so tight around his cock that Aemond can’t pull away from you. He fucks you with rough thrusts that make the bed quiver, his hips continuously hitting you with immense force, causing shaken wails from you.

He forgets about your pain, focusing on his own pleasure as he keeps thrusting you with long, deep strokes. His face close to your tear stained one, features contorted by pain as your new husband doesn’t seem to stop any time soon.

Aemond is restless, fucking you several times over the course of the night, even though you’re sore and tired. You’re not strong enough to stop him and he won’t cave in. He fills you over and over again until he’s sure you’ve taken his seed, his babe growing inside you.

In the morning, the maids are surprised to find you in a miserable state, dark bags and red eyes with the bed in a complete mess. But the way your inner thighs are covered in Aemond’s cum is more than enough to say everything.

Needless to say that your wedding night won’t be the last, Aemond’s insatiable when it comes to having you. He can easily bend you down, forcing you into any position he wants as you’re no match for him. He peppers you in kisses, muttering sweet words as he fucks you desperately.

Soon, you’re with child and Aemond is more in love with you than ever. It’s a dream for him, seeing you getting so big and fragile with his child growing inside you. That’s something he intends to keep doing for as long as you can give him babes.

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ladythornofrivia · 2 months

Text

Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part One)

word count: 2,733

author’s note: i’m sorry that i didn’t post much stories, as I’ve been reblogging and changing themes in my profile. i’m trying my best, but I’ll make up for it.

warnings: incest, cockwarming, teasing, sucking, p in v, rough play, flirting, wholesome moment, jealous aemond, possessive, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, second hand embarrassment, dark content, mentions of su*cide, Aemond being too touchy with his aunt, degradation, humiliation.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts).

There hasn’t been a day that you never left your homeland. All in prosperity. All in solitude, all in mindful thoughts that even the castle walls were unable to perceive. Oldtown is known for the oldest kingdom within Westeros.

We light the way, those are the words from House Hightower, a tall, silver tower with a green light of flames atop. Members of the Hightower court are known to be proud and resilience. Perhaps too greedy to your taste. Less fickle to their needs, their desires, their secrets, their ambition.

All minds think alike, as they said. But your mind is unalike from theirs.

There hasn’t been a single day where your life change—steady as it goes. But when your older sister, Alicent, sent a letter to you from a raven fled from miles, you instantly ripped the seal and unveiled her letters, written in neat cursive. In the days where you can recall that Alicent taught you to read and write, before accompanying your father, Otto Hightower, to aid the ailing king and his throne.

In King’s Landing, where Aegon has set and had trees felled after his conquest in Westeros. The stories of dragonlords and ladies has caught you into a slighted dot of peculiarity. But with your father, you knew that your father wanted more than being as the Hand of the King. Like any folk in Oldtown, he’s all in the same cloak of mind and heart as the rest. The only difference is he has resided in King’s Landing with the Targaryens, warming the throne with Alicent’s political stead.

With you, as Alicent’s half-sister, one thing you adored about her is her resilience, no matter how the power struggle may have been, Alicent held her head high, it inspired you to do the same cause, not for the greater good, but for you to steady your heart. With Alicent’s brown eyes, anyone would be easily swayed at her beauty. With your eyes like glowing water, the subjects were to assume that you’re either a sea creature in the ocean, or have been reincarnated as a woman. Common folks assumed that you’re a goddess sent by Maiden herself. But others theorized you’re born in the sacred pond within the forest.

Despite the nonsensical rumors, you carried out your duties dulled within life, but with your brother, Gwayne Hightower, entered in your chambers without a warning.

“Sister!”

“Good heavens, you gave me a fright,” you screeched, hand clutching over your chest.

“A word from the raven,” he resumed, pulling out the letter. “It’s from our dear sister.”

She hasn’t written you a letter for months. Understanding of her high authoritative position, thankfully enough you aren’t the queen. You couldn’t bear to think about gifting children into the world from your maidenhood.

“Alicent!” Departing from the chair, you snatched the letter from Gwayne’s hand and ripped the letter open, straightening the scrolled paper.

My dearest sister,

I regret to inform you that I cannot visit in the Oldtown due to personal circumstances that our father has been trifled with the matters in King’s Landing. As queen, I must fully prioritize my duties and smite the inconsiderate undutiful thought of others. My dear husband, King Viserys, has been unwell as of late, growing slower day by day, but still the same man who loves his histories and shed upon endless favoritism on his daughter and her plain-featured sons, as well his miniatures he rarely finished. As of this moment, we are preparing the feast for the upcoming celebration. Misery and dread and politics has been my company, and I’d be happy if you come to King’s Landing and stay here for more than a month. I also send Gwayne and his men to escort you back. I hope you still have the new dresses and jewels the seamstress sorted to your taste; I always know that you hated attire that itched your flesh or suffocating. Words cannot expressed about how I miss the sweetness of your smile and laughter. We shall meet soon.

Signed,

Alicent Hightower

Jumping with joy, your body lunged at Gwayne, locking him into a tight hug, slightly hopping in place with a big grin stretched onto your lips.

“Have my things ready, brother,” you said, hasting, forgetting about the silks and fabrics in your hands.

“But you need more time. You’ll stay in King’s Landing as our queenly sister instructed.”

“Send the maids, then. I can’t do this alone.”

“You mustn’t make haste!” Gwayne shouted as you ran off, never minding the silks on the ground only for him to pick up.

“The sooner the better,” you shouted back.

~~~

The trailed ship took no more than three days to reach King’s Landing. Alicent hasn’t mentioned anything particular to the celebration. But you have come to acknowledge that Alicent lessened the details.

By the time the ships rested at the shore, you rushed down to the clear path and greeted your father, who was rather cold and emotionless. Nevertheless, you gave the courtesy of shallow inclination of your neck bent down. Though your heart shattered at the motionless greeting; a chilled wind spiraled on your thickened sleeves.

“Father,” you said, grinning ear to ear.

“Queen Alicent awaits,” is all he said, then left without abiding on you.

“But—”

“Ser Gwayne, escort this lady in the Red Keep,” he wasn’t saying it with care.

This lady.

Months without communication and souvenirs, you’d ought it’ll soften your father’s resolve regarding onto the estrangement.

Another clash of heartbreak has struck again. But it comes as no surprise.

Both of you hadn’t spoke since of his second wife—your mother’s—passing.

As numb as it may be, the small pang in your heart resolved again as Gwayne Hightower escorted you to the high steeps close, reaching the royal grounds of Red Keep.

~~~

Infiltrating from climbing the steps until reaching the indoors, the green queen appeared.

Your sister.

“Alicent,” you rushed and clung her to embrace.

“Sister, how good of you to come,” Alicent replied.

The halls greeted you in cold and dreaded air clinging onto your sleeves, goosebumps flooded over your skin, the thick air of candles and torches has impaled your stomach. You didn’t like this feeling. These halls, darkened in heralds of statues and stars that your pupils recognizant.

Faith of the Seven.

Hightowers held their religion in the highest regard, while you, don’t cherish the ideologies of the religion, filled with fanaticism and hypocrisy. Even Targaryens have the queerest customs, of marrying brother to sister, relative to relative since Aegon I. It dire consequences of genetics and birth, and the fruition of a child birth into an unshakable world of politics and desires. According to the Citadel, in secret debate, those who are born of incest are nothing but sort of monsters lurking, a defect to a bloodline.

The Targaryens disagree—couldn’t care less, of course. As you often heard of keeping the bloodline pure.

Bloodline pure. People speculated that the Targaryens are closer to gods than men. Thus their words ‘Fire and Blood’ is in order. In Valyria, their source is magic and dragons, long before volcanic eruptions swept the lands and dragons into ashes. The last Targaryens resided in Westeros, and thus, their last kind is dwindling, hence creating pure bloodline. As theatrically hysterical as it is, you trudged along the halls.

“It has been so long since I saw you last,” Alicent began.

“It has, but we rarely sent letters as of late.”

“Being a queen is no simple task. Our father’s ambition has gotten stronger.”

“Your father,” you said bitterly.

“My dear sister,” Alicent resumed, her voice soothed. “Father is doing his best to stabilize the realm.”

“Cold, cruel and calculated,” you answered. “Your strength and dutiful as queen is one of the things I admire about you. But, sister, it feels as if my existence is no longer needed. I feel as if I’m useless. My mother received no love from your father.”

The doe-eyed look in Alicent’s eyes protruding. “Sister, I—“”

“Half-sisters,” you reminded. “Everyone thought I was some sort of creature that shouldn’t belong in the realm. I’m no fool; I could hear everyone whisper, even closed doors.”

“Creature or not, you’re still a Hightower. We share the same blood. Nothing will ever change between you and I.”

“But your father will never accept me,” you replied.

Alicent clasped her hands onto yours. “The next time we see each other, I’ll be visiting the Oldtown.”

“You said that the last time on our previous letters,” you chimed. “Let him stabilize the realm alone.”

“That is why you’re here. I needed time apart from the council and subjects,” Alicent reasoned. “Men are often ambitious with their politics and trifling over gold than their wives.”

“It appears so,” you agreed, huffing.

Ironically, Alicent served men, and still is. First Jahaerys, then Otto, then Viserys. Though you wouldn’t so recklessly give your personal opinion away to Alicent.

“We have yet to explore the grounds. We must rest at the gardens. I know how much you love staying in the gardens.”

Your cheeky smile was showing. “I do.”

Alicent squeezed your hand. “Let us be off. It’s considered bad luck if we let our food grow cold.”

“Never knew that it involves bad luck.”

“I’ve been told.”

“By who?”

Not once, Alicent answered.

~~~

“Make yourself comfortable,” Alicent said, indicating the spare chair, and watched you sat with ease, eyeing the lavish outdoors where the Weirwood stood as main view.

“Quite nice out,” you complimented.

This was Alicent meant when she said gardens.

“I chose this spot for a reason,” Alicent said as the servants settled the meal over the table—bowed and left. And the last servant entered, placing a stacked candied almonds and candied plums on a gold platter, alongside of Dornish wine.

Alicent watched your eyes lit up.

“I took the liberty of having the kitchen staff ready for your sweet-tooth,” she clarified.

“You know me well, sister.” You grinned.

“My lady,” a soothing masculine voice said behind you.

“Ser Criston,” Alicent addressed, glancing. “I’m occupied as of this moment.”

“There has been urgent matters regarding to your son.”

Puzzled, Alicent spoke with, “Which son?”

Appalled, your eyes darted at her. On the other hand, you never retain information from Alicent.

“Aegon,” Criston answered, eyes turning away. “I’m afraid his excursions have rather been…” Then his dark brown eyes flicked to yours, his mouth opened, choosing his words carefully.

“We’ll speak no more of it,” Alicent pleaded. “I’m under the liberty of entertaining my sister at the moment. Do ignore Aegon’s excursions for now.”

Somewhere in between the lines, you knew Alicent’s calm demeanor struck hard when the excursions take place, wrath kept within, as you read between Alicent’s lines furrowed on her forehead. Ser Criston glimpsed at you and bowed before withdrawing from the outdoors.

“My apologies,” Alicent said to you in a dreaded voice. “The excursions in the daylight hour upon King’s Landing hasn’t ended.”

“I never knew you had a son,” you said, munching on the candied almonds.

Alicent swallowed the contents of the food. “I mentioned it once before in the letter. That I was having a babe in my belly.”

You pondered for a moment. It was back when Alicent married Viserys and carried a child in her.

“But you never mentioned that it’s a son,” you commented.

“But I’m sure you heard Aegon’s name the moment he arrived into the world.”

Your teeth clenched. “I can assure you I did.” The Oldtown spoke of Aegon in high regards, but as you grew older, you never hear much of Aegon’s doings, hoping to meet your nephew, you waited, but as usual, you sister never once sent letters to offer you an invite.

“Things have been hectic for the past years, and I doubt that’ll cease. With the Iron Throne empty and with all that it stands, we’re keeping the place intact with politics and debate,” Alicent reasoned.

You stayed in silence.

“If you would like,” Alicent continued, “I would be happy to take you to the gallery. The Red Keep has been nothing but a dread. I shall escort you and give you a tour to the Red Keep unless you want someone else to—”

“No, I’d be thrilled if you were to accompany me,” you paused, then said, “sister.”

Alicent gently beamed at that.

~~~

When you and Alicent both went inside the Red Keep, the royal subjects and guards bowed before the green queen as their eyes lingered onto yours, and an incoherent of whispers were passed to your ears.

The sister of the green queen.

And as you ascended the staircases, from there, you saw the shaded eyes of violet and curled hair—a young girl, a few years younger than you.

“Mother, have you seen my—” The girl’s youthful stare darted to yours, backing away gradually.

“This is my sister, (y/n), your aunt,” Alicent introduced. “This is Princess Helaena, my daughter,” Alicent said to you.

“A pleasure.” As you made an inclination to your neck, smiling to the princess as you hadn’t realized that the others accompanied none other by two young men behind Helaena, both with Targaryen features.

Your heart stopped—leapt with warmth—when you first glanced at the tall prince with gold, lithe hair as his other eye covered with eyepatch.

“These are my other sons…” Alicent said, searching for the third son with a slight frown on her features. “Where is Aegon?”

“Drunk as usual,” Daeron rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.

“That blasted fool…” Alicent hissed, then smiled merrily in a way to appease herself. “I hope you and Lady (y/n) would get along.”

“Yes, I remember now! You’re that boy—that cupbearer in the council!” you said to Daeron.

Daeron beamed. “I am proud to serve my mother’s family in Oldtown. Ashamed we never met circumstances in the Reach, yet here we are!” he chuckled. “For my dear father’s name day contained in private ceremony, I’m glad you came.”

You sensed the sarcasm in the word “father”, but shrugged it off.

The dread of unwanted unwelcome washed away with glee. “Indeed. I shall look forward to the festivities.”

Aemond lifted and placed his kiss upon the back of your hand. A kiss placed with gentle fire ignited your dulled soul, envision with flames of blush blaring your dewy cheeks. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

Breath caught in your throat, eyeing on his hand still lingering his intertwine fingers to your skin. “Likewise, my prince…”

For the first time in your life, the gentleness of a dragon has captured your heart and soul.

As for Aemond, with the slighted news of your presence, there’s nothing more than mere maiden who needs to be soiled with his perversions trapped and coiled and enflamed in between his legs. When he first laid his gaze on you, he pictured your flushed skin wrapped with his own, his lips captured yours as his presence trapped into your mind for eternity. But alas, with a wandering thought just now, it wasn’t like him. He mustn’t be capricious and avarice on the spot.

With your grand arrival, Aemond had already decided you’ll become his.

One day at the time, he reminded himself.

“It’s unusual for you to be courteous to someone,” Alicent commented.

“I never wish to scare anyone with my presence, mother,” Aemond said. “It is my duty as a prince to make our special guest comfortable.”

A hot tingle between your legs stirred as you eyed on him—on his lips—how rolled off words with his tongue, finding yourself imagining at the thought of your nephew tasting your folds as you ride him, warming the bed—riding him whilst lace and corset of your precious dress torn apart by his own rugged and young hands.

“He’s only being courteous like Prince Daeron,” you noted, clearing your throat. “Everyone must fulfill their role to the realm. We mustn’t decay our customs to rudeness.”

Aemond’s eye gleamed at your flushing features whilst you looked at Alicent in the eye, you speak with assurance yet your body wavered, dying for your hungered coil in you—the scorch caged within your dress to be set free.

You cannot fool me, my princess, he thought.

In the end, nobody can fool a dragon like him.

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barbieaemond · 5 months

Text

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!! 💕

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flowerandblood · 4 months

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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.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Alys Rivers Moodboard

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gulnarsultan · 9 months

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When Aemond enters the room anxiously, he realizes that his wife is gone. The jewelry and clothes that his wife brought from her own house are not there. He sees the letter on the bed. He opens the letter and begins to read.

My husband Aemond.

By the time you read this letter, I will be far away. We may not have wanted this marriage, but we could have created a relationship based on respect and friendship between us. But you made it very clear to me that you don't want me. Actually, I never thought of disrespecting both my home and yours by running away like this. The nasty words you said to me yesterday about your sister were the last straw. From now on, you can spend as much time with your sister as you want as husband and wife. I, whom you see as an obstacle between you, will not be here again. I am not angry with you. All the blame was on my own family. After all, they were the ones who wanted me to marry a man who wouldn't appreciate me. Tell Queen Alicente that I am very sorry and apologize to her. By the way, I want you to know that I am pregnant. You don't need to worry. You won't have to take care of me and my child. I will start a new life for myself with my child. I bid you and your family farewell. I hope you live the happy life you want with your sister. Farewell. Your wife, Lady Targaryen."

After Aemond had read the letter, he had broken everything in the room. He's been a disgusting husband to you as long as you've been married for two months. But when he lost you, he realized how much he needed you. That night, Aemond swore to bring you back and correct his mistake.

#house of the dragon #yandere house of the dragon #yandere hotd #yandere aemond targaryen #yandere aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #prince aemond #house of the dragon aemond #dark aemond targaryen #dark aemond x reader

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sepherinaspoppies · 5 months

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whatever may come - dark! aemond targaryen x servant reader

summary: aemond punishes his maidservant after catching her talking to a stableboy. he, however, will not recognize the consequences to his actions later on.

warnings: 18+, MDNI, noncon, dubcon, oral m receiving, cum play?, p in v sex, rough sex, possessiveness, degradation. I think that's it?

wc: 2,700

series masterlist

my masterlist

notes: lol this was inspired by a tiktok edit?? anyways I think this is dark? I apologize if this sounds like crap, I ruined my sleep schedule for this?? haha

byka līve: little whore

She silenced her whimpers to the best of her ability, her lower lip caught between her teeth so tightly that she could taste the metallic drops of her blood as the man above her painfully gripped the very roots of her hair jerking her trembling body away from his lap to the stone cold floor.

She looked up through her eyelashes as she watched him correct her posture to his liking like a mere doll, the same ones she would watch him play with in the privacy of his sister’s chambers whenever she did her maid duties.

After he had settled her into her knees, she immediately let out a sigh of relief as that burn waved itself away to solace. She continued to look at him, back and forth between his lone violet eye and his sparkling sapphire that only seemed to strangely glow whenever she was present. His expression was unreadable from the previous austere one where moments ago he remorselessly and brutally, to be quite clear, hit multiple blows against her bottom, making her count each and every single one without tears in her eyes. She never knew how to count, but Aemond made sure to teach her with each hit upwards to twenty.

She knew Aemond was angry and he had every right to be. Earlier on the day as he was training with his mother’s knight, Criston Cole, out in the outer yard when he spotted his favorite maidservant blushing and laughing with a plainly featured stableboy as his dirty little fingers swept back a piece of loose hair out of her face.

Never once did Aemond ever see his maidservant smile that brightly before much less directed towards him. And she had no reason to whatsoever. His presence did not bring her joy or an ounce of merriment, it was much the opposite of that. So why did Aemond believe that he deserved a little smile when all he ever did was defile, break and use her all whilst making her cry in the end?

There was only one reason a low born male like him smiled that way and Aemond shunned those ill fitting thoughts out of his mind for he did not want to think of another man touching his maidservant.

She was his and his only, no one else’s. And she’d do well to remember that.

“Undress me, byka līve” Aemond demands, speaking the last two phrases in his ancestral language. Never knowing what they meant, if they were expressed appreciatively or aimed in an appraising matter.

Deep down she had an inkling that they were not.

She blinked, hesitantly bringing herself up from the floor. Just as she began to unfasten his black leather doublet, her hair was tugged yet again before her knees were bent back down against the stone.

She winced, carefully not to make any sound.

“No, byka līve, not there. Here—” His fingers threaded her hair more tightly, pressing her face flat against his pelvis. She could feel the swellness of his cock across her face, where the base of his manhood started nudging at the bottom of her chin and where the pulsating tip pressed a little above her eyes.

But what astonished her the most was the small wet patch that amplified the smell of his sex. Surely, this was not what she thought it was.

There was only one way to find out.

The one eyed prince released his tight grip on the roots of her hair. She wondered that by the end of the night, after he was done with her if there would be any hair left. Her hair was the only thing she liked about her appearance, the smooth texture with hidden silver highlights.

“Look at me while you undress me”

With a shaky breath, she nodded as her hands moved to unlace his breeches, tugging down just below where his stones ended until the garment pooled at his feet. A part of her felt grateful it was him she was looking and not his throbbing parts.

Aemond was determined to peak again, seeing his red faced maidservant so obedient and frightened before him. It almost made him want to reward her with either his fingers or tongue or mayhaps both.

But she wasn’t here for a reward. She was unbefitting for such a thing. It was because of her whore like behavior akin to the sordid ones in the Silk of Street that filthy stableboy had his eyes already set on her.

And he can not have that happening.

Without further warning, she feels two of his fingers ruthlessly being shoved at the back of her throat. He gives her no time to settle what he was doing to her as his long digits begin to pump in and out of her at an outrageous pace that involuntarily makes her eyes produce tears.

Above her, she hears her prince hum with a dark look in his eye that sends shivers down her spine. She shouldn’t be enjoying this, it was wrong. This act, along with the various ones from previous nights and mayhaps the forthcoming ones, were suitable for a married woman and her husband. Not a prince and his maidservant. She stood to gain nothing from this.

“This mouth is mine” Aemond breathlessly whispered as his fingers curled in a come hither motion, her lips kissing his knuckles. At his words, she lets out a series of sobs loud enough for Aemond to tug her head back in distaste.

“What? Do you have something to say in the matter? Do you not think you belong to me?”

She shut her eyes, flinching at the sonority of his voice, thinking by doing that he would go away dissatisfied and search for someone to take her place.

But her silence only seemed to anger him more.

“Fucking answer me, byka līve!” he yells close to her ear.

For the first time since her counting, she spoke with a shaking voice. “Y-y-yes, Your Grace”

“Yes what? Hmm?”

She gasps and opens her eyes feeling her prince’s fingers twist and pinch her covered hard nipple, “I’m- I’m yours, my prince”

“You don’t sound so convinced that you are, byka līve” he licks his lips before tutting. Such a sound made her feel alarmed and more frightened. “Do I need to remind you, again?” Aemond asks, bringing his hand to his manhood.

As familiarized as she was with his nakedness, she could not help to invite herself to look at all of him. Centimeters close to her face, stood his very erect cock, thick and heavy as she saw last, skin pulled back to reveal his needy red tip with mix remnants of arousal and spend.

It brought her shame and disgust the way her core seemed to long and yearn for the fullness he brought upon her.

Aemond, frustrated in her lack of words, taps the tip of his cock on her bottom lip before he shoves his way into her warm mouth. He could feel his maidservant whine uncomfortably from only taking half of him. Fucking weak whore. Aemond cursed to himself. He knew she could take more, she had done so before.

“Fuck”

Her chest heaves rapidly trying to keep her air supply to the best she can and opening her mouth wider to make it easier for her to suit his thickness since it had been a while since his cock rested around her lips. Her prince, as of late, preferred to be inside her walls in all the hours of the day and night. In that order.

Once the one eyed prince was certain her mouth had accommodated his size, he took no more time yanking her head down sheathing every inch to the back of her throat, sighing in pleasure.

The vibrations of her whimpers spurred Aemond on as his hips started to thrust in and out of her lips, slowly at first to enjoy the soft ridges that her throat had to offer and her tongue. Seven Hells, her tongue instinctively raising up whenever his tip rested there for a second, making him forget the reason why he was doing this in the first place. Her punishment.

“Are–you…fuck– starting to fucking remember who you b-belong to, byka līve? Hmm?” Aemond asked, wrapping his hand around her throat to feel the bulge of his cock sliding in and out.

“Y-yes” she forces out through the tightness of her throat, trails of drool escaping the corners of her mouth. Aemond darkly laughs and moans at her response as his hips hasten their speed, chasing his nearing peak.

“Good girl” he coos, his eye looking down at her flushed face. “My good sweet girl” —thrust— “I’m going to cum on your face” (a/n: listen to this tiktok if you want to hear him say it lol xD okay byeee)

She has no time to react as she feels hot ropes of his seed spurting all across her face. From her eyes to her cheeks and lips she feels it all.

She hears her prince groan, as he pumps his cock faster feeling his second release coming again.

And this time she knew to tilt her away to not get any more on her eyes or her hair. She heard stories from other maids that a man’s seed would knot into hair, making it impossible to get rid of. She didn’t know if it was true or not but she did not want to take her chances.

“Just as I was beginning to think to reward you” He hissed, pulling her to stand. She whimpers, her head hot and spinning from getting up too fast.

The raged prince spins his maidservant around, using the dagger Cole gifted him for his fourteenth nameday to rip through her night shift right below the dimples of her arse. The temperature of his chambers, which wasn’t too cold nor warm, caused the little hairs around on her body to raise.

She tried to cover her bareness with her hands, whatever could fit on her palms. Since the beginning of their coupling, Aemond commanded her that she was to keep her shift on, only slightly raised to her hips. Not that she had any complaints, but it made her truly wonder why he’d be bare and not her.

“This” Aemond cups her soaked mound, “Cunt is mine. Mine only to fuck and to do whatever I please. It’s not some filthy– dolt stableboy’s” He growls next to her.

She parts open her lips at the realization that he was the heated gaze she felt on her back when she was discussing with Linus at the outer yard. She should have known her prince would be there training every morning like he always was. But it must have slipped her mind somehow.

Aemond scowls, “I saw you, byka līve. Saw you speaking to him and letting him touch you. Saw him leave your room”

She doesn’t get the chance to reply; to tell him that what he saw was not what it looked like. But her tongue was caught between her teeth before he roughly drags her body to slightly bend her over by his dressing mirror, giving himself a few vigorous pumps as he watches his proud work dripping on his pretty maidservant’s face.

“Please, my prince. It isn’t…oh!” Feeling him enter in one sharp thrust deep, she gasps at the sudden fullness. There wasn’t any part of her that was empty, her cunt felt so deliciously stuffed to the brim.

“It isn’t what? Are you telling me that my eye deceived me?” He asks in a strain voice, trying to hold his authority over her whilst controlling his sounds of pleasure. “Did I or did I not see you fucking laughing with him or—Seven Hells—letting his dirty little fingers touch you? Must I remind you it is a grave offense to lie to your prince, byka līve?”

White hot pleasure runs deep inside her belly as his thrusts quicken to get an answer from her yet she struggles to keep her composure. “N-no, my prince, Linus came t-t-to meee. He said I had a ladybug on my hair and—” she rolls her head back to rest on his shoulder feeling her peak coming closer and closer. “Said I was pretty b-but, my prince—”

Wanting to hear no more of this, Aemond stopped his movements, much to his dismay, wrapping his hand around her throat so tightly she knew it would bruise like the other times he took her from the same exact position.

“Oh, he called you pretty did he? I wonder what he’ll think now with my spend on your face”

Fear and embarrassment wormed itself to her body. She did not want anyone to see her this way, exposed, bare, and being fucked by the prince of the Queen’s second eldest son. Soon enough when the time came when she was no longer useful to him, she thought about lying to her future husband–if she ever met one worthy of taking her far away from King’s Landing–persuading him she was still pure, not touched by a possessive prince.

“No please, my prince” She protested as Aemond grabbed the small little bell that was used to call in a Kingsguard.

He ignored her pleas not even attempting to hide her nakedness or her pearly white soaked face as Ser Arryk walked into the chamber being instructed to bring Linus from the stables.

“Hush, byka līve” He cooed behind her, repositioning his cock back into her entrance. Any moment longer, he felt like his cock would explode from another release being denied. “Now, I might not let him in but only if you do not hide your sounds”

She nods to the vigorous deep thrusts Aemond sets in, feeling more of her slick dripping down her thighs, aiding to the heavy slapping sound of their sex coming as one. She arched her back against Aemond’s chest, releasing mixes of intense pants and moans, gazing at the way Aemond’s face scrunches from bliss through the mirror.

“Give it to me” Aemond groans, feeling his maidservant’s cunt flutter and clench around him. A sign that her peak was forthcoming. He snakes his hand down to her bud and curses loudly at how wet she was.

She is a whore. Aemond thinks as he circles the bundle of nerves.

At this, she gives Aemond a series of loud cries that she knew would be heard throughout the Keep. And in the morrow the castle would be surrounded with heavy gossip of who the lewd sounds belonged to and who caused them.

“Gods, fuck!”

Aemond smiled through the mirror, fucking her through her peak until he too began to yell out in ecstasy. His seed spilling deep into her womb.

After their breaths settled, two loud knocks followed by the voice of Ser Arryk caused her to look at her prince in panic, hoping he’d dismiss them since she did what he asked her to do.

“Come,” Aemond loudly announced, grabbing a cup of Pentoshi wine from his dinner table, ignoring the sobbing pleas from his maidservant.

She tried to back away, desperately needing to shield herself away but that only caused the silver prince to tut and shake his head as a warning.

The door shut loudly behind Linus as he came into the chambers, slowly and unsure why he was being called into the Prince’s chambers at this hour when he should be sleeping.

“Linus, is it?” Aemond questioned, even though he knew the answer.

Linus averts his gaze from the Prince’s nakedness, and nods. “Y-yes, my prince, if it pleases you”

“Well, Linus. I am in need of your opinion, and I want you to be honest with me. Do you think that she looks glorious—pretty even, with my cum on her face?”

She can not bring herself to look at the red headed man she considered a friend, knowing that the loud silence lingering around confirmed that he did not find her pretty like he had called her, hours ago.

In fact, no one would ever find her pretty now. She was ruined and now a whore, like her mother had been when she too was seduced by a prince.

a/n: if requested ill release two parts of this (one when aemond meets her and another for what happens next lol)

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