Aemond Fanfiction - Blog Posts

Let me

Beautiful. The only word fit to describe the Targaryen’s as a whole. They are viewed if nothing above society. Closer to the gods than men, as many would like to say. Though there is something quite different when it comes to Aemond Targaryen. The man is gorgeous, the most beautiful specimen you’ll ever encounter. There are times where I realize I don’t compare to such beauty or the royal life in general. You see, I have indeed grown from the silence and embarrassment I faced upon arrival. “You are to be wedded, a fine gentleman if I do say so myself. A match meant to bring forth unity for both houses. Securing us many things across Westeros.”

The words that had changed my life, in which I didn’t know at the time would mean for the better or worse. The life of status is quite new to me, from a certain age the idea of being a proper lady had been instilled in my brain. Then, a match as my grandfather believed the gods before us made themselves came along, the prince of House Targaryen wanted a wife. Aemond was the silent type, one couldn’t exactly understand what was going on with him. He was a tough one to figure out, and I was anything but patient except when it came to him. My dragon.

Watching as Aemond stepped into our chambers putting down his sword. He spent majority of his time training, I never blamed him for it, especially since he has started training me secretly. It took a while before I fully convinced him into the idea but with a few tricks up my sleeve if you know what I mean, he was on board. He starts to remove his tunic, leaving him in nothing but a pair of trousers. “It almost feels as if I’ve been waiting for hours, maybe centuries, dear husband.” He looks up so exhausted, it seems his usual high perception was gone. Not taking notice of me sitting up in our bed. He breaks out into a small smile.

That smile, it gives me peace. Anxiety and pain are forgotten, replaced with nothing but thoughts of Aemond. “It seems, you’ve decided to retire quite early to the bed chamber, haven’t you, gevī?” He moves toward the bed, caging me beneath his arms. “Yes, it seems that way. Yet, once I got here there was an absence of one’s presence. A person meant to ensure safety and warmth, but they aren’t in this very bed with me right now. If you would like a little help husband, there is currently no one blonde laying in this bed with me for our usual activities. Know any blondes?” Looking at him with a coy smirk he laughs at my statement.

A laugh only I can pull from him. Gives me a sense of grace, that only I have that power over him. “I would hope the only blonde you need is currently in the room with you. He says grabbing my chin firmly. Pushing him on the bed to sit beside me and whisper, “I would think we have the same person in mind, my dragon”. I grab a hold of his face, “in order to make this easier I would enjoy if you are the most comfortable, so let’s just remove this.” As I reach for his eyepatch, he takes a hold of my hand firmly. The other gripping my waist. “It’s just me husband, no one is here to judge or ridicule you. Even if they were they would have to go through me if they wished to talk about such lies.” I tell him while looking directly at his eyes. “They wouldn’t be lies.” He said quickly.

Grabbing both his hands firmly I place kisses on the inside of each palm. I wish for nothing but him to be his true self with me. To know I love him deeply. “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever witnessed. Any woman should be lucky I even allow them to glance in your direction.” He laughs again, though this time it’s a full belly laugh. Coming straight from the depths of his throat. “You allow them, is that it little wife.” I start to place kisses all over his eye and then I remove the patch, this time he doesn’t stop me. Simply sits there basking in the glory. I grab my special tools. Whisking a brush hidden behind my back, slowly but surely start to smooth out the tangles and knots in his hair.

He finally takes notice of my appearance, a think silk nightgown. Leaving almost nothing to the imagination. For the right person, of course. He smiled holding me closely and placed a kiss on my shoulder blade. “I love you both.” I stop moving the brush, running my hands through his hair. Feels of silk. Glancing down to look at my growing belly and then back at him. Realizing this is paradise. Pulling him even closer, “I love you both as well, my love.”

literally, it’s so frustrating cause it’s already rare to find a oc who is black in the hotd or got universe so for people to put the velaryon!oc when they are pale or a bastard is just annoying asf

BLACK HOTD FANS

So as someone who loves to write and read(and my writing being ass) I was wondering and putting this off for a while if y’all want me to continue to write for Aemond and/ or start writing for any other characters?

And to my black authors writing for HOTD I love and appreciate y’all so much, like as a black girl who grew up loving fantasy and not seeing girls who look like me I love y’all so much and this makes me so happy seeing us being written in this genre. 🤎

Ps. For is this comes across any other side of the HOTD fandom STOP CALLING YALL OCS VELARYON IF THEY AREN’T DAEMON AND LAENA CHILDREN OR RHAENYRA AND LAENOR CHILDREN!!!

— Thanks Management 🤎

this is my babygirl

did he kill people? yes

do I care? absolutely not, everyone makes mistakes 🤞🏻

Finally A Targaryen

summary | The nature of your marriage with Aemond is shaken when you are caught kissing the gardener.

pairing | modern!aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI!, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, semi-arranged marriage, neglected wife, infidelity (it's one kiss lol), reader's into sweaty guys ?, jealousy, possessive aem, mention of drug use

wordcount | 3.3k

note | whoever can guess which satc episode this is based on gets a cookie and a kiss on the forehead... <3

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The cicadas buzzed in the late midsummer haze, holding your hand as you wandered the gardens of Dragonstone Manor all alone. Your husband was on the tennis court with his brothers, as he always was most afternoons you’ve spent in his family home. Not that he cared much for what you busied yourself with, but you were sure to face the disapproving sharpness in his eye when he found out you were once again missing from the aperitif his mother was having on the veranda with the other ladies. Alicent was sweet, but gods, you couldn’t stand sitting through another bout of her re-telling of Targaryen history despite being married into the dragon’s den herself. You have heard more than enough of dragon lore, medieval inbreeding, and the many Aegons, including the current one who snuck bumps of snow before each family meal to keep his sanity. If you were any less careful, you would’ve given in to his invitation long ago and huddled next to him in the powder room sink for a line.

These people were rich, that was to be sure, of insurmountable wealth well before democracy had even been established. Your family, on the other hand, was new money. Your father had struck gold when he made his way up the corporate ladder of his real estate firm in his tenure, making himself top dog with a key to a 12th-floor office and another to the secret world of the rich.

It was how you met Aemond. 

Walking through the step stones across the manicured gardens, you couldn’t help but sigh at the memory of your life before him. He had been so sweet at first, lovely enough that you couldn’t deny the inevitable push of fate into his arms. What a fool you had been, too starry-eyed over that unmistakable silver hair and the smooth timbre of his voice to realize it was not fate at all but the expert machinations of Otto Hightower and his desire to add your father’s firm to Valyria Corp.’s extensive belt of partners. Your friends warned you a million times— the perfect man didn’t exist. Your heart used to beat a little faster with every man who held the slightest potential of being the one, thinking him perfect until he wasn’t. Now your husband, he was just… there. Courteous enough to see you well taken care of but out of your reach when it really mattered. 

Love was a fallacy in this world. Who needs love when you can have so much more with enough power and money? Loyalty was an even bigger farce. Marriage simply served as a means for business, you’ve seen it now. It was no wonder why Helaena seemed to be more than happy to be without her husband, Cregan, on this summer getaway. Wolves don’t do well in the southern sun, she simply said when you asked about him, apparently stuck to his father’s firm in his hometown of Winterfell. Aegon and his wife, Mirella Lannister, were no image of a devoted marriage either, both were consistently caught with other big names by the press. They seemed to get along well, however, if the loud thumping from down the hall nightly was anything to go by.

Heavily occupied in your thoughts, you reached the edge of the multi-acre plot without realizing it. The estate overlooked a quiet river on the back end, though surrounded by an impressive topiary for privacy, with rose bushes littered all around. There was always something to work on in Dragonstone, always a leaf out of shape for the gardeners to trim and keep them busy. 

One of them took care of the roses. Young, strawberry-blond curls, and a well-built physique that glimmered with sweat under the blistering sun. Danny, you heard them call him. He was pretty, not in the sleek, highly tailored way that Aemond was, but his rugged edges held a charm that made any simple girl blush. You’d seen him throughout your stay, always so diligent at work in the gardens every time you spotted him on your walks. He would greet you with a respectful, dimpled smile as he asked about your day, and it would take effort to keep your composure as he wiped the sweat off his brow with the edge of his shirt.

There was no harm in it. You were simply… admiring. Just because you were now a married woman didn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate a fine-looking man when you saw him, it was objective. His arms were nicely rounded with definition, as was his back, muscles ripping beneath his damp tank. You wondered what else those hands could do, perhaps he could plow something else, something left neglected and wanting…

“Afternoon, ma’am.”

You jumped at the sudden low tone, finding yourself unknowingly staring like an idiot. Danny leaned his weight on his shovel, a crooked smile on his sweaty face that made something flutter deep within you.

“Hi,” you greeted awkwardly, cheeks warming up like a sudden heat wave had blazed the area. 

“All on your own again, ma’am?” he queried, naturally resuming his work while giving you his attention. You tried to play it cool by leaning on the tree right by him, though fidgeting with the sparkling stone on your ring finger. Shit, he wasn’t catching onto you, is he? What an embarrassment that would be, the boss’ new wife sneaking around for the gardener’s attention.

“Yes, just needed some air,” you responded as casually as you could, and Danny nodded in understanding. 

“That house can get stuffy, doesn’t it? As big as it is, nobody ever wants to stay there for long,” he said, slightly panting as he worked on the soil. Closer than you had been, you could smell him from where you stood. He had such an intoxicating scent about him, a mixture of sweat, musk, and something else you couldn’t put your finger on. It made you dizzy with a newfound heat. You wanted more of it. You wanted a taste of the salty tang of his sweat on your tongue against his hot skin.

What were you doing? You’re married! Okay, perhaps your sex life had become a little pedantic compared to when you were still on the market, but you had made a vow!

“I’m still getting to know my way around it, I’ll admit,” you chuckled. Danny’s smile widened at the sound, grabbing his shears to snip off a blooming rose and offering you a stem. “Oh! How pretty,” you smiled up at him, pressing the soft petals to your nose to inhale the sweet scent. 

“Forgive me, madam, for being too forward, but this doesn’t seem like your type of crowd,” he said, taking a bold step closer. Your brows slightly dipped in confusion, head tilting in question.

“What makes you say that?” you asked.

“You’re not like the rest of them rich folks. To anyone else, I’d be invisible.”

You looked up at Danny, words lost on your lips. You weren’t so different from him, both outsiders in the impenetrable world of the elite. The transition had not been so easy, not with a husband who felt like a stranger and a family who barely tolerated each other. It all overwhelmed you, and to be seen by a man like Danny…

You didn’t know what had gotten into you, but the next thing you knew, you were grabbing the collar of his shirt and smashing your lips against his from the overwhelming blossom in your tummy. He tasted salty and sweet, of hard work and grit. You were hungry, as was he, tongues dancing and gliding as he pressed you against the aged oak. 

Dinner was long, and cocktail hour even longer. Aegon and Aemond were bickering about who won the last round of tennis, despite the youngest Daeron keeping score. You were nursing a pinot grigio as the conversation shifted to circle around the events of everyone else’s afternoon— Helaena and her new cradle of newly hatched creepy crawlies, Alicent’s ever growing ire with the new neighbors and the scandal they brought with them. The lady of the house seemed to know everything, from the happenings in the staff room to beyond the vines crawling to the next house over. What went around this place came back around the sitting room. The dry sweetness of the wine coated your tingue with every sip as you listened on quietly, mind still stuck in the gardens, under the grand oak with a certain warm blonde. Your lips still carried the salt of his sweat, despite the rich lamb you had for supper. It was sinful, a taste of another man on your tongue while your husband sat on the opposite end of the couch.

“I’ve had quite the day myself,” Mirella spoke up, sharp blue eyes sweeping across the room. “I took a nice long swim in the morning, then I took a walk in the gardens in the afternoon—”

“Went hunting for your next feed?” Aemond snickered, earning a sarcastic smile from the lioness.

“Mh, yes, and after that I saw your lovely little wife kissing the gardener!” 

The heat rushed to your face at once, eyes widening as Mirella’s jaw dropped in mock surprise. You ducked your head in utter humiliation, awaiting the flurry of gasps of disbelief coming your way. It was silent, which seemed to be worse. The only sound was the chiming of the grand clock at the turn of the hour, broken by the sudden shrill of Aegon’s cackle.

You looked up at your in-law’s faces, finding little shock in their features but rather amusement, especially so from your husband’s mother. Though you didn’t dare to look in your husband’s direction, who suddenly turned rigid at the news. 

“Well, my dear, you are now finally a Targaryen,” she quipped, surprisingly nonchalant as she lifted her glass to be topped up. Your eyes flickered to Criston Cole, her closest personnel, who poured her wine in a flash, and everything started to click.

It was bizarre. Publicly outed in front of your in-laws yet met with no repercussions. In fact, it seemed you were now more welcome after such news. It should please you, make you feel closer to your new family, but Aemond was now colder than ever. When he was once mindful of getting you drinks at cocktail hour, or making sure you were pleased with the garden access you had from the room you were staying in, he now actively avoided being alone with you. He indulged his brother in staying well past the appropriate hour and drank, sneaking back to your shared room only when you were asleep. It made things harder when neither one of you wanted to move into one of the spare rooms lest they wished to face his mother’s incessant prodding, the tail end of your summer turned into a sudden dance around not having to face each other. 

This was your life now, perhaps. An irreparable marriage. A distant husband. So much for the fairytale romance you prayed the gods for. 

With avoiding your husband came a shift in the daily routine you had established in Dragonstone Manor. You would usually be awake the moment you felt Aemond shift around to start the morning, the light sleeper that you were, but now you’ve taken to feign sleep until he left the room. Your arrival to breakfast would come a few minutes later than his, all nicely covered up with a smile towards the lady of the house.

On a particularly balmy morning, you took a nice jog around the property, narrowly avoiding your spouse who was on his way to the steam room. You worked up a decent sweat, swiftly jumping into the shower right before breakfast. You took your time, thinking yourself wise if you managed to avoid facing the family altogether. It was tiresome to keep up the persona you held in front of them. In some ways, you were glad you were getting more time to yourself with Aemond’s avoidance, a brief reprieve to drop your mask and loosen the tension in your shoulders.

Your little bubble of isolation burst when you found the man himself in the room when you exited the shower. You let out a small gasp in surprise, tightening your hold on the towel wrapped around your form when he turned to face you. It seemed your husband had been caught guard as well, the unmasked look of surprise on his handsome face at the sight of your undress. He composed himself in a blink, clearing his throat before turning to leave the room and shower in the other guest room instead.

“Are we never to speak anymore?” you spoke up, unable to stop the words from escaping your lips. Aemond stopped in his step, one hand on the doorknob and the other clutching the towel swung over his bare shoulder. 

“Is that how you want it?” he responded. You scoffed at his indifference, ire starting to grow restless in the state of your marriage. 

“Of course not,” you refuted. “But we have been living separate lives despite the fact you and I are married. I know you’re mad at me, husband.” 

Aemond was silent for a long minute, and it made your heart thump loudly you feared he would hear it. He turned to face you, his gaze dark and sharp like a dragon provoked. 

“You think it amuses me to hear my wife was kissing the fucking gardener, hm? In my own home, no less,” he said, his words slow and deep like a slithering snake. It should have you more scared than you were if it weren’t for the fiery frustration that made you bare your teeth back.

“I didn’t expect you to be bothered so much seeing that seems to be the way all marriages work in this world,” you muttered, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. 

“What did you say?” he snapped.

“You don’t care about me, Aemond. There’s no need to start pretending now,” you said, keeping your chin lifted high as your husband approached with a menacing glint in his eye.

“You carry my name. I would not have my wife acting like some harlot,” he seethed, pointing an accusing finger in your face. If you had the courage you would have slapped his hand away, and perhaps another across his cheek for thinking so low of you. He had quite the gull to blame it all on you, not when he had kept his own wife an outsider.  

“Titles alone don't mean much. Haven’t we already established that?” you pointed out, turning to head to the closet when your husband grabbed you by the elbow to pull you back around. 

“Perhaps I should make my point clearer.” You were barely spared a moment to retort when Aemond’s lips smashed straight into yours, claiming in a bruising kiss. He tasted different than Danny, an addicting mix of tobacco and mint that kept you wanting more. His strong hands pulled you flush to his chest, the towel slowly slipping off from your bare body. You grounded yourself by gripping his shoulders, warm and damp from the steam room. 

He was all over you before you could gather your bearings. All the times you both had spent in the bedroom were respectful, mild even, but never like this. He had flung the towel off your body in one swipe, leaving you bare in front of him. You crossed your arms to cover yourself, but his firm grip kept you uncovered.

“Don’t be so shy now, it’s just me,” he smirked, before dipping to capture your pert nipple into his mouth. Your sounds were shy, though growing in courage as your husband sucked on your tit and fondle the other. His large, warm palms explored every inch of your bareness, squeezing with a firmness that left your skin tingling. When he switched his attention to your other breast, his fingers slithered their way to your heart, trespassing your folds despite your attempt to squeeze them shut. “For a woman who hates being my wife, you sure are wet for me.”

You had to blame it on the prolonged lack of satisfaction, but the way he was caressing your folds and circling your clit was breaking your resolve with ease. You grabbed his nape to pull him back to your lips, kissing him with a plea for more. Desperation growing, your hand descended his chest to his shorts, palming his growing hardness.

“Please,” you mewled, slightly pouting up at your husband.

“Please, what, love? Tell me nicely and I might give it to you,” he teased, shallowly dipping two fingers into your cunt before swiping them back out.

“I need you, husband, please,” you pleaded, eyes starting to well up in frustration. You peppered persuading kisses all over his jaw and neck when he let your hand slip past his shorts to grab hold of his cock, hot and stiff in your smaller palm. 

“Poor you,” he frowned in mocking before his lips returned to their natural state of a smirk as his fingers continued to work your dripping cunt up. Hope bloomed in your chest as he turned you around to face the bed frame, pressing on the small of your back to bend you over.

You braced your arms on the soft mattress as you waited, tuning into the rustling of his shorts being dropped. The anticipation burned in your chest, making you gasp when you felt something hot and blunt press against your folds. It swiped up and down your slit, gathering slick and teasing your pearl. It made you whine, hips wriggling back in impatience.

Behind you, your husband chuckled darkly. His warm palm ran down the length of your spine, squeezing your waist, before leaving a hard smack on your arse that lurched you forward on impact and made you yelp. Heat bloomed beneath your skin, his mark no doubt left on the imprint of his hand. 

“You know what that was for, don’t you?” he asked, his voice growing gravelly with a heated desire. You nodded, obedient and pliant as you turned your head to look at him. His eyelid was heavy as he looked down at you, his hand lazily stroking his cock. You stared at it as though you were starved, craving it like none else you had wanted before.

Aemond would think himself kind to finally end your torment. He lined up his cockhead to your hole, pressing into your walls and burying himself to the hilt in one breath. It knocked the breath out of you as your husband rocked into you with vigor, his pace bruising and unforgiving from the start. You fisted the sheets to keep your balance, tits bouncing with every harsh slam. Soon enough, your arms gave out, and your face smushed into the soft mattress while Aemond grabbed hold of your hair. He forced your head to the side, where you faced the double doors leading out to the garden, covered only by the sheer curtains. Despite the hard jolts that left your view scrambled, you could see an outline of a figure in the gardens, the light shadows of a certain head of strawberry-blonde hair unmistakable, and you wondered if he could see the precarious position you were in.

“Look, it’s your little sweetheart,” Aemond cooed, holding you up by the elbows to speak in your ear. “Why don’t you show him how well your husband fucks you, hm? Let the whole fucking staff hear you.” His hand snaked down your front, rubbing your clit with urgent circles to barrel you straight to your end. Your back was arched against his chest, your moans reverberating against the centuries-old walls as you came— hard. Your thighs quivered with fatigue, knees buckling while he continued to ram into you to chase his end, holding you steady with a firm grip on your arms. You had started to see stars when Aemond came with a harsh groan, warmth spurting in your pulsating walls. 

You collapsed on the bed, breathless and broken in while Aemond disappeared into the bathroom. As he returned with a warm towel to clean you up, you watched as the figure walked away from your view, leaving you alone. Something sparked in your chest when your husband softly caressed the harsh mark he had left on your rear, bending down to kiss it softly before placing another on your temple. You craned your head to meet his eye, and you let yourself hold out hope when you found him looking at you differently than before.

“Best get dressed, don’t want to keep them waiting,” Aemond said, before turning back into the bathroom. In the silence of your isolation, with nothing but the faint sound of the shower keeping you company, you pondered on the aftermath. Others may call you foolish, but as you looked out to the perfect garden in your perfect husband’s perfect family home, perhaps you were still to find the perfect connection in your imperfect marriage. 

Finally A Targaryen

summary | The nature of your marriage with Aemond is shaken when you are caught kissing the gardener.

pairing | modern!aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI!, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, semi-arranged marriage, neglected wife, infidelity (it's one kiss lol), reader's into sweaty guys ?, jealousy, possessive aem, mention of drug use

wordcount | 3.3k

note | whoever can guess which satc episode this is based on gets a cookie and a kiss on the forehead... <3

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The cicadas buzzed in the late midsummer haze, holding your hand as you wandered the gardens of Dragonstone Manor all alone. Your husband was on the tennis court with his brothers, as he always was most afternoons you’ve spent in his family home. Not that he cared much for what you busied yourself with, but you were sure to face the disapproving sharpness in his eye when he found out you were once again missing from the aperitif his mother was having on the veranda with the other ladies. Alicent was sweet, but gods, you couldn’t stand sitting through another bout of her re-telling of Targaryen history despite being married into the dragon’s den herself. You have heard more than enough of dragon lore, medieval inbreeding, and the many Aegons, including the current one who snuck bumps of snow before each family meal to keep his sanity. If you were any less careful, you would’ve given in to his invitation long ago and huddled next to him in the powder room sink for a line.

These people were rich, that was to be sure, of insurmountable wealth well before democracy had even been established. Your family, on the other hand, was new money. Your father had struck gold when he made his way up the corporate ladder of his real estate firm in his tenure, making himself top dog with a key to a 12th-floor office and another to the secret world of the rich.

It was how you met Aemond. 

Walking through the step stones across the manicured gardens, you couldn’t help but sigh at the memory of your life before him. He had been so sweet at first, lovely enough that you couldn’t deny the inevitable push of fate into his arms. What a fool you had been, too starry-eyed over that unmistakable silver hair and the smooth timbre of his voice to realize it was not fate at all but the expert machinations of Otto Hightower and his desire to add your father’s firm to Valyria Corp.’s extensive belt of partners. Your friends warned you a million times— the perfect man didn’t exist. Your heart used to beat a little faster with every man who held the slightest potential of being the one, thinking him perfect until he wasn’t. Now your husband, he was just… there. Courteous enough to see you well taken care of but out of your reach when it really mattered. 

Love was a fallacy in this world. Who needs love when you can have so much more with enough power and money? Loyalty was an even bigger farce. Marriage simply served as a means for business, you’ve seen it now. It was no wonder why Helaena seemed to be more than happy to be without her husband, Cregan, on this summer getaway. Wolves don’t do well in the southern sun, she simply said when you asked about him, apparently stuck to his father’s firm in his hometown of Winterfell. Aegon and his wife, Mirella Lannister, were no image of a devoted marriage either, both were consistently caught with other big names by the press. They seemed to get along well, however, if the loud thumping from down the hall nightly was anything to go by.

Heavily occupied in your thoughts, you reached the edge of the multi-acre plot without realizing it. The estate overlooked a quiet river on the back end, though surrounded by an impressive topiary for privacy, with rose bushes littered all around. There was always something to work on in Dragonstone, always a leaf out of shape for the gardeners to trim and keep them busy. 

One of them took care of the roses. Young, strawberry-blond curls, and a well-built physique that glimmered with sweat under the blistering sun. Danny, you heard them call him. He was pretty, not in the sleek, highly tailored way that Aemond was, but his rugged edges held a charm that made any simple girl blush. You’d seen him throughout your stay, always so diligent at work in the gardens every time you spotted him on your walks. He would greet you with a respectful, dimpled smile as he asked about your day, and it would take effort to keep your composure as he wiped the sweat off his brow with the edge of his shirt.

There was no harm in it. You were simply… admiring. Just because you were now a married woman didn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate a fine-looking man when you saw him, it was objective. His arms were nicely rounded with definition, as was his back, muscles ripping beneath his damp tank. You wondered what else those hands could do, perhaps he could plow something else, something left neglected and wanting…

“Afternoon, ma’am.”

You jumped at the sudden low tone, finding yourself unknowingly staring like an idiot. Danny leaned his weight on his shovel, a crooked smile on his sweaty face that made something flutter deep within you.

“Hi,” you greeted awkwardly, cheeks warming up like a sudden heat wave had blazed the area. 

“All on your own again, ma’am?” he queried, naturally resuming his work while giving you his attention. You tried to play it cool by leaning on the tree right by him, though fidgeting with the sparkling stone on your ring finger. Shit, he wasn’t catching onto you, is he? What an embarrassment that would be, the boss’ new wife sneaking around for the gardener’s attention.

“Yes, just needed some air,” you responded as casually as you could, and Danny nodded in understanding. 

“That house can get stuffy, doesn’t it? As big as it is, nobody ever wants to stay there for long,” he said, slightly panting as he worked on the soil. Closer than you had been, you could smell him from where you stood. He had such an intoxicating scent about him, a mixture of sweat, musk, and something else you couldn’t put your finger on. It made you dizzy with a newfound heat. You wanted more of it. You wanted a taste of the salty tang of his sweat on your tongue against his hot skin.

What were you doing? You’re married! Okay, perhaps your sex life had become a little pedantic compared to when you were still on the market, but you had made a vow!

“I’m still getting to know my way around it, I’ll admit,” you chuckled. Danny’s smile widened at the sound, grabbing his shears to snip off a blooming rose and offering you a stem. “Oh! How pretty,” you smiled up at him, pressing the soft petals to your nose to inhale the sweet scent. 

“Forgive me, madam, for being too forward, but this doesn’t seem like your type of crowd,” he said, taking a bold step closer. Your brows slightly dipped in confusion, head tilting in question.

“What makes you say that?” you asked.

“You’re not like the rest of them rich folks. To anyone else, I’d be invisible.”

You looked up at Danny, words lost on your lips. You weren’t so different from him, both outsiders in the impenetrable world of the elite. The transition had not been so easy, not with a husband who felt like a stranger and a family who barely tolerated each other. It all overwhelmed you, and to be seen by a man like Danny…

You didn’t know what had gotten into you, but the next thing you knew, you were grabbing the collar of his shirt and smashing your lips against his from the overwhelming blossom in your tummy. He tasted salty and sweet, of hard work and grit. You were hungry, as was he, tongues dancing and gliding as he pressed you against the aged oak. 

Dinner was long, and cocktail hour even longer. Aegon and Aemond were bickering about who won the last round of tennis, despite the youngest Daeron keeping score. You were nursing a pinot grigio as the conversation shifted to circle around the events of everyone else’s afternoon— Helaena and her new cradle of newly hatched creepy crawlies, Alicent’s ever growing ire with the new neighbors and the scandal they brought with them. The lady of the house seemed to know everything, from the happenings in the staff room to beyond the vines crawling to the next house over. What went around this place came back around the sitting room. The dry sweetness of the wine coated your tingue with every sip as you listened on quietly, mind still stuck in the gardens, under the grand oak with a certain warm blonde. Your lips still carried the salt of his sweat, despite the rich lamb you had for supper. It was sinful, a taste of another man on your tongue while your husband sat on the opposite end of the couch.

“I’ve had quite the day myself,” Mirella spoke up, sharp blue eyes sweeping across the room. “I took a nice long swim in the morning, then I took a walk in the gardens in the afternoon—”

“Went hunting for your next feed?” Aemond snickered, earning a sarcastic smile from the lioness.

“Mh, yes, and after that I saw your lovely little wife kissing the gardener!” 

The heat rushed to your face at once, eyes widening as Mirella’s jaw dropped in mock surprise. You ducked your head in utter humiliation, awaiting the flurry of gasps of disbelief coming your way. It was silent, which seemed to be worse. The only sound was the chiming of the grand clock at the turn of the hour, broken by the sudden shrill of Aegon’s cackle.

You looked up at your in-law’s faces, finding little shock in their features but rather amusement, especially so from your husband’s mother. Though you didn’t dare to look in your husband’s direction, who suddenly turned rigid at the news. 

“Well, my dear, you are now finally a Targaryen,” she quipped, surprisingly nonchalant as she lifted her glass to be topped up. Your eyes flickered to Criston Cole, her closest personnel, who poured her wine in a flash, and everything started to click.

It was bizarre. Publicly outed in front of your in-laws yet met with no repercussions. In fact, it seemed you were now more welcome after such news. It should please you, make you feel closer to your new family, but Aemond was now colder than ever. When he was once mindful of getting you drinks at cocktail hour, or making sure you were pleased with the garden access you had from the room you were staying in, he now actively avoided being alone with you. He indulged his brother in staying well past the appropriate hour and drank, sneaking back to your shared room only when you were asleep. It made things harder when neither one of you wanted to move into one of the spare rooms lest they wished to face his mother’s incessant prodding, the tail end of your summer turned into a sudden dance around not having to face each other. 

This was your life now, perhaps. An irreparable marriage. A distant husband. So much for the fairytale romance you prayed the gods for. 

With avoiding your husband came a shift in the daily routine you had established in Dragonstone Manor. You would usually be awake the moment you felt Aemond shift around to start the morning, the light sleeper that you were, but now you’ve taken to feign sleep until he left the room. Your arrival to breakfast would come a few minutes later than his, all nicely covered up with a smile towards the lady of the house.

On a particularly balmy morning, you took a nice jog around the property, narrowly avoiding your spouse who was on his way to the steam room. You worked up a decent sweat, swiftly jumping into the shower right before breakfast. You took your time, thinking yourself wise if you managed to avoid facing the family altogether. It was tiresome to keep up the persona you held in front of them. In some ways, you were glad you were getting more time to yourself with Aemond’s avoidance, a brief reprieve to drop your mask and loosen the tension in your shoulders.

Your little bubble of isolation burst when you found the man himself in the room when you exited the shower. You let out a small gasp in surprise, tightening your hold on the towel wrapped around your form when he turned to face you. It seemed your husband had been caught guard as well, the unmasked look of surprise on his handsome face at the sight of your undress. He composed himself in a blink, clearing his throat before turning to leave the room and shower in the other guest room instead.

“Are we never to speak anymore?” you spoke up, unable to stop the words from escaping your lips. Aemond stopped in his step, one hand on the doorknob and the other clutching the towel swung over his bare shoulder. 

“Is that how you want it?” he responded. You scoffed at his indifference, ire starting to grow restless in the state of your marriage. 

“Of course not,” you refuted. “But we have been living separate lives despite the fact you and I are married. I know you’re mad at me, husband.” 

Aemond was silent for a long minute, and it made your heart thump loudly you feared he would hear it. He turned to face you, his gaze dark and sharp like a dragon provoked. 

“You think it amuses me to hear my wife was kissing the fucking gardener, hm? In my own home, no less,” he said, his words slow and deep like a slithering snake. It should have you more scared than you were if it weren’t for the fiery frustration that made you bare your teeth back.

“I didn’t expect you to be bothered so much seeing that seems to be the way all marriages work in this world,” you muttered, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. 

“What did you say?” he snapped.

“You don’t care about me, Aemond. There’s no need to start pretending now,” you said, keeping your chin lifted high as your husband approached with a menacing glint in his eye.

“You carry my name. I would not have my wife acting like some harlot,” he seethed, pointing an accusing finger in your face. If you had the courage you would have slapped his hand away, and perhaps another across his cheek for thinking so low of you. He had quite the gull to blame it all on you, not when he had kept his own wife an outsider.  

“Titles alone don't mean much. Haven’t we already established that?” you pointed out, turning to head to the closet when your husband grabbed you by the elbow to pull you back around. 

“Perhaps I should make my point clearer.” You were barely spared a moment to retort when Aemond’s lips smashed straight into yours, claiming in a bruising kiss. He tasted different than Danny, an addicting mix of tobacco and mint that kept you wanting more. His strong hands pulled you flush to his chest, the towel slowly slipping off from your bare body. You grounded yourself by gripping his shoulders, warm and damp from the steam room. 

He was all over you before you could gather your bearings. All the times you both had spent in the bedroom were respectful, mild even, but never like this. He had flung the towel off your body in one swipe, leaving you bare in front of him. You crossed your arms to cover yourself, but his firm grip kept you uncovered.

“Don’t be so shy now, it’s just me,” he smirked, before dipping to capture your pert nipple into his mouth. Your sounds were shy, though growing in courage as your husband sucked on your tit and fondle the other. His large, warm palms explored every inch of your bareness, squeezing with a firmness that left your skin tingling. When he switched his attention to your other breast, his fingers slithered their way to your heart, trespassing your folds despite your attempt to squeeze them shut. “For a woman who hates being my wife, you sure are wet for me.”

You had to blame it on the prolonged lack of satisfaction, but the way he was caressing your folds and circling your clit was breaking your resolve with ease. You grabbed his nape to pull him back to your lips, kissing him with a plea for more. Desperation growing, your hand descended his chest to his shorts, palming his growing hardness.

“Please,” you mewled, slightly pouting up at your husband.

“Please, what, love? Tell me nicely and I might give it to you,” he teased, shallowly dipping two fingers into your cunt before swiping them back out.

“I need you, husband, please,” you pleaded, eyes starting to well up in frustration. You peppered persuading kisses all over his jaw and neck when he let your hand slip past his shorts to grab hold of his cock, hot and stiff in your smaller palm. 

“Poor you,” he frowned in mocking before his lips returned to their natural state of a smirk as his fingers continued to work your dripping cunt up. Hope bloomed in your chest as he turned you around to face the bed frame, pressing on the small of your back to bend you over.

You braced your arms on the soft mattress as you waited, tuning into the rustling of his shorts being dropped. The anticipation burned in your chest, making you gasp when you felt something hot and blunt press against your folds. It swiped up and down your slit, gathering slick and teasing your pearl. It made you whine, hips wriggling back in impatience.

Behind you, your husband chuckled darkly. His warm palm ran down the length of your spine, squeezing your waist, before leaving a hard smack on your arse that lurched you forward on impact and made you yelp. Heat bloomed beneath your skin, his mark no doubt left on the imprint of his hand. 

“You know what that was for, don’t you?” he asked, his voice growing gravelly with a heated desire. You nodded, obedient and pliant as you turned your head to look at him. His eyelid was heavy as he looked down at you, his hand lazily stroking his cock. You stared at it as though you were starved, craving it like none else you had wanted before.

Aemond would think himself kind to finally end your torment. He lined up his cockhead to your hole, pressing into your walls and burying himself to the hilt in one breath. It knocked the breath out of you as your husband rocked into you with vigor, his pace bruising and unforgiving from the start. You fisted the sheets to keep your balance, tits bouncing with every harsh slam. Soon enough, your arms gave out, and your face smushed into the soft mattress while Aemond grabbed hold of your hair. He forced your head to the side, where you faced the double doors leading out to the garden, covered only by the sheer curtains. Despite the hard jolts that left your view scrambled, you could see an outline of a figure in the gardens, the light shadows of a certain head of strawberry-blonde hair unmistakable, and you wondered if he could see the precarious position you were in.

“Look, it’s your little sweetheart,” Aemond cooed, holding you up by the elbows to speak in your ear. “Why don’t you show him how well your husband fucks you, hm? Let the whole fucking staff hear you.” His hand snaked down your front, rubbing your clit with urgent circles to barrel you straight to your end. Your back was arched against his chest, your moans reverberating against the centuries-old walls as you came— hard. Your thighs quivered with fatigue, knees buckling while he continued to ram into you to chase his end, holding you steady with a firm grip on your arms. You had started to see stars when Aemond came with a harsh groan, warmth spurting in your pulsating walls. 

You collapsed on the bed, breathless and broken in while Aemond disappeared into the bathroom. As he returned with a warm towel to clean you up, you watched as the figure walked away from your view, leaving you alone. Something sparked in your chest when your husband softly caressed the harsh mark he had left on your rear, bending down to kiss it softly before placing another on your temple. You craned your head to meet his eye, and you let yourself hold out hope when you found him looking at you differently than before.

“Best get dressed, don’t want to keep them waiting,” Aemond said, before turning back into the bathroom. In the silence of your isolation, with nothing but the faint sound of the shower keeping you company, you pondered on the aftermath. Others may call you foolish, but as you looked out to the perfect garden in your perfect husband’s perfect family home, perhaps you were still to find the perfect connection in your imperfect marriage. 

Tryst ⥃ Aemond Targaryen

Summary: Aemond walks in on his newly wedded wife changing, surely she is not as temperate as her father when she catches him eyeing her, is she?

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, kind of enemies to lovers, VELARYON READER!!, reader has silver hair, virging!reader, fingering, reader is angry lol, breeding, lots of scratching and biting, porn no plot! English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 2.7k+

A/n: I missed my pwp era so here is a short rough smut with our prince Aemond! Missed being unhinged, so here is a fiery reader who is just as crazy as Aemond🤭 Reblogs & comments are always appreciated!💕

Marrying Daemon’s oldest daughter was not something Aemond could ever imagine, especially since it was his uncle’s idea to offer your hand in marriage; perhaps you were too much of a rebel to be kept on Dragonstone.

He remembers how much you glared at him the day he and his family came to that old wet castle to visit you and your family, and to settle for an agreement so the qualms between the families would vanish — or at least try to make amends somehow.

What he did not expect was for you to be utterly disgusted and angry at him, to the point when he had to show others you were officially courting, you did not even spare him a glance.

He despises you just as much if not more.

But he does not know why he is walking towards your chambers after the supper which you left in a really angry manner, leaving everyone stunned but him. 

It is late as he walks through the dimly lit hallways of the Red Keep, an hour or two before the dead of the night, and his intentions are not clear enough to see why he is taking routes to where your chambers are. If only he knew why, he would try to avoid it at all costs.

He walks with his hands held behind him, chin up with his good eye scanning every tapestry on the wall, every knight who moves past him, in hopes of finding an answer for his intentions.

Your chambers are not much far from his, it would be too scandalous for husband and wife to be sleeping in different rooms, especially since your marriage happens to be the talk of every gathering and whispers of the court — not to anyone’s surprise, Daemon’s oldest daughter and Aemond Targaryen are a match of flames, burning each other until there is nothing but ashes — but you do not care if you are the subject of laughter among these lowly lords and ladies.

Aemond sighs, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves, trying to keep himself grounded as he walks towards the hallway that ends with a door to your room. He narrows his eye when he finds your knights nowhere to be seen, assuming you must have dismissed them yourself.

He reaches to knock on your door, taking in a deep breath to calm himself down before he rests his hand on the door, watching it slowly crack open. Why would you leave your door unguarded and open? Were you waiting for someone? Were you waiting for him?

With a curious look, he slowly pushes the door open, not wishing to startle you even though he could care less if you jump and scream out of fear, but he gives you this one privilege at least. He winces when the door makes a cracking sound, but he relaxes when he does not hear a sound of displeasure or concern coming from inside — in fact, the low humming catches him by surprise, making his ears perk at the sweet sound of melody filling your room.

When he has the door open enough to peek inside the room, he is taken aback by seeing you slowly disrobing, dropping layer after layer of your clothing on the ground, revealing your bare back to him. 

His lips part in shock, sighing as he takes the newly exposed skin in, watching you drop your clothes on the ground, walking around your nightshift to grab your hairbrush.

Aemond is lost; seeing his wife mildly nude for the first time since he said his vows was something he did not really think about. Every thought he has had about you was always filled with anger, rage, and hatred, but deep inside, he could feel his feelings bubbling with anticipation for something far beyond whatever he had already experienced.

And now, seeing you brush your silver locks with grace makes his chest tighten, but your bare back has his mind turn cloudy and sinful, leaving him breathless as he feels his leather pants tighten.

Subconsciously, he pushes the door open a bit more forcefully than he intended to, making a loud crying sound. He freezes, his eye widening when you scream and turn around, throwing the brush at his face, but he dodges in time, watching in horror as the brush flies to the hallway.

“What is your fucking business here?” You yell at him, reaching for one of your jewelry boxes, holding it up to threaten him with another attack, “Speak, now!”

“I…I—fucking gods, woman!”

He says it with gritted teeth, moving his head quickly when you throw the box at him, hitting the door as he closes it so none of your belongings get lost.

“Were you watching me?” You ask, laughing in disbelief as you walk quickly to grab the nearest book on your desk, throwing at him again, “I reckoned your brother was the pervert one, but it appears it runs in the family!”

“Stop this madness!” He yells back, shielding his face with his arms as the book comes close to hit him in the cheek, “I was not watching, do not think yourself so appealing—“

“You do not find your wife appealing?” You point the candle holder you grab in the blink of an eye towards Aemond, narrowing your eyes at him as you take a step closer, “You come into my room, watching me peel off my clothes until I am naked just to say you do not find me appealing?”

“I did not say that, wife—“ he holds his hands up, slowly backing away from you, his back hitting the wall with a soft ‘thud’ before he resumes talking, “I was merely disagreeing about how I am of a sick mind, I am not, I wished to talk to you—“

“Nonsense!” You step closer, holding the sharp candle holder in his direction, “You said it, I heard it with my own ears! I despise you for being here, for being my husband, for trying to break me while it is you who does not wish to warm my bed.”

“Drop that thing, wife,” he sighs, gently trying to reach and grab it from you but you take a step back suddenly, glaring at him, “Don’t force me to come here and take it from you.”

“I would like to see you try, husband,” Venom drips from your words while you stare daggers at him, your grip tightening around the candle holder “Get out of my room!”

“You are my wife, I will do as I please,” his tone matches yours as he stares back at you, his eye darkening at the sight of your chest visible underneath your thin nightshift, “If I wish to stay here, I will—“

“Get. Out!” 

Before you are given the chance to throw what you are holding at him, Aemond grabs you by your wrist, pulling you closer as he switches your positions and pushes you against the wall; one knee between your legs and both of his hands pinning your wrists to the wall with one next to your head and the other above it.

“Why must you be so difficult?” He whispers, his nostrils flaring as he glares down at you, his fingers tightening around your wrists until you whimper and drop the candle holder, chest heaving as you look up at him.

“I am a reflection of how you treat me,” you spit the words out, craning your neck to lean closer to him, your nose brushing against his, “I despise you for the air you breathe, for the wine you drink—“

“And you do believe that I don’t seeth every time I am reminded that you are my wife?” He pushes his nose against yours forcefully, keeping your head locked against his and the wall with his forehead on yours, his hot breath mingling with your quick panting, “I wish to tear through everything that reminds me of you and your father—“

“Then do, coward,” you cut him off, your eyes falling down to his pink lips, wiggling against his hold, trying to free yourself, “Make me hate you more than I already do.”

And he does; his lips meet yours in a searing kiss, knocking the breath out of your lungs as he lets go of one of your wrists to pull you in closer by your waist, his nails digging into your flesh.

Your hand goes to his soft silky hair, pulling on the hair tie roughly as you kiss him back, threading your fingers through his locks, tugging at the root of his hair while he bites down your lips, freeing your other wrist too.

Aemond’s hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his tongue pushing past your lips so he can taste you thoroughly. He bucks his knee to your clothed core, encouraging you to go ahead and take your fill, rock your hatred into oblivion.

You whine as you slowly grind down on him, your lips falling apart as you break the kiss to gasp for air, your hand tugging at his hair while your other hand goes to his doublet, undoing it quickly while your hips pick up the pace.

“Go on, wife,” he whispers, hand letting go of your jaw before he reaches down to rub your heat over your underwear, letting out a shaky sigh when he finds a wet spot on the fabric, “So much for hating me, your cunt is betraying you.”

“Fuck you—“

“Fuck me indeed,” he pushes your underwear aside, swiping his fingers through your wet folds, enjoying the broken whine you let out.

He leans down, prepping kisses and bites along your neck, sinking his teeth a bit too hard when you push his doublet down and dig your nails in his pecks. Aemond’s thumb circles your pearl, making you tremble under his touch as he makes your essence drip on your inner thighs.

You throw your head back when he gently prods your entrance with one finger, easing the digit inside your warm walls with ease because of your wetness. He hums against your collarbone, enjoying how slowly you are losing yourself in the feeling of being wrapped in his arms — although the scratches you are leaving on his chest through his undershirt are the opposite of what he thinks.

He adds another finger, scissoring you open as he pumps his finger in and out of you, going in knuckles deep while he curves his digits, enjoying how your face twists with pleasure and a fit of anger that fuels because of how it is him who is giving you this pleasure.

“I need more,” you whine, one hand coming down to rest against his wrist, keeping his hand there as he thrusts his fingers faster, the lewd sound of squelching echoing in the room.

“I will give you more,” he goes faster when he notices how your eyes drop shut and your legs start to shake around his hand, your walls gripping his fingers for dear life, “I will make you fall in love with me.”

“Impossible,” you gasp, toes curling as you shake and peak around his fingers, throwing your head back against the wall while you gush and release all over his hand, “You are unlovable.”

“As I said before…” he whispers before he pulls his fingers out, wiping your wetness on your nightshift before he grabs the side of the fabric and tears it in half, leaving your body bare to his eye, “Your body betrays you, wife.”

You look at him in shock, covering your breasts with your arms, but Aemond has none of it; he slaps your arms away, taking off his undershirt, revealing his smooth chest before he grabs you by the nape and pulls you in for another kiss.

Your lips crash into each other, your hands tugging and pulling on the other’s hair while Aemond leads you to the bed, nearly tripping over the pile of clothes. 

He drops you on the bed, quickly crawling on top of you to meet you halfway for another passionate kiss, his hips pressing against the side of your hip before you spread your legs for him, pulling him even closer.

You reach between your bodies to palm the growing tent in his pants, squeezing and relishing in the sound he makes in your mouth before you urge him to push his pants and breeches down enough to free his cock.

You loathe how pretty he is, how pretty his cock is. You despise him for being the definition of Targaryen beauty, but now, the man you hate the most, the man who you have the spiteful pleasure of calling your husband, is about to take you for the first time.

He knows, of course he knows, because the queen would never choose anything less than a noble lady for her precious son; so he goes gently after he strokes his length a few times, pumping it to full hardness. He guides the red weeping head of his dick to your entrance, pushing in slowly, his hands going to your hips as he sits up on his knees so he can watch as he breaches past your muscles, the tip of his cock disappearing inside you.

You writhe beneath him, fisting the bed sheets as you nod and wait for him to go all the way in, pushing you to your limits as the stretch begins to be a bit painful, but he brings your hands to his chest, urging you to scratch him as hard as you wish when you feel any discomfort.

Aemond thrusts himself inside you completely, groaning at the tight feeling of your cunt gripping him like a vice, holding onto him until he has carved the shape of his cock within your walls.

He drops forward, holding himself up by his hands on each side of your face before he starts hammering himself inside you, making you gasp and moan incoherent words underneath him — the princeling in him only lasted for a few minutes, and now, he is just the Aemond who finds you annoying and miserable, fucking you as you are; the wife he hates, the woman he craves.

The rise and fall of your chest grows faster, and you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, fingers leaving red angry marks all over his shoulder blades and back while you lock your legs around his slim waist, keeping him caged against you.

There are no words exchanged, there is no need to when both of you are moaning and groaning at the feeling, biting each other until there are visible signs of your tryst for the court to see on the next morrow.

He feels your walls clenching around his girth, bringing both his and your high closer. One of his hands reaches down, circling your nub so you fall over the edge of bliss, euphoria rushing through your body.

He follows closely, hammering his cock deep inside you until he buries himself into you and paints your walls with his seed, his eye wide open as he stares down at you, lips parted and pupil blown.

He pulls out of you after his body stops shaking, dropping down on the bed next to you as he tries to catch his breath, his arm lying limp on top of your body.

You feel his cum dribbling out of you, alerting you of what you have done. Suddenly, a wave of hatred crashes into your head, and you turn your head to look at his peaceful face before you start shoving him down your bed.

“Get out, arsehol!” You pull the covers on you, keeping them secure against your chest as you try to shove him down on the floor, “Get out of my room!”

“Easy, woman,” he throws his hands up in defeat, fixing his pants before he grabs his undershirt and puts it on, “I do not intend to stay here longer than needed.”

“I hate you,” you say, pushing him out of the door with force, frowning when he laughs into your face but you do not wait for him to reply before you slam the door shut.

But you hear him from the other side of the door.

“Mutual feelings, wife.”

A Moment's Reprieve

summary | Aemond just can't seem to get a moment alone with you, driving him to the point of madness.

pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI!, lil quickie, rough sex, aeggy cameo <3, slight exhibitionism, semi-public sex, not proofread :P

wordcount | 3.3k

note | hi, it's been a minute <3 feeling kinda meh about this but i hope u guys like it!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

It was hard to fuck while wearing leather. The heat from Aemond’s body was so easily trapped in its wall, dissipating into fat droplets of sweat cascading down his back. Moving around was no easy feat either, but the momentary suffering would have to suffice. He was easily lost enough in the fire in his loins that burned hotter than the damp flush creeping up his chest. His thrusts were hasty, his grip on your exposed breasts tight as he slammed himself in and out of your core.

On better days, he would have taken the time to take you apart piece by piece, perhaps starting with his mouth on your sweet cunny, but you both hardly had time to even undress. Your skirts were carelessly rucked up to your hips, neckline haphazardly unbound just enough to free your teats, while your husband had lowered his breeches just enough to expose his hard, swollen cock before he drove into you. Your grip on his bicep was tight, while your nails dug into the bedpost with the other for support as you stood by the bed’s edge. The pulsating of your core was enough to drive him mad, the dizzying haze of desire overwhelming his wife just as it did with him. 

“H-husband, I’m so close,” you moaned in his ear, head leaned back into his chest. He must have grunted something in response, though he wasn’t sure he even heard himself, voice lost in the din of loud smacking of his trim hips against your plump arse, and your sweet melodic mewls. The rising heat in his belly let him know he was right with you, only a few thrusts behind the release that threatened to overtake him. It was easy to get lost in it all— in you, in your warm, perfect walls. So much so his thrusts turned even more desperately erratic as his body moved in its own accord, his usually alert mind hardly registering the creaking of wood and the sudden breeze into his marital chambers.

Then he heard cackling.

“Seven fucking Hells, brother!” 

Aegon stood at the threshold, one hand still on the doorknob and the other clutching his stomach as he doubled over in laughter. The younger whipped his head at the intrusion, eyes widening before shifting to cover you with his body. He heard you gasp, before scrambling to cover your exposed chest away from Aegon’s curious eyes. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Aemond barked, turning to move to storm over where the idiot stood when he caught his brother eyeing the exposed flesh of your upper thigh, but your firm hand on his wrist kept him where he was to save yourself the last bits of dignity. 

“I… ha!” the elder snorted, laughter finally dying down into low chuckles that rumbled from his chest. He exhaled a deep sigh, dramatically wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Mother sent me to call on you because court starts in five minutes and she believes the Seven Hells have cooled over when she found me ready before you, but I guess you were preoccupied, eh?” he shrugged, amethyst eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint that irked Aemond to no end. “Dear me, fucking before noon? And I thought I was oversexed.”

“Shut up before I make you,” Aemond seethed. His wife sighed, peeking over his shoulder to speak to Aegon.

“Would you give us a few moments, brother? Let Her Grace know we will be right out,” you asked softly, smiling sweetly enough to earn a tight squeeze on the hips from your dragon in warning. 

“Of course, best to, uh, finish up then,” he responded, wagging his finger mockingly before turning to leave, snickering. “Good to know I had you taught well, Aemond!”

“You fucke–”

The door slammed shut before Aemond could finish, sighing against your temple in exasperation from the ruined moment. The soft kiss on his cheek was hardly enough to make up for it, the humiliation in his chest killing whatever drive in his gut. He begrudgingly tucked his softened length back into his breeches before helping you with your laces. You turned to face him once your dress had been rightened, hugging his waist and leaning your chin against his chest. 

“Such a shame, everything was feeling so good,” you pouted up at him. Aemond grunted in agreement, head still running hot in annoyance.

Surely, the court wouldn’t be too curious if his brother strolled in with a bruise on his face. He’d been in worse shape before, what was a little marked-up cheek?

There must be some sick game the gods were playing on Aemond. They were teasing him, testing to see how long he could withhold being unable to have a moment alone with his wife before going completely mad. Court took up a better part of his afternoon, long hours of appeals and hearing whatever problems their people wished to voice. It took much of him to keep his eye forward, ignoring the heat radiating off the flesh of your arm that was warmed by the sticky air of the mid-summer sun filtering into the throne room, while you stood by your husband’s side, his nose engulfed by the flowery sweetness wafting from your hair.

Supper was just as torturous, though having you sat by his side slightly made up for it, and teasing you under the table was a good way to pass the time. Aemond’s rough fingertips crept up your skirts and took hold of your thigh, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t relish in the way you swatted his hand away in panic, cheeks growing adorably flushed. With dessert promptly served and devoured, the one-eyed prince all but jumped from his seat, your hand in tow to lead you back to the privacy of your chambers, but the deep drawl of his grandsire’s voice halted him before anything else, inviting him to the Tower to speak on a matter of the utmost discretion. He let your hand go with a scowl, helplessly watching you walk off into the direction of your apartments.

His grandsire sat him down to talk until well into the night, speaking in hushed tones of a matter of concern in the Reach. He was to fly to Oldtown to settle brewing disputes in the Hightower seat in his grandsire's stead, a task entrusted to him that required his sharp eye and his partiality to matters of politics. 

His steps were heavy on his return, his chest even heavier, and when he finally crossed the threshold of your spacious apartments, you were deep into your slumber. You snuggled up into his side of the bed, arm extending to where he should have been. When a responsibility like this would’ve once had Aemond eager to fly out at first light, he found himself unable to tear himself away from you when duty called, having found a home in your arms that sheltered him with warmth and lightness his reality was so deeply void of. 

He was gone for a sennight—a slow-passing, cruel week.  

The separation was torturous, and not a moment passed where your husband’s mind didn’t wander to his sweet wife. He’d tucked one of your handkerchiefs into his pocket before his departure, tracing the embroidered curves of your initials with his thumb when he grew agitated within Oldtown’s walls. They had given him a comfortable accommodation, a bed much too large to sleep in alone. Aemond had grown spoiled with your warmth, and with this temporary withdrawal, sleep came miserably.

At the week's end, disagreements were smoothed and hands were shaken. Aemond took to the skies, not a second too soon after the Lord Hobart thanked him for the crown’s aid, his longing for home shamelessly showing itself in the tension in his shoulders every minute he was there. Daeron would have to forgive him for not flying together as much as the younger wished, but his brother, ever the kindest out of all the dragon princes, saw him off with a nod of understanding and a firm pat on the back, whispering the promise of his own return to their family. 

Vhagar traversed the horizon at a speed unexpected for her size and age, but his old girl shared her rider’s wish for home. They cleared the distance in a day, and the returning prince was greeted by Ser Criston and a wheelhouse that would take him back to his home, to you.

But the gods wouldn’t grant Aemond reprieve that easily. 

The streets bustled with life as the carriage rolled through the cobbled streets. He had returned just in time for his father’s nameday, a week-long celebration for the ailing king that called for the grandest celebration, with music, wine, and dancing for guests hailing from all over the realm. Aemond watched through the thin slits of the carriage— faces passing in a blur, voices of every pitch overlapping the other. His brow furrowed in perplexion when they took a sudden turn, an unexpected route that led him away from the hill leading to the Keep, but right to the middle of the celebrations— the melee.

“Queen’s orders, my prince,” Cole explained, standing stoically in front of the brooding prince. “She wished to have you join the celebrations as soon as you returned, have the family all present in front of the people.”

Aemond grumbled under his breath all the way up the steps to the royal box, plopping exhaustedly into his seat beside Aegon. The elder patted him hard on the back, adding to his aggravation, clearly oblivious to his dampened mood. “Good to have you here in time to join us, brother, Reyne’s just about to fuck Tarly up,” he cackled, taking a big swig of his wine. 

“A change of clothes first would have been nice,” Aemond huffed, ignoring the battling knights as he looked around for his wife. He twisted around his seat in confusion at the absent sight of you, earning a look from his grandsire that had him uncharacteristically slumping in his seat.

“She’s with Helaena,” Aegon said, whose eyes stayed glued to the violent display before them. “Orwyle said it was ill luck for pregnant women to look upon violence or whatever he was on about. Your wife’s keeping her company.”

Aemond sighed defeatedly, his chest twinging with annoyance. Of fucking course. Everything seemed to be working against his wishes, toying with his already short patience. Gods be damned, they would know better to keep a man like him away from his wife. Perhaps this made him seem like an addict, no better than a drunk stuck to his bottle or a pervert to a whore, but he was well past the point of denying it. You were a part of him, whether either of you could help it or not.

He turned to his mother, who sat frowning with a hand half-covering her face as she watched on, muttering some half-excuse of wanting to freshen up and be rid of the smell of dragon on his skin before enjoying the festivities. The queen granted him leave with the ghost of a quirk on her lips and a knowing look, waving him off dismissively with a ringed hand.

He all but dashed the way back to the Keep, strides large and booming through the halls back to Maegor’s Holdfast. His pulse thumped heavily in his ears, his chest sparked with a renewed lightness with every step closer. Aemond found you in his sister’s apartments, sat on the settee as you embroidered. 

Your head shot up as the door swung open, eyes brightening like a starry night when they landed on him. “Aemond!” you gasped, promptly jumping up from your seat and into his arms. With how tight your arms wound around his neck, it was clear his dearest wife was just as tortured as he. 

Aemond nuzzled his nose into your hair, breathing in the sweet scent of your skin he had missed dearly. With you back in his arms, right where you belonged, everything felt warm. He felt near bursting at the seams, his body immediately responding to the heat of your body pressed against his. His lips found yours on instinct, hungrily devouring the sweet taste he’d grown starved for. Large, calloused hands wandered on their own, finding purchase on your rear with a tight squeeze. It made you whine, pulling away in haste to glance at a sleeping Helaena.  Her third pregnancy often had her weary, as she was now, laid on her bed, with the twins tucked on either side as they slept through the peaceful haze of the late afternoon.

“Come,” your husband ordered, grasping your wrist to pull you out of the room. The growing fire in his loins left him too impatient to lead you up another flight of stairs where your apartments were, urgency nagging at him to hasten lest someone called for him to return to the melee. He led you with quick steps to the end of the hall, in a quiet alcove where he pressed you against the wall, caged between his arms.

His mouth devoured yours, tongue slithering into the warm cavern and dancing with your own. It soon descended onto the length of your perfumed neck, nipping and biting at the spots that pulled deep, pleasant sighs. Your hands gripped his doublet, subtly pushing him away as you called his name.

“Husband, h-here?” you asked, mewling as he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot below your jaw. You were right, this wasn't exactly an ideal location for your reunion, but he was pressed for time, and having to wait to have you until nightfall would drive him to insanity.

“There’s not one soul around, dearest,” he said into your skin, parting with a kiss on the fresh mark. With the inhabitants of the Keep all away at the tournaments, the halls were empty enough, save for the occasional passing servant and the knight standing guard outside Helaena’s door. With the near ravenous state Aemond was in, he could give less fucks who could witness him taking his wife. Your skirts were messily rucked up to your hips, wandering hand dipping past your smallclothes and finding your heat, already dripping in sweet arousal. “Did you miss me this much, wife? You’re already soaked,” your husband chuckled devilishly, eye darkening when you bit your lip as he teased your slit. 

You nodded at him eagerly, a whine rising from your throat when his fingertip brushed against your pearl. “You were gone for too long, husband. It has been miserable without you. When I saw Vhagar fly over the city I could have dashed to the gates myself if Helaena didn’t need me,” you pouted. His heart swelled at your sweetness, peppering adoring kisses onto your hairline as you pulled him in even closer.

“I have been tormented just the same, my love. Every day that passed, you were all I thought about,” he whispered. “No one will keep me away from you now, sweet girl, I promise you.” 

Somewhere in the frenzy of tongue and spit, your smallclothes fell to the stone floor and his breeches were aptly unlaced. Your smaller, dainty hand wrapped around his hardened length, stroking his leaking cock. Gods, it was pathetic how he could come from your slightest touch. He grasped your wrist to stop you, gulping as he continued to twitch in your hold.

“Wait,” he huffed. The need possessed him with a primal urge, prompting him to grab hold of both of your thighs to lift you off your feet. With you pressed against the wall and holding onto his shoulders for dear life, Aemond sunk you onto his cock, down onto the hilt. There was little time to savor the subtle pulsating of your walls, his hips taking on a steady pace from the start. “Fucking... finally,” he grunted.

You bounced in his firm hold, lower back rubbing against the rough stone, but you didn’t seem to mind one bit. Quite the opposite, rather, with the way you openly moaned, your voice echoing through the dim hall. “Gods!” you whined. Your husband’s pace suddenly shifted, hips starting to slap more ferociously against yours. Any soul who would have the misfortune to walk these halls at this very moment would hear you from the opposite end from the resounding rhythm of skin against skin.

“There are no gods here, wife, just you and I,” Aemond growled against your ear, before biting down on your shoulder, making you squeal even louder.

“I– mmph! Ah, Aem–” Any semblance of coherence on your usually pretty head dissipated in a heady jumble. It made your husband smirk, despite the heat starting to tingle in the back of his neck.

“Something to say, my love? Or have I already fucked you into a loose whore, hm?” he taunted, chuckling under his breath when you merely whined in response. He was starting to overheat in his leathers, the sharp warmth in his nape slowly trickling down his spine to signal the start of his end. Something deep within his core made his abdomen flex, the ache in his thighs no match for the utter bliss of the warm embrace of your lovely cunt. With your legs wrapped around his trim waist, his hand raised to the back of your head, fingers wrapping around your hair to pull your forehead against his. He quickened his pace to spur you to your end first, thumb rubbing your pearl in tight circles. “Come for me, wife. I want to feel you spill around me. Go on,” he rasped, breath hot in your ear.

His wife was a moaning mess. You were never this loud, even in the privacy of your own chambers, but the separation had you desperate, heart sticky with need in a way you had never let yourself be before. He and you were both the same in this way, never too forward with what you wanted, until desire ate away at you from within and you started to lose better thinking.

With a particular harsh thrust, your release broke with a moan that Aemond was sure had echoed to the White Sword Tower. He came no second later with a lower, quieter grunt into your neck, spilling thick ropes of his warm seed into your quivering cunt.

You both stayed there for a second, breaths heavy and minds still in a cloud. Aemond placed you back onto your feet, though wobbly. He huffed amusedly, earning a warning smack on his chest as you furrowed your eyebrows playfully. His lips placed a kiss on your damp forehead, and you kissed his scarred cheek in return. For a second, you only looked at him, your flushed cheeks lifted in a smile, and it made him happy. 

An echo of clinking steel let Aemond know his time was up. He made sure your dress had been rightened and your hair smoothed before tying his breeches back up. The prince peeked to see Cole coming up the staircase, no doubt sent by his mother to take him away again. He sighed heavily, nuzzling one last time into your neck as you rubbed his back comfortingly. “You should go. Mustn’t let your mother fret,” you said softly. Your husband merely grunted in response, savoring the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. 

A clear of the throat from the knight made Aemond finally pull away, frowning despite the pleased smile on your lips as you smoothed his doublet. He parted with a kiss all-consuming, and whispers of a promise to fetch you the moment he could. 

His return to the royal box came with much reluctance, though his demeanor visibly changed. The tension was gone in his shoulders, his aura different, and his face not so grim anymore. He settled back into his seat with a deep exhale, directing his attention to the faceless lordlings swinging swords much too large for them, though his mind stayed in an alcove somewhere in the Keep. 

Beside him, Aegon yawned loudly, having grown deathly bored with the melee. Sensing the younger’s subtly brighter demeanor, he snickered under his breath. “Feeling rather refreshed now, are you?” he teased. 

Aemond’s gaze flickered to him in a glance, turning back to watch the young Bolton land the winning blow. “Hm, yes, quite.” He lifted his hand to a squire for wine, taking a small sip to quench his parched throat.

“Even without a proper change of clothes?” Aegon pushed, raising his brow mockingly. He cackled as Aemond shifted in his seat, a warning glare in his lone eye. The elder, unbothered, merely patted his brother’s knee as he shook his head. “Good for you, brother.”

Show Me Your World - (Edge of Desire Special Chapter)

summary | Glimpses of your ever blossoming marriage with Aemond, through the eyes of people around you.

pairing | aemond targaryen x niece!reader

tags | teeth rotting fluff! ooc aemond, mentions of oral (f), ooc criston lol, alicole tease idc sue me, third pov (?), pure marital bliss

song rec | My Kind of Woman - Mac Demarco

wordcount | 3.8k

note | surprise! this is my lil thank you gift for 2k hehe this isn't necessarily a pt 2, but Edge of Desire has received soo much love and i want to try and give even just a little bit back!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

There was no doubt that the marriage of princess Rhaenyra’s only daughter to the king’s second son caused much worry from the court. The strife between the Hightowers and the Targaryens was no secret, festering into a nasty, outward conflict that ended in a boy maimed, and a family divided by sea. Viserys the Peaceful, ever faithful to his name, sought to mend this rift. 

In the moons following their marriage, it was plain to see the princess and the one-eyed prince rarely agreed with each other. A womb bearing no fruit, eyes rarely meeting, and twin frowns often decorating their features. The concerns aptly only grew. But then, something had shifted in the air.

The princess grew to be exuberant, practically glowing as her belly swelled with child. There was rarely a moment the prince was not found by her side, save for when he was training in the Keep’s yard, and even then, his ladywife was sure to be found on the castle’s balcony with a pleased smile on her face. Whispers of concern soon turned into that of courtly gossip, nobles and staff alike most eager to discover the secret in the couple’s newfound bliss. Many strained their neck to catch a glimpse of the two royals at court, keeping a close eye to notice any indication of a display of affection, though none of them ever did. The prince stood as stoic as ever, while you took your place beside him, hands clasped over your growing bump. Save for the communicative looks you exchanged now and then, the signs of a budding romance between the two of you were sparse. 

It was rather odd. Such whispers from the servants would make it seem that the prince had somehow taken on a persona straight from their mother’s tales about love, like a dashing knight head over heels for his princess, but none of them ever caught such a glimpse. All except for one. 

Sera was no significant person among the residents of the Red Keep. She was a servant, tasked with changing linens, emptying chamber pots, and seeing that the more valued inhabitants of the castle were satisfied. Any ounce of value in her low rank only came when she was made handmaiden to the princess. Stepping up to her new position, she would admit that she was quite curious. What she heard about your marriage piqued her interest, even more so when she began to step into the space that separated the royals from the lowborns. 

In your private marital chambers, the whispers began to take form, proving themselves to be true. It became customary for her to hear the rhythmic thump, thump, thump coming from your bedchamber while she set up your morning meals in the solar. High-pitched moans would penetrate through the red brick, bringing about a hot flush in the young woman’s cheeks as she hastened to lay down the cutlery before scurrying off. Sera remained invisible, merely a shadow that passed through your life, invisible hands that aided in your day. She knew her place, especially when prince Aemond was in the room while she assisted the princess. 

Once the copper tub was filled for your bath, she must make her leave in haste with one flick of the prince’s wrist.

When your husband started to approach your seated form upon the vanity as you readied for the day, Sera knew better and would step away so the one-eyed prince may inhabit your space, no matter the intricacy of the braids she was twisting your hair into. Averting her eyes, the servant could only listen to your dreamy sighs as your husband peppered kisses onto every bit of skin his lips could find.

Did it make her work lighter? Perhaps. It helped to serve two royals who wanted little but each other, who were never cruel or harsh with their tongue. It was odd to say such sentiments for what the court knew as the cold, rigid one-eyed prince, but marriage had changed much of him.

He was always handsome, despite the scar and the menacing glint in his good eye. The fearful aura he exuded in his stride made any good woman weak in the knees, coupled with that sleek, soft hair the shade of moonlight, and his lithe, tall form. Prince Aemond was far more fancied by the young maidens that served as the keep’s staff, Sera included. 

It was a particularly beautiful morn when she realized this. The spring breeze brought about a lightness through the castle, while the early morning sun beamed with hope for warmth after winter’s end. Sera made her way through Maegor’s Holdfast, her feet taking a mind of its own as it led her to your chambers. She had been at your service for a few moons at this point, a routine suitably established with time and experience. 

As she was granted entry by the White Cloak at your door, she made quick work to draw every curtain open, before making her way to the bedchamber. You must be awakened soon, and with a light knock, Sera was answered with a sleepy hum that indicated your rise.

However, such disruptions to one’s routine should always be expected. When she turned the doorknob with a soft greeting on her lips, Sera was taken aback by the sight that met her. You were, indeed, freshly awake, eyes half-lidded and hair aptly messed from the sheets, but with the addition of your husband’s kneeling form in between your thighs. His silver hair was loose, draped over his sculpted back as you gripped them in between your fingers. Neither of you seemed to notice the intruder, clearly lost in the dizzy haze of your pleasure as your hips continued to cant against Aemond’s face. It was her stunned gasp that made Sera’s presence known. For the first time, she had gotten too close, had touched the bubble that encased the couple in their marital bliss, and now it had burst. 

Both royals snapped their heads towards the door, but it was prince Aemond that made her heart beat erratically in her chest. He was without his eyepatch, nor his clean updo that kept his mane out of his face, nor a tunic or any clothing for that matter. The dazzling sapphire glinted in the morning sun, drawing her into its tantalizing spell. It was a good thing her eyes stayed there, never drifting downward to the other treasure in between his legs for the scowl on Aemond’s face made his displeasure known.

“Out,” was all he said, sending poor Sera scurrying out of the room. You would apologize to her later in the day, giving her clammy hand a soft squeeze with nothing but gentleness in your face. 

“Whatever happened to you?” Elara had asked her upon her return to the servant’s wing. The younger girl’s brows furrowed in confusion and slight worry at the beet-red flush on Sera’s face. Unlike her acquaintance, Elara’s experience with serving prince Aegon was nothing short of harrowing, and such a reaction on Sera was enough to have her assuming the worst. “Were you harmed?”

“No, no! Hells, I–” Sera stammered. When did she begin to perspire so much? Her nape was damp with flustered sweat from the aftermath of such embarrassment. Detailing the moments of her eventful morning was a struggle, even more so when Elara burst out giggling in her face. Sera slapped her hands over her face, groaning. “The prince wasn’t supposed to be there so late. He would be off to the yard with Ser Cole at this hour!”

The young blonde shook her head in amusement, hands still busy with folding linens. “Gods, the princess is a lucky one, isn’t she? Prince Aemond seems like a total dreamboat compared to his brother.” She leaned closer to Sera, whispering. “Did you see his—?” 

“His what?” she replied, not fully understanding the cryptic tilt of her head and the smirk on her face.

“Well, you know… his High Tower!”

Both girls erupted into a fit of laughter, though old Hilda wasn’t too happy with their slacking off. 

The second time Sera had found herself bestowed another close glimpse of the couple was during the hour of the owl. You were only a few days away from term, and the maester had you isolated for the rites of seclusion prior to your labors. Aemond, in an isolated state of his own, was forbidden to visit you even in daylight for propriety’s sake. Your marital chambers never felt so empty, with your absence ridding it of any life that came with your mere presence.

It was a miserable affair, both for you and your husband. Sera had seen how the separation was affecting her princess. You were lonely, weary from the aches of your belly, and losing your appetite from the desolate state of your chambers. It had her worried, even more so when word of your husband’s anxious state reached her ears. She ought to do something, but she had little power over the order of the maesters, even more so when it was approved by the queen herself. 

Perhaps it was by fate when one night, she… forgot to close the door firmly behind her when she was granted her leave for the evening. It granted the prince entry, after many nights of pacing through the halls for any chance to slip into his wife’s chambers without being detected. She stayed in the shadows of an alcove, counting the minutes until she heard the familiar gait of the one-eyed prince taking the path she had just passed. 

She couldn’t help herself. With featherlight steps, Sera tiptoed back to your door, peeking through the slight crack left ajar. What she saw almost had her thinking it was a repeat of that one morning, but it was something far more intimate.

There he was, the one-eyed prince Aemond, kneeling before your seated form like a devotee. His face was nuzzled into your lap, his arms wrapped around the swollen bump that housed your offspring. Your hands rubbed down his back soothingly, while your cheeks glistened under the dim light of your chambers. Tears of happiness, Sera realized. Like always, your husband peppered kisses all over— your hands, your belly, even on the swell of your bosom that threatened to spill from your garments.

It was nothing debauched, nor depraved, but filled with far more passion than she had ever seen in her young life. She had never seen two souls so profoundly intertwined, deep into the throes of your love in a way that seemed unfathomable in this cruel life. It was no fairytale, but very much real. 

He looked unrecognizable like this, with a face so peaceful and a touch so gentle. His thin lips moved with words inaudible to Sera’s ears, but the way your face glowed brighter than it had been for these past days made the young girl’s chest swell with a yearning for something of her own. She could only pray that her princess would only find happiness in her marriage, and that the gods would grant herself a love that could be half as full as yours.

Prince Aemond was no man of big gestures. He was not one to scream his love from the rooftops, nor wear his heart on his sleeve, but with his forehead pressed into your bump, Sera learned that whispers of a true love were far greater than proclamations of folly.

Criston Cole did not believe in love. It was a fool’s wish. The only time he had gotten close to dabbling into the idea of it had left him broken, honor sullied for a princess who returned little of what he had given. Rhaenyra was a thorn in his past, and her bastards were a blatant reminder of his divulgence into her trap. Hence, his apprehension upon the news of the marriage of the heir’s only daughter to Alicent’s thirdborn. 

What was he to say? To do? Nothing. Criston had overstepped his bounds once and it had ended with his white cloak dirtied and his sanity balanced on the tip of his sword. This match was doomed to fail, he had no doubt of it, but he kept his mouth shut. The Dornishman was quite famed for his good swordsmanship, and his humble beginnings, but especially more so of his handsome looks. Olive skin, luscious dark locks, and wide brown orbs that glimmered like topaz under the southern sun. Those eyes held less composure than the rest of his face. They were a window of his thoughts, and they spoke of the words his tongue held back. Cole’s contempt for Rhaenyra’s blood was ever evident in the sharp gaze he threw your way. You were of your mother’s sin, yet you walked in these halls as if though you were anything but a blaring reminder of it. 

Criston knew of Aemond’s nature. He had spent many hours honing the young prince’s skills with a sword, had taken him and his mother to the Sept for their prayers. Cole had even held him while he writhed in pain when the maester took out the stitches of his slashed eye. The second prince shared his disdain for Rhaenyra and her brood, perhaps even more so than the knight himself. And so, he was well aware that Aemond found no positives in his marriage. 

For a while, the knight believed the younger to share such sentiments, but the stories of your blossoming marriage had filtered through the Keep, inevitably reaching the ears of the White Sword Tower. His response was nothing but a scoff. Criston did not consider himself a believer of such change, but when he began to see it for himself, his views faltered. 

Namedays of the royal family were always celebrated with grandeur and splendor. Helaena’s twins had just turned five, and the court had taken to the Kingswood for the royal hunt. It was a splendid affair, the young babes garnering much attention from the guests. Aegon, surprisingly enough, was enthusiastically present for his children. The elder held much love for his children, and it made for an endearing sight to see. This had lightened the attention on prince Aemond and his ladywife, who were bound to be parents of their own.

The news of your pregnancy had garnered much praise and well wishes from the court, and before you even began to grow round with child, all eyes were constantly on you and Aemond. Though that night, you had been granted reprieve. 

Cole stood beside the queen Alicent as she sat, ever faithfully upholding his duty. It was customary for him to scan the room constantly, keeping himself aware of any potential threat to his queen. There he found prince Aemond and his ladywife, secluded in their own little corner of the royal tent.

You had whispered something into Aemond’s ear with a cherubic smile, before covering your mouth with a ringed hand as giggles spilled from your lips. The knight fought back the urge to roll his dark, chocolate orbs at such a display, knowing the second prince well enough that such behavior did not bode well with him. 

Yet, he found himself mistaken. In the dim amber glow of the royal pavilion, it was easy to overlook the way Aemond’s silver tresses swayed as his head bowed followed by the most peculiar sight. The leather of his doublet moved up and down as his shoulders shook. Criston may have been granted only the sight of the prince’s back, but it was plain enough to see.

He was laughing. 

In all his years serving the Hightowers, the most he had ever seen from Aemond was a smirk, or a dark chuckle when he bested his mentor while they trained. Cole believed his eyes to be deceiving him, but the pleased look on your face and the bubbling laughter that echoed through the night was testament enough that you had the power to loosen the prince’s otherwise rigid grip on his composure. You were stuck to his side, heads huddled together as you whispered about gods know what. It might have been the wine or the warmth exuded by the torches littered about, but your cheeks were flushed like a rose. 

Beyond his conscience, the sight had pulled a smile of his own. Something akin to elation sweltered in the knight’s chest. It pleased him to see the prince so relaxed, free from the tension he always carried. Criston would have you to thank for it. 

Beside him, Alicent was looking at him as though he had grown a second head. Her sworn shield seldom found things that amused him, and even then, it was rather disturbing to her. “What amuses you, good ser?” she asked, taking Criston by surprise. His cheeks quickly dropped to his usual formal state, throat clearing to regain his composure. The queen, ever observant followed where his eyes had flickered to. Across from where she sat, her second son held an arm around his wife’s waist, whispering into each other’s ear while sharing a cup of wine. Wide smiles mirrored each other, their gazes focused on no one else but them. The sight made the queen’s cheeks dimple into a small smile, a warmth in her motherly heart filling her with hope. It had been many years ago when Alicent deemed herself cursed by the gods, given a fate so cruel. It had shaken her faith, even more so when it appeared to have trickled down to her children. Aemond had the worst of it— a dragon egg turned to stone, an eye cruelly taken, and a ghost of a father. She feared for what may become of him, with his wrath and fury that seemed to guide his aspirations. Yet now, as she watched her favored son let his wife take his cheek into her hand so publicly, Alicent prayed that the tides were turning for him. Perhaps you might change his fate. Perhaps he might be spared yet. “He’s been quite happy as of late,” Alicent mentioned, turning to Criston. A look filled with mirth equaled that of the Dornishman before her, who nodded in agreement.

“He has, my queen. It pleases me greatly to see the prince so content. The princess brings out the best in him,” Cole replied. They shared smiles of their own, and the knight felt emboldened by the glee they shared. He shuffled ever so closely to her seat, the warmth exuding from her pale flesh emanating through the cold steel of his armor. As they both watched you take Aemond’s hand to lead him out of the pavilion, Criston willed himself to keep his composure as Alicent ever so subtly leaned against his arm.

Criston was present in much of what happens in the royal family. He was there for every nameday, every birth, and every milestone that Alicent’s children had. Albeit, he was in the background, but he was there. It did not change when they became parents themselves, with Helaena and Aegon having three babes, while Aemond and his ladywife were now about to have a child of their own.

Aemond had been an anxious mess all morning. Your labors had begun just as dawn broke, and pursued well through noon. Queen Alicent made her way to your chambers to check on your well-being as soon as the council dispersed, with Cole naturally in tow. Your husband had to be pushed back by several knights as the grand maester forbade him to enter the birthing chamber, fighting to be by your side. Your wails and cries had him distressed, even more so when he could clearly hear you call for him. It was only when his mother arrived did Aemond settle, uneasily staying in the common room as she was permitted to see you in his stead.  “This is her fight, Aemond. You must let them do their work,” Alicent said, planting a soothing kiss on her son’s cheek before entering the birthing chamber. 

His mother’s presence did little to quench his worries, and the one-eyed prince had settled to lean on the windowsill, fists clenched on the stone as his head bowed. From his place by the door, Cole approached him with quiet steps, settling beside his tense form. “She will be alright,” he said. “The princess is strong. A dragon in her own right.” He was responded by only a grunt from the younger, who kept his good eye closed as he steadied his breathing.

It was quiet between the two, just as it always was with Aemond. The only sound in the room was your outcries of pain that only seemed to grow louder by the minute. With a heavy sigh, Aemond spoke. “What did she thank you for?”

“My prince?” Criston asked, confused.

“My wife. When she first arrived from Dragonstone, I heard her whisper her thanks to you, and her apology for having done so too late. What did she have to thank you for?”

Cole huffed a small chuckle at the memory. It was many, many years ago when you were merely a girl. You used to play with Helaena in the gardens so often, especially during the spring afternoons when the butterflies danced above the bushels of flowers. Alicent would find time to watch over the young princesses, with her sworn shield following their tail through the royal gardens.

One afternoon, both girls had been so enthusiastic with the amount of colorful butterflies that flittered about. Helaena had her eyes set on a pretty blue one, crossing the wooden footbridge over the small pond in the middle of the greenery. 

The pair made haste to follow the girls, but you came running back, with a quivering frown. You had clutched onto Criston’s cloak, refusing to cross over the small, wooden bridge. It was littered with frogs from the pond. The tiny green things gave you a fright, and Criston had to carry you in his arms over to where Helaena played in the grass. Your excitement had quickly been restored once your fear was gone, short legs quickly wriggling out of the knight’s grip to rejoin your aunt.

A decade later, you voiced your regrets over your rudeness and thanked Criston for his help on that day.

“It was for something so little that did not require such importance, but the princess was gracious to remember so,” Cole smiled. Aemond’s lips had lifted into a smile of his own at the thought of you, slim cheeks dimpling. 

“She is full of nothing but kindness,” the prince said fondly, straightening his posture with more ease. “I am rather undeserving of it.” Aemond’s response made Cole frown, the elder knight clasping the prince’s shoulder in a fatherly squeeze. 

“The gods have deemed you most deserving of it, Aemond. You were fated for each other. I have witnessed no other pair to have been more well suited in this lifetime, believe me.” Such words were so foreign to leave Cole’s lips, but they held no lie. A shrill cry had then pierced through the air, and Alicent had opened the door with a wide smile on her face. ‘Tis a girl! was her exclaim, and Aemond had rushed off from Criston’s side to see his wife. 

Pleased, the knight stayed in his place, off to the side as the royals celebrated yet a new beginning in their lives.

Criston may not believe in love, nor has he felt it, but he has seen it. 

It could be quite beautiful, he realized. 

Lay Your Claim

summary | When rumors questioning his wife's fidelity reach the king's ears, Aemond seeks out answers in his own ways.

pairing | king!aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI!, oral (f), rumored infidelity, exhibitionism, forced voyeurism, jealous and possessive king aemond 🫦, porn w little plot

wordcount | 2.1k

note | this is in the same realm as The Way to a Man's Heart but can still be read as a standalone :) next part will be a backstory for context.... maybe

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“...and some sprouting qualms over the Reach over farmland disputes, but I have good faith in the Tyrells to see the problem squandered before the need for the crown’s intervention…”

The late afternoon sun beamed warmly in soft rays into the small council chamber. The young king leaned against his spacious chair, rolling the green marble around in its plate as his men droned about the most minute details unworthy of his attention. Being king meant putting out small fires before extinguishing larger ones, done with a simple word or a nod, often by a wave of his hand. 

“Whatever you deem a suitable course of action has my approval, Lord Hand. Just see it done, yes?” Aemond ordered, satisfied when his trusted advisor nodded at his words. The assembly soon adjourned, and the council filtered out of the chamber, leaving the king be. Though he was not alone for long, for his wife soon walked through the same doors, sworn guard in tow. Aemond beckoned you forward with a nod, good eye running down the length of your embroidered gown. He noted his gifts adorning parts of you— the rings on your fingers, the gleaming sapphire around your neck, even the Myrish lace that adorned your overskirt. 

“You called for me, my king?” you asked softly. Always so prim and proper, with your hands clasped on your front and your spine erect like a doll on strings while stood a respectful distance from your husband.

“I did, wife. Some whispers have reached my ears, regarding an occurrence between you and one of your ladies. The Lady Wylde, I heard,” he spoke, observing as you started to fidget, bright eyes trailing away from his sight. “Do these whispers bear any truth?” 

It was silent as Aemond waited for you to speak, as calmly as his meager patience would allow him. “They do, my king. She… The lady said some things that threatened to taint my good name,” you said, head slightly bowed in shame. His face remained stoic, not betraying the sliver of surprise at your easy admittance. Perhaps he would get his answers quicker than he intended.

“I am curious to know what brought this on… if you would indulge me,” he urged, shifting to sit taller while his elbows leaned onto the table’s edge. Aemond noted the slightest flicker of your eyes towards him, before returning to your feet once more. 

“I-I do not wish to trouble my king with trivial nonsense whispered between women.”

“They are serious enough if it moved you to strike her across the cheek,” Aemond pressed before you could wave him off. In the corner of his lone eye, he observed your sworn shield. A knight from your region, sworn into the Kingsguard as part of your lord father’s negotiations for your hand. He didn’t think much of it then, but the growing whispers around court about the kinship between his queen and her knight were starting to unnerve him, like an incessant ticking in his ear. 

He won’t pry for now. Not directly at least, not while your knight stood tall by the chamber’s doors, eyes cast somewhere in the distance and avoiding his sharp stare. Still, the king would get his answers in some shape or form. 

“It is no matter now, but I fear my emotions got out of hand and I acted out of turn by striking her. ‘Twas a shameful act for a queen, I am sorry,” you expressed, slightly pouting. Your honesty seemed to be sincere enough, eyes bright as you raised your head to look directly at him. 

“What do you apologize for? The lady displeased you, did she not?” he questioned, brow raised in perplexed interest. Aemond would admit though the rumors seemed rather farfetched in his imagination, though the probability of its actuality not so much. It was not as though you were in his bed every night, nor him in yours. Despite the barriers that had been toppled in the course of your marriage, Aemond had never been one to adept in proximity. His expertise lay in keeping people within an arm’s reach, even in his marriage. Yet you never complained, and he presumed you were happy enough. Perhaps that happiness had been earned elsewhere, and the thought of it made his chest thump with an ugly heat. 

“W-well, yes, but House Wylde is a trusted ally of the crown. I understand our need for their support and their lord’s wisdom on your council. I fear that I may have tainted that pact with my actions–” 

Your words were cut short by a raise of his hand, flush lips clamping shut. The king could smirk at how obedient his sweet wife was, a dutiful little thing that never wished to displease him. It was a funny thought to imagine you capable of seeking a lover, in all your sheltered upbringing and devout faith, though it was too soon to dismiss such a thought. “No lord on my council comes before their queen. You have no need to fret over this, wife. In truth, I am pleased,” he said, smiling crookedly as confusion painted your handsome features. 

“You are?”

“Yes. I have hoped for you to find your voice— as sovereign, as my queen, and it seems you are growing the courage.”

Hearing his words made your face brighten in surprise, before warming to a timid flush at his praise. He raised his hand to reach for you, beckoning you closer. Taking short steps forward, your ringed hand fit smaller in his broader palm when you placed it in his hold. His grip was firm, though not overbearing, as was his other hand that gripped your waist to pull you closer.

“You would tell me if there are any secrets you hold that could harm the crown and its reputation, yes?” he asked, soft tone bearing a sharp edge that noted his warning. The implications of his words were evident in the way you obediently nodded, visibly gulping in his tight hold. He knew his wife was smart enough to not consider him a fool.

“Of course, husband. There is naught I wish to do that would be an insult to my king, I promise you this,” you uttered, sealing your vow with a kiss on his ring. Aemond leaned back with a pleased sigh, sneaking a glance toward the door where your knight still stood. He bit back the mischievous smirk that threatened to lift his slim cheeks, fingers thrumming on his thigh. 

“Good. Sit.” Your husband nodded towards the table’s edge. Your mouth opened to voice your confusion his intent, but the stern look in his eye left no room for question. You slid through the space between his legs and the wood, tucking your skirts beneath your bottom as you perched on the grand oak. Aemond hummed in satisfaction at your pliancy. Very obedient indeed. 

“What are you…” you started, interrupted by the king finding the hem of your skirt and lifting it to your hips. Panicked, you clamped a hand down to save yourself some decency. A moot attempt, for his grip was stronger than yours, and he had already exposed your smallclothes to his eye. “Aemond!”

“I wish to please my queen as she has pleased me. Think of it as a present of sorts,” he said, smiling casually as though his calloused palms weren’t caressing the exposed flesh above your stockings. His amusement only heightened at the flush starting to color his queen’s cheeks as you stammered.

“You are most gracious, my king, b-but here?” you questioned, head quickly turning to look at the two knights standing by the doors. Both your sworn shields were adept in playing invisible, expert in finding something else to cast their eyes upon unless they were needed. They would not react to whatever the king did with his wife in their privacy, even if he took her right before them. 

“I do not see a problem why not,” Aemond shrugged. You started to voice another attempt of reason, but he had already made quick work of loosening the ribbons holding your smallclothes together. The king was efficient in all things, wasting no time to dive head first into your lovely cunt.

With every sigh he coaxed from your lips, the more your resolve started to crumble, and the more it spurred him on. Mewling, your dainty hand grabbed his silver tresses, pulling on his roots to urge him away. Your husband lifted his head to look at you, with your breasts pushed flush against your neckline as you heaved, and eyes starting to grow glazed with desire. “What is it? Do you want me to stop?” he asked, tilting his head in teasing.

Your teeth caught your plump lower lip as you bit them in thought. Your hold was tight on his mane, a grounding pressure that kept him from devouring you the way he wanted. Wordlessly, you pushed him back between your thighs, giving him full reign to do with you as he wished. 

Saccharine essence started to coat his tastebuds, your flower nice and warm against his tongue. The extent of your experiences in the ways of the flesh as man and wife was limited, he’ll admit, seldom venturing past the goal of planting his seed in your womb by the end of it. The king’s wife was virtuous and proper, unfamiliar with seeking her own pleasure when she was so deserving of it. Aemond had started to give you a taste for it, on the nights when his blood ran hotter for you and he let himself indulge in all that you would give him. Those evenings would end with them slick in sweat and rightfully flushed, and you would always turn so timid as he cleaned you up, right before he returned to his chambers for the night. You would never say it out loud, but he saw it in your eyes— an insatiable fire starting to be stoked.

Your voice started to grow in volume the deeper his tongue prodded into your slit, a sweet song floating through his ears and rushing straight to his cock. His thumb soon found your pearl, rubbing tight circles on your nubbin. This only served to heighten your arousal, moans now properly echoing through the vast chamber. The sound of it made him smirk triumphantly against your folds, feeding the fire that had him eating you like a man starved. Your fingers never left his hair, using it as leverage as you started to ground your hips against his face. His eye flickered to catch a peek, and he found you with your head thrown back and mouth fallen agape. 

It didn’t take long for you to start gushing out your release, nearing the point of screaming as you did so. Your voice all but shook the stone walls, reverberating through the vast chambers while you trembled underneath his hold. It was the loudest Aemond had ever heard you, even more than the night he had let you ride him in the bath. A sick pride swelled in his chest while he lapped up your sweet honey, hardened length jumping in his breeches as it demanded reprieve. 

Aemond opened his mouth as he pulled away to voice a teasing remark when you grabbed the leather of his doublet and pulled him up, smashing your lips against his in a hungered frenzy. You palmed at his bulge, rubbing him through his breeches. A knock on the council doors echoed through the room before you could start unlacing him, your sworn shield swiftly moving to open the entrance before the king could bark out in anger.

Fucker. 

Your handmaiden moved to enter, but quickly bowed her head upon seeing the compromising position she found you in. “M-my deepest apologies, Y-your Graces,” she stuttered. Aemond had opened his mouth to scold, but your hand on his chest stopped him before he could spit out his wrath for the disturbance.

“It’s alright, Ada. Was something the matter?” you said softly. Ada remained with her head bowed, shoulders slightly quivering in fear under the king’s deathly stare. 

“Her Grace wished to be notified when princess Jaehaera’s lessons finish for the day. Afternoon tea has been prepared in the gardens, as her grace requested,” she squeaked. The reminder seemed to make you remember yourself, returning to your feet and letting your skirts fall back to the floor. 

“Right. Thank you,” you sighed. The young handmaiden curtsied in haste, before scurrying off when you dismissed her. Your gaze turned back to your husband, who still had his eye narrowed somewhere by the chamber’s entrance. His attention returned as you softly caressed his clothed chest, smiling up at him sweetly. “Come join us?”

It was then that Aemond made his decision. He would let the rumors be. He had no wish to prod nor question his dear wife, but let it be known that he was never one to share, in spite of his reservedness and outwardly cold nature. His answer would come on the nights you begin to seek him out, singing your sweet song of pleasure beneath him as he spurred release after release from your sweet cunt. For now, he was pleased, smirking devilishly at the sight of your knight’s clenched jaw as he left the small council chamber with his queen’s hand nestled in his elbow.

Before You Go, Before I Am Lost to the Ether

summary | On death row, Aemond Targaryen has one last visitor. (based on this request.)

pairing | criminal!aemond targaryen x senator's daughter!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! oral (f), multiple orgasms, daddy kink, angst, squirting, mention of death penalty, death row meal? this 🐱

wordcount | 4.4k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Hey, baby.”

Aemond was enveloped by a cloud of smoke when you entered the room. It wasn’t a cell, per se, but rather an empty room save for a table with two chairs in the middle of it. No cameras. For a guy who was to die in less than three hours, he looked quite unbothered. 

Your ex-boyfriend, clad in a standard gray jumpsuit, was leaning against the cold metal of his chair, one arm hanging off the side. A cigarette dangled from his lips, smirking at you behind the tobacco curtain. It only grew wider when your frosty pink lips dipped into a frown.

“You fucking asshole,” you spat.

Ah, there’s his girl.

“Little Miss sneaked into prison to see me, ay?” he teased. His chest vibrated with a low chuckle at the sight of your scowl. Silver tresses swayed to the side as he tilted his head, running his good eye down your form. Gods, you looked good. “Came to say goodbye, sweetheart?”

“Shut up.”

He watched as you turned back to look at the door, before moving to sit opposite him. With a huff, you plopped down onto the hard, steel chair, setting your crocodile skin Birkin onto the gray cement floor. An equally dull table separated the two of you. The distance between you felt like an entire ocean, though Aemond knew it was nothing compared to the agony of being away from his dear girl for months while he lay awake in his cold, empty cell.

A silence encompassed the two of you, merely staring at each other. The tapping of your satin Pradas faintly filled it— the strappy ones. The kind Aemond liked. With his remaining eye, he took in the sight of you and tried to find which part of you changed.

You’ve forgone the blonde balayage you had retouched every 2 months, now sticking to your natural color. It suited you better.

Your lashes looked freshly done. Aemond could only imagine the 2-hour drive you always insisted on taking to meet your lash tech.

Were those new earrings? He liked them, they looked so pretty on you.

You’ve noticed him staring; it’s not like he was discreet about it anyway, but it made him clear his throat and sit taller. “How’d you get in?” he asked, taking another puff of his cigarette. You tutted at him as a thick cloud of smoke billowed from his lips and nostrils. You always disapproved of such a dirty habit.

“The prison warden here used to be part of Daddy’s security back in the day. Didn’t take much convincing to let me in, he gave me 2 hours,” you shrugged, looking at your nails. Your gaze shifted around, only sparing him glances. The smug look on Aemond’s face threatened to return, pride swelling in his chest at the thought that he still affected you this way. Curious, his eyebrow raised at your words, leaning his forearms onto the cold table.

“And does Daddy know you’re here?”

It was then you met his teasing, attentive gaze. The icy blue of his good eye was sharp, while the exposed gemstone twinkled under the harsh fluorescent light over your heads. You narrowed your eyes at him, mimicking his stance.

“Of course not,” you sneered.

If anyone were to discover your visit, it would be an uncontrollable scandal. It was already bad to find the daughter of the Senate minority leader, sneaking past maximum security into prison to see your ex-boyfriend, but said ex also had his face planted on every news channel with the broadcasting of his crimes.

Aemond Targaryen, disgraced son of former majority leader Viserys Targaryen! 

Despite his father being a prominent political figure for decades before his death, Aemond was rarely in the spotlight. He was much further down the line, and so much of the attention was always on his older siblings, all for different reasons. Nyra was always present by dad’s side for scheduled appearances, being advertised as the next Targaryen to follow in their father’s footsteps as his eldest child. Aegon was a different story, with sneaked photos of him drunk off his face at frat parties, salacious pap photos while in a hot tub with some girl at Aspen, and worst of all, being caught with thousands worth of illegal substances in his apartment. Aemond was known as the dutiful one, an excellent law student with stunning records that got him into Harvard, besides his name.

Another tense silence passed, though he could see your agitation growing the more your time ran out. You were here for a reason, he knew that, but you were never good at getting your words out.

“So,” he spoke up. “Why did you come to see me?”

You sighed, looking down to your lap. He couldn’t see it, but he could tell you were fidgeting. His fingers twitched, longing to take your hand into his larger ones. You opened your mouth to speak, stuttering at first. 

“I guess I just wanted to see you before you…” you trailed off, lips quivering into a frown. Aemond nodded in understanding. With a sniffle, you lifted your head to look at him. Your sad eyes trailed over his figure, no doubt noting how much weight he’s lost. He always had a thin frame, but with years of boxing, calisthenics, and various sports gave him a leaner, sinewy form, but he’s lost most of it since coming to this place. “They said you turned down your last meal.”

Aemond shrugged, pointy shoulders poking through the dull gray of his jumpsuit. The food in prison was rightfully abhorrent; the extent of their culinary expertise being a tray of grey sludge and crackers. Cigarettes, however, there seemed to be no shortage of. “No point in it,” he muttered. 

“You could have anything you want, you know.”

He was never one to indulge, but there was one thing he really, really missed— lemon cakes. The ones your mom made from lemons in her backyard. It made the glands in his jaw spring up in attention, filling him with a shock in his senses that he could only attribute to being alive. He was never religious, despite the Hightower blood coursing through his veins, but being so close to death had him thinking of the afterlife. He would like it if there were lemon cakes, where he could split them with you as you lay tangled up under the big willow tree in your family’s garden. Yes, he would like that.

“I had everything I wanted at one point in my life, then I lost it,” he said, looking straight into your wide orbs. He could sense the words threatening to spill from your lips, could practically feel them forming on your tongue. 

“Why did you push me away, Aemond?” you asked, voice starting to quiver with the emotions that threatened to overcome you. “I could have been there for you, through all of this.” His silver tresses swayed as he shook his head. Stubbing his finished cigarette onto the table’s leg, he aimed it at the trash bin situated behind him. It missed.

“I never wanted you to be a part of my mess.”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “You didn’t give me a choice in the matter. What if I wanted to be part of your mess? I could have helped! We know people, good lawyers that would see that you wouldn’t end up here!” You had risen to your feet now, leaning over with your hands splayed on the table. Aemond could only listen as you yelled at him, letting out months of pent-up frustration about why he so suddenly left you stranding just before his crimes went public. He couldn’t have you involved, hence why he had broken up with you the moment he knew he was done for. 

Targaryens were always after legacy. Their blood spanned from fearsome dragonlords back in medieval times, written in history as great men equal to gods. Aemond couldn’t let his side of the family go down as nothing. With Rhaenyra campaigning against Aegon in the senatorial race, it was clear they had little to win against Viserys’ golden girl. His grandsire had delved into making sure Rhaenyra’s name would be tarnished well before the elections, anonymously broadcasting all of his eldest sister’s fuck ups throughout her youth— her disregard for learning the way of politics, numerous affairs that lead to the questionable parentage of her sons, including the shocking rumor of her intimate involvement with their uncle Daemon. Otto had men keeping a close eye on Rhaenyra and her family, reporting anything that would be of use, especially regarding their political moves. Some falsified stories also came into the mix, but the worst act of all, was when Aemond killed Luke in a car accident. It was an accident, it really was, but as he stood before court there was little evidence to prove otherwise. He was not an innocent man, but he had his reasons. 

Ever their family’s martyr, Aemond took the blame for all of it. 

Five counts of aiding and abetting. Eight counts of defamation. Four counts of espionage. One count of vehicular manslaughter. Sentenced to death by lethal injection.

“I’m a dead man already,” he said. A pang in his chest cracked what was left of his heart when your lips quivered as he said ir, eyes reddening with tears. Regretful, he rose from his seat, moving to hold you by the elbows. As much as your body told you otherwise, you broke away from his grip. His cheek stung when you struck him with your open palm, tingling with warm pain in the aftermath.

“How could you say that to me?” you fumed, hitting him in the chest with your fists. Aemond could only take it in silence, feeling more and more alive with your every strike than the past couple of months in isolation. “After everything we’ve been through, how could you throw it all away so easily? You don’t even mourn what’s been wasted of your life? Our life?” You’ve managed to push him back now, making him lean against the table. 

He caught your wrists, bringing you close to his chest. You found your place in between his thighs, face buried in the crook of his neck. Aemond pressed his nose into your hair, the familiar scent of your rose-infused hair oil invading his senses, grounding him. “It’s going to be alright, baby. It’ll be painful for a second, then it’ll be over. I’ll be fine,” he said, soothing you with a kiss on your head.

You looked at him, tears starting to pool in the corners of your lids. “What about me? You’ll be gone, and you’ll be fine, but what about me, Aemond?” you quivered.

With a sigh, Aemond cupped your jaw and pressed his forehead against yours. “Oh, baby.” 

You were right. He hadn’t even realized how selfish he’s been. The man had been too preoccupied with his family’s mess and everything that’s happened since to even wonder how he had affected you. And soon, he was leaving you for good. He had to thank the gods, and your father’s connections, that he was granted another moment to see you, to feel the heat of your flesh underneath his palms. He needed to savor this, make every second count.

His lips found their home in yours. They were sweet, and plump underneath his tongue as it prodded its way into your mouth. You responded in vigor, taking hold of the back of his neck to keep him close. The sticky feel of your gloss painted his pale skin with a light pink sheen as you descended downwards to his neck. He smelled like cigarette smoke, as expected, and the faintest of soap. 

Aemond maneuvered to switch you both, making you lean against the table while he sunk to his knees. Expert hands undid the belt on your trousers, letting them fall to the floor in a heap of brown houndstooth. His thin lips made their way up from your calf, the inside of your thigh, up to where a damp spot was forming on your lace panties. He longed to get a whiff of your essence, his aquiline nose fitting perfectly into the indent of your folds. You squirmed when his thumb trailed your clothed slit with a featherlight touch, rubbing on your clit through the fabric.

“Aem…” you whined. “Please, don’t tease. We don’t have time.”

Aemond hummed, tilting his head to bite into the plump meat of your thigh. A warm, calloused hand took hold of your leg, lifting it to hook over his shoulder. “Ask me nicely then. What do you say, baby?” 

Another whine from you as you tilted your head back. You were gripping the edge of the table tight, tethering on the edge of propriety. “Please, daddy.” His lips lift into a feline smirk against your thigh before deft fingers drop your thong in one motion. Aemond, never one to dally, plunged his tongue straight into your warm center. His hunger was evident. He slurped, licked, and sucked on you exactly like a man who was in his last hours on earth. It was sloppy, sweet juices making a mess down his chin. There was a desperation to it, an urge to leave his mark on both your mind and body that had him shaking his head from side to side as he nuzzled his sharp nose into your clit. The little motion had you whining, and the sight of you with your head thrown back made his cock stir when he peeked up at you. 

Shifting his mouth to suck on your pearl, two fingers dove into your pussy. You needed no time to adjust, seeing as the clear honey of your slick was dripping down his knuckles. Your nipples pebbled against the fabric of your black, sleeveless Ralph Lauren turtleneck, and you lifted the thin fabric over your head to play with your stiff nubs, spurring yourself closer to the precipice. Meanwhile, Aemond’s fingers fucked you with a breakneck speed, fueled with the urgency of wanting to see you fall apart. His mouth worked in tandem, sucking on your clit and circling with his tongue. Your walls soon began to squeeze his fingers rhythmically, indicating the beginning of your end. “Y’gonna come for me, baby? Come on,” he urged, delighting in your fervent moan when he curled his fingers into the rough spot within your walls.

“Y-yeah, daddy, I’m…” you stammered, cheeks steadily reddening. Your chest began to heave, followed by the quivering in your thighs. Telltale signs of something familiar. It sparked an instant excitement in Aemond’s chest, prompting him to never lose his pace. Your brows were furrowed adorably, while your hand gripped his shoulder in a poor attempt of getting away. Your efforts were futile as Aemond’s fingers stayed clamped into your walls as you squirted all over his hand. “Fuck, fuck!” A string of curses melted into the wail you pathetically tried to cover with your hand. The smug smirk on his face displayed his delight as your eyes rolled back into your school, tongue eagerly licking up the sweet juices covering his hand. 

“My perfect girl,” he praised, rising to his full height. The flesh on your waist was perfectly soft under his calloused palms, hands finding their home on your curves. Aemond planted kisses onto his lover’s cheek, capturing the salty droplets of sweat. “So fucking filthy. Was that all for me, baby?” 

A soft whimper was your initial response, nodding at him with wide, bleary eyes. “All for you, daddy.” Gone was the commanding aura you carried when you walked into the prison’s doors, reduced to nothing but an eager submission to one man only. You pawed at the bulge in Aemond’s pants, rubbing his erection in a manner that made him hiss. The standard-issued jumpsuit soon found its place among your designer clothing, crumpled to the floor with little regard. You had moved to lay your front onto the table, but Aemond had stopped you with a tut. He lifted the white, cotton tank covering his frame, before laying it flat onto the cold, metal table. He wouldn’t let your pristine skin get any of the grimy filth of sin this place was covered in. 

Body bent over and legs splayed open, the glistening wetness of your folds beckoned him closer. He gave his cock a couple of soft tugs, before directing his cockhead to your slit. In the familiar embrace of your warmth, Aemond found his home. It was then he realized how much he had been deprived of such ecstasy, with the slight gasp that fell from his lips as he buried himself to the hilt. 

Like an addict, he was soon lost in the ridges of your walls that massaged his length. His pace was unforgiving, eager to grant both of your pleasures in the limited time he had left. You were as eager as he, hips meeting his thrust with an equal enthusiasm. The quietness of such an isolated room was soon filled with the smacking of skin against skin, and the chorus of grunts and moans coming from the pair of you. 

“Perfect, fuckin’, pussy,” Aemond groaned, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust that would have sent you lurching forward if it weren’t for his grip on your shoulder. “Taking my cock so well. Is this what you wanted when you came here, baby? Wanted to get fucked in prison like a filthy slut, hm?” His free hand delivered resounding slaps against your ass that had the pump flesh rippling. A mewl echoed through the room as his pace remained brutal, just how you always liked it.

He might’ve thought himself already a dead man, a ghost spending his last hours in misery before the darkness overtook him, but Aemond had never felt so alive at this moment. He felt grounded, present. He had grown familiar with the numbing sensation of nothing, but he was feeling everything— from the tingle in his scalp, the heat in his veins, down to the fire that ignited his muscles. He was filled with life. 

The damp, stale air in the room soon began to grow musky with the smell of sex. The onset of your second release had you writhing under your lover’s tight grip, reaching back to grab onto his hips with a warning grip. “Gods, you’re gonna make me come!” you whimpered, yelping when Aemond gripped your hair to tilt your head back. His breath was hot against your damp neck, his teeth delivering a sharp bite into your skin to leave his mark.

“Yeah? Go ahead, baby, come on my cock.” With another harsh smack on your rear, you came all over his shaft with a cry of his name. His hips never faltered, fucking you steadily through your orgasm. The quiver in your thighs returned, knees almost to the point of bucking from the tidal wave of pleasure that washed over you. But Aemond wasn’t done with you. You were soon shifted to sit on the table, with the silver-haired man settling in between your thighs. He drove straight back into your heat, jackhammering his hips to seek out his release. You let him, of course you did, even meeting his thrusts as you held onto the table’s edge. He knew how sensitive you were, evident in the high-pitched uh, uh, uh’s that fell freely from your lips and the slight furrow in your brow. Your manicured nails dug into the outline of his abdomen, leaving streaks of red flesh against his pale skin. 

Aemond’s good eye was trained on the tantalizing view of your bouncing breasts, plump mounds of flesh that made his mouth water. He was at a point where he just merely wanted to indulge in every part of you, and he delighted in the fact that you would gladly let him. Aemond took your tit into his mouth, suckling on one while his hand fondled the other. If he looked down, he would’ve seen the white ring of your essence around the base of his cock, but he was already happy enough to have his face pressed into your breasts. Your grip on his silver mane kept him flush to your chest, your delighted sighs singing a sweet song in his ears. 

It seemed that Aemond’s desire to feel every ounce of your skin was not unreciprocated. Your hold on his pert, nicely rounded ass held him close, engulfing you in his warmth in the otherwise nippy room. Chest flushed against chest, his forehead against yours, Aemond breathed in your space. He panted into your mouth, lips lingering but not meeting as the tingle deep in his spine bloomed into a rising warmth. His cock twitched within your walls as he neared his precipice. Something tingled in his occiput, a swarming heat that threatened to wash down onto his lids.

“I love you, Aemond,” you breathed, before pressing your lips into his.

“Say it again,” he pleaded against your lips, voice almost to the point of cracking. “Please, baby, can you say it again?”

“I love you. I will never stop loving you.”

He came with a broken sputter, hips losing their rhythm as he emptied his seed into your womb. You both stayed in each other’s embrace for a peaceful, solemn moment, with your head in his chest as he buried into the crook of your neck. It was quiet as he chased his breath, but the quiet sob you had pressed into his skin made Aemond pull away to look at you in concern.

“Hey, hey, baby. It’s okay,” he soothed you, shushing your sobs with a kiss on your hair. Yet your chest still racked with sobs, mascara-tinted tears streaking down your cheeks. He wiped them all in haste, before cupping your face. “Don’t cry for me. You know it breaks my heart to see you cry.”

“How can you be fine with all of this?” you asked, lips quivering. Aemond sighed, pressing his lips onto your forehead before urging you to look at him.

“I’ve made my peace with it, with everything.” A scoff was your only response, harshly turning your face away from his grip as you looked off to the side. Your lover whispered your name in a quiet plea to look at him. Large palms, calloused from the steel handle of the weights in the prison courtyard, rubbed your thighs and squeezed the soft flesh. “You’ll be better off without me,” he reasoned. Your head snapped to face him in a blink, the sadness in your orbs turning to something akin to anger. 

“You’re a fucking idiot to think I could live one day without you.”

Aemond could only chuckle, one of a sad amusement. He pulled you back close into his chest, smoothing out the frazzled strands of your hair from the aftermath of your lovemaking. “You will, and you’ll be fine, I promise,” he reassured, chin resting on the top of your head. “Somebody’s going to make you much happier than I ever could. Someone who won’t hurt you, take care of you in ways you deserve.” He could feel his skin grow damp as salty tears fell from your eyes once more, quiet sniffling making known the agony you had endured for months away from him, and the grief you would soon face when he was gone.

Your hands took hold of his stubbled jaw, thumb softly caressing the sharp planes of his face. “How could I want anyone else when all I’ve ever wanted was you?” you breathed, striking an arrow straight into his bleeding heart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, swallowing down the thick lump in his throat. It had been years since Aemond found himself close to tears, the last time being buried in insufferable pain from the loss of his eye. It held no comparison to the throbbing in his chest now, his good eye furiously blinking away the hot tears that started to prickle. It began to dawn on him the gravity of it all. He would soon be gone, and he would no longer have the chance to see you, touch you, hold you in his arms. Aemond was beginning to feel the spark of regret for how his life had gone, with how his brashness had cost him the safety of your love. He would have none of that now, not when he would soon be reduced to a body that no longer breathed, a soul reduced to ash. 

For his final act of devotion, Aemond removed the glinting sapphire in his left socket, before enclosing the jewel into your palm. “Here,” he uttered, closing your fingers around the stone before pressing a kiss onto your hand.

“Aemond…” you gasped, looking at him in disbelief. It was his most prized possession, and there was no other person he would have given it to except for you. You were as special as it were to him— his most beautiful jewel, his heart. 

“I want you to have it, won’t be worth anything to me when I’m dead,” he said, lips lifting into a sad smile. He watched as you stared into the empty cavern of his missing eye, breath shuddering as your fingertip ghosted over his scar. In a flash, you buried yourself back into his embrace. As he pressed his nose into your shoulder, committing the sweet scent of your skin to memory, Aemond let himself shed a tear for all he had lost. He still had so much love to give, filled with an overwhelming urge to shower you in its warmth, but he was out of time.

A knock on the metal door signaled the end. You redressed in silence, both of you not uttering a word that would shatter the vulnerable glass of your despair. A mirrored pit of dread made Aemond’s palms begin to sweat, as it made you unable to look at him lest you broke out into tears once more. With the last button on his jumpsuit fastened, Aemond watched as you dug into your bag. You pulled out a small, white container, fastened by a ribbon. “Eat this, okay?” you urged, a glimmering, pleading look in your eye that made Aemond nod. Another knock, more urgent this time. With a heavy sigh, you kissed him so deeply that it made his head float. His grip almost made you stay, made you want to fight through hell and back to have him set free, but you were powerless. 

“I love you. I’m sorry.” was the last thing he ever said to you.

You stepped out the door without so much one last glance at him, forcing yourself to look straight with a hand clasped over your mouth. He was glad you didn’t. Let his last memory of you be the one of bliss, with you deep into the throes of your pleasure. As the clock continued to tick closer and closer to his final moment, Aemond untied the ribbon of your gift. At the sight of it, a smile made his slim cheeks dimple.

Lemon cakes.

one of the best aemond fics i’ve reader (no lie)

From Friend to Foe

PAIRING: Dark!Aemond Targaryen X Strong!fem!Reader

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni), noncon, virgin!reader, possessive aemond, friends to enemies, childhood friends, reader is from house strong, dragon riding (also riding Aemond), unprotected sex (p in v), forced kissing, riding breeding, angst, threats, humiliation, reader has dark hair, hair pulling, slapping, cunnilingus, mention of forced marriage, attempted murder.

SYNOPSIS: Aemond and you were childhood friends, you being the daughter of a lord and him being the Targayen prince. When the Greens and Blacks went against each other, your father’s sworn fealty to the blacks became an obstacle in your friendship and when your father was defeated, army overthrown — you were taken prisoner, kneeled before the Targaryen prince who was once your closest friend.

Swords clashed, dragon roared and knights fell after fighting bravely.

All you could do was sit idle in your room and await the promise of a better future. Only it did not come and when silence haunted the grounds of Harrenhal and everything came to a halt, you were certain your family had lost the fight.

You were mere humans, with no possession of such an almighty being.

Dragons were Gods. To be worshiped and prayed — and one was prominently flying over the remains of Harrenhal.

Belonging to none other than Aemond Targaryen, who was once your beloved friend with whom you dreamt of riding on a dragon.

Aemond had promised you when you were younglings. A promise that once he has claimed himself a dragon, you would be the first person he'd take for a flight.

The irony of the situation broke your heart.

The same dragon had left your castle and people in ruins — Vhagar’s loud wails filling up the sky with terror. You knew very well that now your army had fallen, your father definitely slain, you were going to face the same fate as many women during war did.

A prisoner, meat for Aemond’s men.

The door was slammed open and you turned around in a swift motion, finding your servant standing there. A look of horror adorning her once serene features. “It is done. The Targaryen prince has won and we are the only ones left.”

Tears blurred your vision. You did not remember reaching for the sharp blade which you had placed on your side table, an escape from all the atrocities you would eventually be forced to face by the hands of your own closest friend.

War was war.

And with the stories of Aemond’s cruelty circulating about, you knew very well than to beg for mercy or even expect it. Long gone was the sweet prince who made you promises of protection, a dragon and long lasting friendship.

He was your foe now.

An enemy who had slayed the men of your house, your own blood.

As you attempted to cut your own throat, a hand prevented you from doing so. Guards, of house Targaryen. Your face paled and your tears finally rushed down your face in glossy streaks, your one chance of escape taken from you.

The men restrained you but you screamed, struggled even. To break free and somehow draw the blade closer to your throat, only a small cut and you would disappear. You did not care if this was considered weak, you were willing to do just about anything to keep your dignity and honor.

To not be some slave for a man to put his cock in.

“Stay still, woman!” One of the guards berated you but you didn't listen, worming in their grasp.

“Let me go! Release me, right now.” Your screams echoed in the expanse of your chamber as well as the castle and Aemond heard them too.

He had ordered the demise of everyone, everyone besides you. There was this ache, this need to lay his eye upon you for the first time in awhile. Last time he saw you when you were nine, a beautiful little girl who often came to the red keep with her father — member of the council.

Aemond and your friendship flourished when you defended him against Aegon, comforting him to not lose all hope for a dragon. It was you who encouraged him, who provided him with the mental strength to claim Vhagar.

Your words of strength lingered in the back of his mind when he took claim of the largest dragon.

And now he had caused destruction with the same dragon.

Fate had brought you both to this. Ruined every good thing which was left in his life and he knew that you would never, ever forgive him for destroying your home.

You were kind, loving, sweet. Rebellious too but always stood your ground and believed in achieving justice, by any means. Aemond wondered how you'd grown, how you appeared as an adult now.

Did you braid your dark hair the same way as his Targaryen sister did, since you'd grown so fond of their silver hair? Were your eyes still the same onyx dark as your hair, a stark contrast to his own purple ones and was your choice in clothes still so dreadful? Curiosity pinched at his abdomen.

Your screams boomed through Harrenhal and Aemond felt proud of your resistance, only he had no knowledge of what you were resisting for so prominently.

He had no idea all your desperation and fight was to end your life.

The guards pulled you apart, their blood stained hands managing to rip off the side of your dress which concealed your shoulder during all the commotion to get you to release the blade. You somehow managed to free yourself from one of the guard’s unbearable grip and slashed his face with the blade.

“Ah, you fucking bitch.” He screamed, holding his face with one hand while the other tried to reach for you.

Another guard extracted his revenge, striking you across your face and tugging at the already torn fabric, exposing more of your back.

Your face contorted in pain, wishing to rid yourself off this world. “Don't fucking touch me. Unhand me and I will slaughter you lot like pigs.”

Your threats were larger than your size and some guards found you amusing while some knew you were capable of what you had promised them. A hand reached for your wrist, to tame it but not being able to pry open your clingy fingers around the dagger with all their strength.

Your fingers had paled, losing all their pink hue and the blood had stopped pumping through the small veins. That was how strong your grip around the weapon was.

Being carried down the stairs, your gaze took in the sight of the place that was once your home. Broken and hopeless, you were dragged along to the main hall. Rain pattered over the stones, causing a nauseating feeling in your stomach as you took in the situation of your castle.

Thankfully, your blurry vision did not allow you to take more of the destruction. All you noticed was the daunting figure of your enemy, standing pridefully at the center of the hall, awaiting your arrival.

You were pushed towards someone, forced on your knees and the silky silver strands gave away at the person's identity. Prince Aemond Targaryen stood before you, with his back turned to you and hands clasped behind his back.

You attempted to gather the pieces of your torn dress, holding it over your chest since it was ripped evidently in the back. Aemond upon turning around, did not expect you to be in such ruins. Dress torn apart, dark hair all but a mess and he caught glimpse of the silver rings encircled around your strands.

Now in a complete frenzy.

The same silver you always wore in your hair, around your little braids.

Aemond glanced up at his guards and then back at you, watching you. Demeanor phlegmatic, lips sitting tediously on his face.

You didn't dare to lift up your eyes. It wasn't about possessing enough courage to look him in the eye but having no self control. You knew deep down if you looked at him, you'd lose all control and attack him.

“I don't recall ordering you lot to bring her in such a..” Aemond tilted his head, analyzing the state you were in. “disheveled state.”

“She fought back a lot, my Prince. Intended to cut her throat with that little blade of hers in her hand.” Aemond was slightly taken aback from the revelation but you were right to choose that as an option. Everyone in this room knew what happened to women during war, especially the beautiful ones such as yourself.

The highborns were craved more as they carried noble blood within them.

His one eye fell upon the blade you still held with great vigor in your hand and Aemond nearly snickered. You had not let go of that adamant personality of yours, carrying it with you in adulthood.

Aemond did not like how your beautiful skin was exposed to the lecherous eyes of his guards. This abrupt jealousy even left him bemused for a moment, nonetheless he diverted his attention back to you.

He stepped closer — frame towering over yours and you saw the perfect moment to attack him. A feeble and thoughtless action but it was either succumbing to horrors or extracting revenge. In a fraction of mere seconds, you had risen up from your knees and headed for him with the pointy end of the dagger in his direction.

The guards reached for you and before you could possibly injure the Prince regent, his fingers enveloped your wrist. With potent strength and fast reflexes, Aemond held you in place. A mischievous glint flashed in his one good eye, lips curving up in a malicious smirk.

He saw the raw hatred and hunger for revenge in your eyes — your hand unwavering and stable. You meant the attack. Nowhere was it under the sad emotions of losing your family.

“Bold of you to assume this would work on me, Dōna.” Aemond whispered, face only a few inches apart from yours. Only the dagger separating you. You acknowledged the name he'd called you, from when you were children and the anger inside you was fuelled more. (Sweet)

“Have I not trained in front of you, hm? Did you not see me wield a sword whenever you stayed in the red keep?”

You glared at him. “I will kill you, either with poison or with a dagger. It is my promise to you, tyrant.”

“From raqiros to tyrant? You truly have grown, my Dōna.” He whispered malevolently, his warm breath with its own mind caressing the bridge of your nose, nearly with affectionate. (Friend)

Having spent most of your childhood in the red keep with the targaryens, especially Aemond, he was bound to teach you some high valyrian. You knew what raqiros meant, but he had never unveiled the meaning behind the nickname he gave you. Promising you he would once you two are grown enough.

Aemond looked up from your face to his men who stood on guard. Three of them, big and broad. His eyes raked over their hands and as he imagined those same hands mishandling you, ripping away at your clothes and prying open the corset which held your dress together, his jaw clenched.

“Ser Criston Cole,” he called out and the commander responded, head held high.

Aemond’s hand still prevented you from moving an inch, the pointy end of the dagger only a few inches away from his glistening, pale cheek.

“Behead them.” It was a simple command but it instilled fear in everyone in the room, including you. Even the commander was surprised by such a gruesome order and dared to ask. “Forgive me, my Prince but why?”

Aemond locked gaze with you. “They dared to lay hands on my prize, unveiled her dignity.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the Commander nodded, passing the order to his other guards. You heard the sounds of constant struggle, similar to yours as their pleas to live fell upon deaf ears.

“My Prince, please! Spare us, we were only acting upon your order!”

They were ignored, as Aemond continued to stare at you. His purple eye dropping to your lips for a second. He released you and you, on instinct, stepped back with the dagger still in your hand. It was proven that combat was definitely not how you could take down the prince.

Aemond had forced you to come along to the premises of Harrenhal, where his dragon rested. Strained and tired from the war she had indulged in. You had never seen Vhagar up close but knew that she was the second largest dragon, her first rider being Visenya Targaryen.

Your lips shuddered the more closer you were pulled next to the sleeping dragon.

“She can smell fear.” Aemond reminded you, staring ahead. “Conceal it unless you wish to burn to ashes.”

You inhaled a deep breath, closing your eyes and hoping to put an end to the growing fear in the presence of Vhagar.

When you opened your eyes, you were more calm now and in the right state of mind to admire the beast’s beauty. She was gorgeous, a shade of bronze mixed with green and blue highlights. Green, fierce eyes staring ahead and you would have congratulated Aemond on claiming a dragon if only the circumstances were different.

“You will ride with me to King’s Landing.”

“I will not.” You spat, taking a step back from him. That didn't seem to please Aemond as he closed the distance between you and grasped your arm, holding you in place. “Yes, you will.”

“I would rather be fed to your hounds than ride with you upon the back of the dragon which destroyed my home.” Your tone was venomous, full of anger and spite. Aemond knew there was no way calming you down or ridding you of your anger, so he did the next best thing that came to mind.

His slim hands slithered across your waist as he picked you up, settling you down on the dragon’s back. Vhagar released a roar and Aemond whispered something to her in high valyrian, causing her to calm down. Her head settling down, to rest.

He moved in front of you, taking a seat as well. “Hold on tight.”

You glued your hands to your sides, completely ignoring him. Aemond released a frustrated growl at your adamant behavior and lack of pliancy. He reached behind to grab your arms with his gloved hands, forcefully circling them around his small waist.

“Let go of me.” You struggled and Aemond looked back at you with irritation all over his beautiful face. “Do you wish to succumb to your death by falling? If so, feel free to let go.”

That was a lie as Aemond had already tied you to him with the brown belt — locking you with him. Even if you were to let go of him, his body weight restricted on his dragon would prevent you from falling and eventually meeting your demise. This was merely to get you to touch him.

To feel you against him, with little to no distance.

Your lips settled in a frown as you tightened your hold around him causing Aemond to grin. He patted his dragon’s back and then spoke. “Sōvēs, Vhagar.” (Fly)

The dragon shifted on its legs, preparing for the flight and you gasped when you felt it move more beneath you. Subconsciously, your fingers gripped the leather tunic of Aemond, chest pressing tightly over his broad back. Terror filled you as the dragon finally took flight, its huge wings flapping and the force of it made you realize how easy it must have been for Aemond to ruin your house.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, closing your lids shut and burying your face in Aemond’s shoulders.

This is exactly how he had anticipated your first ride on a dragon with him all these years, how you'd react to the beast moving and roaring. Your subtle touches, adorable reactions and soft sounds were just as Aemond had pictured them in his mind.

And he was fulfilling his promise to you.

Until now, Aemond never allowed anyone to ride with him. Only you were the exception and as gruesome the enmity between the two of you was, he could not simply suppress the overwhelming feelings he'd always harbored.

“Aemond..” You whispered, as the dragon took flight and it left you screaming. “Aemond! I'm fucking terrified.”

One hand holding onto his seat, the other reached over and settled on your hand around his chest. In an attempt to comfort you as Vhagar flew into the depths of the sky, Harrenhal nothing but a small scenery when you opened your eyes to look down at it.

A lone tear slid down your face.

This was not how you wished to ride with Aemond.

You hated him, disgust all over your face when you noticed how little and inferior everything appeared from up here. No wonder the Targaryens burned people and houses, as they felt superior being this close to Gods than the rest of you.

“Calm down, Dōna.” He said to you when his dragon had finally flew for King’s Landing.

You didn't say anything, only loosened your hold around him after realizing how awfully close were you to him.

Aemond noticed that and didn't like it.

“Vēzot, Vhagar. Vēzot.” Upon hearing Aemond’s command, the dragon changed route and flew high up in the air, going up tearing through the grey clouds. In fear of falling, your arms once again found themselves around the dragon rider’s small waist. (Up)

You had no idea what Aemond had said but it made his dragon fly up, defying gravity and leaving you gasping for air.

With a satisfied smile on his face, Aemond relished in the feeling of power he had over you and the power he'll soon have over others too. It was painfully evident his brother was incompetent and if something were to befall him, it would be Aemond next in line to inherit the throne.

Never did you ever think or expect that you would be brought back to the red keep as a prize, a symbol of victory — a slave most definitely for Aemond after how he behaved last time with the guards last time. He did not allow anyone to look at you, to touch you, besides your maidens who helped you doll up for the Prince.

His possessiveness was very well known to you when you both were children but you had expected him to grow out of it. How foolish of you to assume that.

Aemond was a possessive child. You recalled the time where he had forbade his siblings from playing with you — or when he did not let anyone touch his sword or even wield it. You remembered how the future lord of Casterly Rock was treated only because he had dared to pass a compliment to Aemond’s sword.

You could hear the cheers of the smallfolk and it disgusted you. He only won against you and your family, not the Blacks. It repulsed you how he was supporting a usurper and not the rightful heir. Your father died for the cause of Rhaenyra Targaryen, you would do too in a heartbeat.

You were lead inside the Red keep after the notorious flight with Aemond. The Prince’s orders were to his servants were to lead you to his own chambers and clean you up. You had no idea why, but you were not going to comply easily.

“I am not your mistress.” Your voice boomed loudly in the main hall, causing Aemond’s footsteps to come to a halt. “Neither am I your whore. Kill me because I too support Rhaenyra Targaryen’s claim to the throne. I shall die a honorable death as my father and kin did.”

You had dared to speak to him, like that, in the presence of not only the Queen but even the other council members.

Aemond’s hands balled up into fits. “Take her.”

You were forcefully dragged somewhere while you struggled, piercing screams enough to damage one's ears. Before you were pulled in a corridor, you made a promise. “I will get my revenge, Aemond Targaryen. You shall answer for the blood of my family that stains your hands. I will never forgive you!”

Alicent followed her son, your threats still lingering in her mind. You had screamed them with tremendous agony and will. She worried, for the kingdom.

“Do you believe you would be doing the realm anything good by bringing a blood thirsty enemy here?” Alicent questioned as she followed Aemond into the room where the council took place.

His fists shook, with poorly tamed rage. “She is anything but a weak girl.”

Alicent scoffed. “She is openly screaming threats. Either a fool would do that or a person who has got absolutely nothing to lose, Aemond.”

“Her screams will quiet down once I have managed to put a child in her.” Aemond spat at his mother, placing his sword down on the table.

She was appalled at what her son had evolved into. The monster he'd become and somewhere she doubted her own motherly skills.

You were forced into a beautiful, pale dress – the fabric as thin as a sheer curtain – after your bath. The maids obviously did not provide you with anything which could conceal your body in the see through white dress. It had embroidery done on the front, so it somewhat worked to cover your breasts.

But the longer it extended, the more it revealed everything underneath.

Pieces of your wavy dark hair were pinned behind, some braided with silver rings clipped around.

The maids soon excused themselves, leaving you to your solitude. Your body felt cold from the lack of clothes so you moved over to stand before the fireplace. Arms sliding up and down your frame to warm up yourself.

Truth to be told, you were suffering with trepidation. Were you prepared to sleep, to head to bed? But why in Aemond’s chambers? All sorts of vile and impure thoughts came rushing in your mind as you tried to keep them at bay.

The doors were soon opened and there stood Aemond, in a different set of clothes. You immediately stepped back, albeit him standing far away from you. He noticed that but no matter how many walls you tried to build between you two, Aemond was determined to break and crush each and every one of those.

He appeared enamored with you.

You were nothing less than an angel, standing underneath the moonlight illuminating your frame.

“Is this what you brought me here for, Prince Regent? To dress me up and warm your bed late at night?” You questioned with disgust and Aemond stepped froward.

You immediately retreated. “Do not dare to come any closer. I will not be one of your whores.”

“What makes you think I would let you become one of my whores?” Aemond asked with a soft tone. Your beauty had soothed all his irritation but it also ignited a fire within his core.

“You're a monster.” You whispered. “You have become a tyrant, a beast worse than those dragons of yours. It is a pity.”

Aemond was losing his patience with you. He didn't waste time, snapping and running towards you. The man pinned you against the wall, knocking over a vase resting on a table besides you. Pain bloomed in your back from the hardness of the wall — and being slammed into it.

The targaryen man locked eyes with you and let out a smile of satisfaction, witnessing the fear swimming in your innocent gaze. “Pity? You dare pity me when you are left with nothing of your house, nothing.”

The cruel reminder caused tears to well up in your eyes but your gaze stayed locked with Aemond’s. It did not waver and with all your strength, you pushed him away from you.

“I hate you.” You confessed, tears sliding down your face, a testament to the pain you were battling. “You were my friend, my fucking friend. How could you do this to me, to me? Your fucking Dōna, Aemond.”

When he heard the high valyrian word escape your lips, he growled. You saw him take a step further and this time decided to make a run for the door, trying to crawl over the bed hastily but Aemond was fast, vigilant as he grabbed you.

You fought back, slapping and punching him but it didn't work at all. He shoved his lips against yours and he did not care that you didn't want this. He wanted it, that was all that mattered. Aemond’s tongue forcefully entered your mouth as your hands continuously punched his chest.

He pushed you down on the both whilst staying locked to you, tasting your plump lips with vigor.

Head tilted, he pushed open your thighs and buried his knee between them. Rutting it against your cunt and you released a muffled cry in the liplock, hoping he would show some mercy but Aemond was too far gone.

The pressure on your clit – sheer fabric the cause of you and Aemond’s separation – was intense. A burgeoning need lighting up in your core as you struggled. There was no way you would give in, no matter how much you had admired him when you both were children. You knew better. You were only the daughter of some lord, meanwhile he was the Prince.

The fight for dominance was already won by Aemond as his tongue explored the inside of your sweet flesh. He broke apart from you to gaze upon you, a mess he'd turned you into. Face flushed, lips swollen and bloodied from how harshly he had sunk his canines into them.

Your dark hair with glinting silver in pure disarray, spread about everywhere on the bed. Aemond was fucking drunk and there was no stopping him.

“You said I'm a monster, right?” His voice was eerily low, causing you to panic. “I shall show you what monstrosity I am capable of.”

He tore the dress in a single tug, discarding the two pieces somewhere on the ground. Fear evident in your enlarged eyes as you struggled to conceal yourself with your arms but Aemond held them above your head, his fingers roughly pressing into your skin leaving marks.

“Aemond, please.” Tears fell and Aemond nearly softened.

If you'd been kind to him like how you were in the past, this compromising situation wouldn't have fallen you. He would've let you live, be a maid in the red keep but now, he had to prove it to you.

Just what he was capable of.

“Aemond,” you sweetly called out, hoping it would work. “My prince, don't do this. You do not wish to do this.”

“Too late for that sweet tone, my lady. If you do not wish for worse, I suggest you shut your goddamn mouth and take it.” His voice was so soft, so low but his words were as repulsive and cruel. It was what Aemond had become. A broken boy who sought out solace but was too afraid to ask for it, fearful of seeming weak — yet again becoming a target of his brother’s constant bullying.

In the process of becoming what he hated, Aemond lost you too.

One eye raked over your exposed breasts, full and round. You were no longer the little girl who used to chase him around the red keep, in her long dresses. You had flourished, flowered with grown tits and when his eye fell lower, he inhaled sharply. Plush, meaty thighs greeted them. He recalled how at one point you were as skinny as a boy, with no fat to your lean frame.

Now you had blossomed in a beautiful woman.

Your skin glowed neath the moonlight, your presence basking in its light. It showcased all the little minorities your features carried, what you had become, the delicate beauty that you were.

“You are certainly no little girl no more.” He reminded you, words no less than salt over your sounds.

Tears pearled on your waterline. “And you've grown into a fine man yourself.”

Your words were carried on obvious pain and Aemond pretended he did not catch a whiff of that. You continued, with a wavering voice, drained from all your rebellion and fight. “Fine but cruel, Aemond. I thought you were different, ought to be different. You proved me wrong.”

“Keep your lips sealed.” Aemond commanded, as your words nearly made his will to defile you falter. Being the daughter of a high lord, he was certain your maidenhead was still intact. You were never the type to engage in lecherous actions before the pure promise of a marriage.

Aemond’s rough hands took a handful of your breasts, fondling the fat. Thumbs swiping over your peebles, sending them upright. Undeniable pleasure shot through your body in the form of swarming heat as it settled in your lower stomach. A prominent gasp tore from your parted, swollen lips as Aemond stared at you in adoration.

“They are so full.” His comment about your body your pleasure-clad face form into one of grimace. “I wonder how your cunt looks now that you are older. You were always too innocent to consider our friendship anything more than what it was.”

Your back arched off the bed, the writhing of your hips increasing whenever Aemond rubbed his knee over your tiny pearl. You felt it swell up with need and wanton, a dull ache growing, begging to be burned out. The silver haired male pried your thighs open to lay eye on your pink cunt.

Aemond licked a wet tongue over his lips, his hunger to taste your seemingly delicious core pressing at him. He never once got overwhelmed with the urge to put his mouth on a woman's cunt — as the woman he got involved with whores. He had no interest in tasting something where most men found solace in.

But you were a virgin.

He knew that.

Yet he asked, surely to rile you up. “Has anyone been inside of you yet?”

Your eyes widened at the repulsive question of his. Brows scrunching in disgust and the rosette on your cheeks transcending into beetroot. Before you could control your imminent action, a strike echoed in the chambers. Tears had stalled, replaced with a hateful searing look and when Aemond recovered from the slap and faced you, chills enveloped you. Despite the impact, he was still poised. Eyes sheened with darkness and pure rage, his hand moved to reciprocate the harsh movement.

Only his slap hurt more — a scorching sensation awakening below your skin. A hint of red in the form of a hand imprinted on your face.

“Answer my question.”

You shook your head. Not only had the slap worked wonders to make you more pliant, it also made you realize that what Aemond was capable of.

His fingers ran along the line of your plumped up lips. “Use this pretty mouth of yours.”

“I'm not a low born.” You said through gritted teeth. “I'm chaste. Check for yourself if you are disbelieving of me.”

Aemond let out a scoff, fingers dimpling into your cheeks. The angry pout on your lips along with his hand print left behind on your cheek made you look ten times more endearing to him. “That I plan on doing, my lady.”

Hands lowering to your thighs, fingers dipping in the thickness. Aemond nestled his head between them, eyes gliding over your glistening cunt. It was true that you were still chaste and he was sure of it, there was no need to check it. He softly ran his tongue over your pearl, a sharp breath from you entering his ears.

“I don't want this.” Your tone had a hint of plea in it. “Please, Aemond. It is too repulsive, I cannot—”

Aemond growled. “Cannot, what? You cannot allow my cock inside you? Cannot allow me to put a babe in you? Or won't allow me to simply because I'm Aemond.”

“Targaryen with the largest dragon who put an end to my family line.” You finished, vision blurring. Aemond knew this conversation was pointless to carry and he instead closed his lips around your swollen bud, suckling like it would produce the sweetest of nectars in existence.

You tried to fight him off, pushing at his shoulders with the little strength left in your small fingers to no avail. He sucked with great vigor and your demeanor fell — back rising up from the ruined mattress and hips pushing your mound further into his cage. He pulled back, lapping at your swollen clit over and over again, like a dog in heat. Tears furiously caressed down your face as Aemond’s fingers came to collect your arousal from the center of your folds.

By the Gods, you were a waterfall.

“Never did I think I would grow this addicted to the taste of a woman's cunt.” Aemond whispered, his warm breath shooting jolts of pleasure through you. Your hand on its own accord pressed onto his head, palm flaccid and fingers twisting his Targaryen strands around. “The more I taste you, the more famished I become.”

“G-Get off me.” You somehow managed to utter. You were mortified. How your body ached for him to continue, hand forcing his mouth against your hot heat whilst the heavy fists of your morals thudded on the door of your hazed mind.

All but a futile endeavor to fight back.

Aemond pulled back and reached for his slacks, undoing them. You watched with a dazed out look as he released his cock from the confines of his breeches. His fingers moving to curve under the hem of his shirt, ridding himself of the leather as well as his small clothes.

Left bare and naked before you, your gaze caught Aemond’s searing red cock. Head swollen and shining with leaking cum, veins traced up and down. You closed your eyes, in hopes that the nightmare before you would be over but that was only you losing last remnants of your hope.

“I-It won't fit.” You whispered to yourself, more tears sliding down your temples.

Aemond heard it, despite your voice being a low whisper. He reached over to grab your face between his large hand, fingers sinking into your cheeks. That caused you to flutter your weak lids open, staring back at him with a sheen in your pupils. “It will fit. Your maidenhead is still intact, so it might be painful. But who cares?”

Your bottom lip quivered as Aemond let go, holding his cock. He guided it across your wet slit, pushing its thick head past your folds and pressing into your pearl. Your breath was bated, perspiration dancing on your forehead. Your body had grown completely warm and you wished for someone, anyone to burn down the fire which was ignited in the fireplace.

Aemond gathered your arousal, in soft circulation around your pebble. You whined out, hands slapping at his broad shoulders to put an end to his obscenities. Yet he did not falter, will growing more profound and strengthened to a point of no return.

He soon aligned his cock along your hole with the disgusting intention to defile it and slipped in. Your walls squeezing around his cock head tightly, endeavoring to grow used to the size but Aemond did not wait. He pushed and your tears of sadness had now transformed into tears of pain.

Hot searing pain.

“It hurts, it hurts. Let me go, please let me go.” You cried, screamed even, nails scratching rapidly at his chest. You left evidence of your firmness, of your distaste for such degeneration. Long lacerations formed on a pale canvas as Aemond held you down with one hand circled around your throat while the other had pushed your leg up for more easy and open access.

You were crying relentlessly and it was beginning to annoy the young Prince. “Quiet now, or I will have your tongue.”

“I-It is too p-painful.” You sobbed and this time Aemond landed a tight slap to your other cheek, watching it imitate the shade of the other one. “I said, fucking quiet. If I hear anything other than sounds of pleasure out of these lips of yours, I will toss you to my guards.”

It was an empty threat.

Aemond would never, ever do that. You were for him, only him. Insignificant your view was about him.

You were his prize, a sign of victory.

Still Aemond stalled, not having the heart to pummel his cock fully into you. All he managed was to breach your maidenhead and you were already wailing like you'd been shot with an arrow. He waited it out, letting you grow accustomed to his length and thickness.

Once your agony-clad face recovered and softened, Aemond took it as a sign to move further. Your gummy walls sucking his cock in, caressing the rigid veins. Deeper, and deeper. He went slowly and carefully, which you didn't overlook. You felt him sheath his cock fully into you, arms extended out for him, in complete submission.

Aemond, silently surprised by such vulnerability and submission, took your hands into his and brought them to his nape. “Hold me, brace yourself, Dōna.”

That sweet tone of his.

It nearly warmed your heart but the constant reminder which took at Harrenhal haunted you like a ghost. A cursed bestowed upon you, no escape at all. Aemond melted within you, nestling against your spongey spot of nerves. Your lips fell when he found that sensitive spot of yours.

He didn't waste time pummeling his cock into your weeping cunt, growls of a beast escaping him. You could not bring yourself to look at him. Pulling him closer, you concealed your face within the crook of his neck as your hold clasped around his slender nape — fingers intertwining with silver roots. Aemond had only tried Sylvie, his first and last so when he felt you draw him closer, it ignited a fire impossible to end.

“Gods,” Aemond groaned in your ear, his sharp nose running along your cheek, both hands gripping your flesh. “If I had known laying with you would be this pleasurable, I would have done it when we were younglings.”

Disgust would have made path on yout face it it was not for the pleasure Aemond bestowed upon you. His thick cock head repeatedly bruised your cervix and all you could do was wail, your hold for dear life tightening around him. Aemond found delight on your innocent moans, your sweet little hiccups and sounds of pleasure. He pulled from you, to glance down and felt immense satisfaction at the ring of blood around his length. He had officially taken you, not exactly under the circumstances he wanted but pondering about that was futile now.

His one eye stayed focused on you. Examining the lines donning your forehead, dark brows furrowed and a sheen of sweat sitting on your forehead. Pale cheeks flustered and saccharine sweet lips parted, birthing little sounds.

An epitome of nobility and charm you were.

Aemond pulled out of you, just as you were beginning to reach your pounding climax.

He leaned on the head board of the bed, chest glistening with droplets of sweat. The fire crackling was not helping neither of you to find some cold. “Get on top of me.”

You weakly shook your head.

Aemond’s glare obliged you and you shifted on the bed, crawling on top of him. In the process, you caught the blood of your purity staining the pale bed sheets, as well as your thighs. A burning sensation prodded and you finally did what Aemond asked you to do. The evil man grinned, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple.

“I'm sure you know your job here.”

Your lips trembled. “I-I am supposed to sit on it?”

Innocently you had voiced that question and Aemond almost cooed. He gave you a simple nod and watched as your cheeks burned with newfound embarrassment. You still did what you were told to, aware that fighting him back on this would only make him revoke the small kindness he'd shown you.

You grabbed a hold of his erect cock — pressing it over your soaked hole. As you slipped down on it, Aemond and you groaned in unison.

Your small hands found support on his bleeding chest, fingers swiping over his nipples accidentally and Aemond let out a choked gasp. The feeling of your walls clamping his cock mixed with the way your fingers brushed over his nipples was enough to send him fucking into you. Thrusting upwards into you while his large hand stayed locked on your hip.

Both of you moved simultaneously, greedily chasing after your own pleasure. Aemond saw a goddess in front of him — a weeping goddess who possessed the cunt of a hungry whore. Your small waist and bare tits bouncing with each move had him obsessed like a dog.

“Fuck, fuck, Dōna.”

He panted like his dragon, matching your pace with his, hand fondling your breasts. He was close but ripping an orgasm through you first was his priority and he was dedicated to it. Aemond felt your cunt squeeze him, watching as your tears fell in little pearls. “I am going to put a babe in you, Dōna. Can you believe it? Your childhood friend putting a babe in you.”

You couldn't even voice out your disagreement, Aemond was bound to do what he promised you. An intense feeling surged in your stomach, your pace slowing down and your sobbing growing more and more. Your orgasm tore through you in the form of essence, as your eyes disappeared behind your lids.

“Aemond, Aemond! Aemond.” You chanted his name out like a mantra and he slapped his cock deeper into you.

He fucking loved how submissive you were being now — entirely at his mercy and neath him. His own climax followed thoroughly, filling your walls with his spend. Spurting our rope after rope of white to fill up your expanded womb. Growls of need and ache echoed in the room and you couldn't stay still anymore, losing all your balance and colliding right in his chest.

Your little body was spent, fatigue and tiredness weakening you. Aemond was quick to wrap his arms around you, shushing you gently while you cried in his chest.

“It's over now.” He reassured but you knew very well that it was not. It was only for tonight that it was over.

Aemond comforted you, holding you against him with his cock still inside you.

“I hate you.” You cried, tears coating his chest as your forehead rested on his muscular chest. Aemond could only sigh, loathing the situation that bad befallen them. He did not resent you as you were the only one who had shown him true kindness.

But the war and throne were far more important.

“Rest, you need it.” He said, an order it was and you felt forced to comply. “Things will be very different from now on, Dōna. I will have the high sept marry us tomorrow, our child will not be a bastard.”

All you could do was weakly stir in his arms at that. There was no way you were willing but it was better than being a slave for Aemond’s guards. Being one man's whore was better than being a thousand’s.

god fucking dammit, please one chance

Cowboy aemond and oc!!!

ANGELS OF PORN

DARK! Aemond x pornstar! Reader

$10,000 LOOKING FOR DOED EYED PRETTY GIRL WHO WANTS TO MAKE A QUICK BUCK. ONE TIME PORNO, MUST BE OKAY WITH LIGHT SLAPPING, ROUGH SEX AND CHOKING. SEND A PHOTO.

WARNINGS; rough sex, slapping, choking, major character death. blood, oral? mood board

He's watching you undress in the back of the RV through the mirror, It's all hazy. Pulling on white socks, frills spilling over the brown couch in the back. ‘Trailer trash scum’ is what Aegon said, pressing white knuckles into the steering wheel, as he huffed onto a cigarette. He couldn't wait to see your blood spill over the pretty whites. He's not religious but he could see himself worshipping your body, under tight lips and pretty prayers. Rotten. Groomed into a cult over Myspace and 4chan. He piqued his own interest after seeing the gore videos of pretty girls' necks slashed open in orgasm. La petite mort. He wants to see how far Aegon is gonna take it.  And now you're living and breathing in front of him. Thick ringlets, soft perfumed skin, He starts to wonder if he can go through with it. You smile at him as you catch his eye. 

Ten grand for a porno on Craigslist, an hour after the ad had come up your pretty picture had been burned into the cornea of Aemonds eye. The Perfect slut. Pink-lipped, wide-eyed doll. Picked up at the gas station. He watched you hum into a cigarette, your eyes trailing over him. He waited for the disgust to glaze across your eyes, but you pulled him into a handshake. Winking as you hopped into the RV with a sway of hips. Aegon only grinned up at him. Gapped teeth. He ran his hand over his shaved head. Stretching his arms out and then pulling straights out of his cargo. 

You run your hand over Aemonds shoulder, head dipping into the crook of his neck and pulling his lighter into your hand. He swallows, you watch his shoulders fall and he unzips his Adidas jacket as the aircon falters. He shrugs it off. You light your cigarette and then stare into Aegons eyes, crinkled at the corners he's smirking to himself. You're thinking he's ex-army, wearing a tribal band around his arm, smooth and precise movements. 

“What you gonna do with’the money?” Aegon mutters. His fingers are pointed as he takes the ciggie into his mouth, lips snarling as the smoke escapes, you watch the muscles in his arm flex. 

Your glossed lips part, “put’a bad man away” 

“Get a lawyer, huh?” Aegon hums, he rolls the window down, and spits, throwing the butt out the window with it. You watch Aemonds face. He stares back at you through a half-lidded eye, you smirk down at him. Watching his fingers clench at his hoodie.

“Som’thin like that” you smile, and you pull away from Aemond, lighting your own cigarette. He takes a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke through parted lips. His gaze never leaving yours, the silence between you heavy. Aemond reaches a hand out to the radio, Dolly Parton filling the silence. He looks up to the mirror, eye fixed on your body as you walk away. Hips shifting the denim shorts you're wearing. You lean over the counter and pull out some mascara from your bag. The RV sways on the uneven road. Lurching to the side, Aemond grips onto the seat and watches you unfazed through the mirror. You smile, shiny white teeth, lopsided grin as you apply blush to the end of your nose, his lip curling into a smirk at the sight of your infectious grin. He finds it amusing, the contrast between the innocent action and the situation you're in.

Aegon pulls into the 24-hour Diner by the highway, The neon sign buzzing like trapped flies. He watches as Aegon shuts off the ignition. The hum of the engine dying out. The Diner is half empty, the bell ringing against the sound of patrons chattering in the night. Aemond can feel the anticipation building in his chest. They had discussed a last meal before the cameras had switched on, and the time had come quicker than expected. Heat pools in Aemond's stomach, and his hands shake with excitement. Aegon opens the driver's door and steps out, the night air rushing in with him. He stretches, his shirt rides up, and exposes the lower part of his back as his muscles tense. Aemond's eyes flick back to you. He watches you watching Aegon through the mirror. He can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance, a brief pang of possessiveness that he quickly shoves down. You smile at him, stepping out of the RV. Cool air tousling your hair. Skin bright against the neon sign. He follows you out. Gravel crunching under his shoe. 

Warm cheap food fills your nose. Your shoes squeak against the linoleum tiles as you slip into a red booth. You're bathed in yellow light, pressing shoulder blades into the cool leather. Aegon follows sitting opposite you, Aemond sliding next to him. You run your hand over the sticky table, waiting for someone to take your order. Lips pouting. A waitress approaches the table, her expression bored and tired, but her eyes widen as she looks at you, taking in your looks and the way you're dressed. Aemond can see the way her cheeks flush slightly, the way she fumbles with her pen as she turns to the three of you. "What can I get ya'll?" She asks, her voice a southern drawl.

Your head tilts to the side, eyes running over the food kept behind glass, “A slice of that cherry pie and some coffee please” you smile sweetly. 

She turns to Aegon, his fingers drumming against the table. Her eyes flickered over the tight muscles under his green shirt. “For you hun?” 

“Bacon and egg sandwich extra runny” he grunts, eyebrow raising. 

Her eyes turn to Aemond, he orders an omelet and a coffee, voice low and soft. The waitress leaves, feet pattering against the floor as she hurries off. Aegon lets out a low whistle, eyes raking across your body. 

“You're just as pretty as your picture aren't you?” Aegon mutters, his head nodding at you. He's practically salivating over you, eyes hungry. You look at Aemond watching as he clenches his jaw tighter. Aegon laughs, a sound deep and guttural. He leans across the booth, his hands wrapping around the edges, his face just inches away from yours. He's invading your space, but you don't flinch, your expression bored, almost amused. He sticks his tongue out, letting it linger over his bottom lip as he grins. "Sweet little thing like you, huh?" He coos. 

“I'm not that sweet’can tell you that now” you smirk, eyelashes batting across your cheeks. 

You watch as Aegon’s grin widens he lets out a low chuckle. “Bet you taste real sweet though” his eyes dance over your body. Aemond clenches his hands under the table, knuckles turning white. He notices the way you handle his crude advances. Not bothered by dirty innuendos. 

The waitress sets down the food without care, plates loudly clattering against the table top. Aegon barely acknowledges her, gaze still fixed on you. You stare ahead, lips pursed. You sip on your coffee unbothered "Ain't gonna eat, darlin'?" Aegon asks, finally breaking his gaze to look at his food. His tone is laced with an underlying darkness, a hint of danger. Aemond can tell he's getting impatient, his fingers drumming against the table.

“I like getting fucked on an empty stomach” you smile. Aemond pauses, fork midway to his mouth he's barely digested your words before Aegon snorting with laughter. Slapping his knee at the comment. Eyes glittering with sick excitement. You're starting to get real bored with Aegon, it's one crude comment after another. The pattern has already been memorised in your head. You roll your eyes. “I'm gonna go to the ladies” you slide out the booth hand brushing over Aemond’s shoulder. He watches you slip to the side to let a lady exit the toilets, then you duck behind the door yourself. 

Aegon turns back to his meal. Shoving bacon and egg into his mouth. Yolk escapes the corner of his lips. He chews obnoxiously. “Cant wait to fuckin kill’her” he mutters, sly grin playing on his lips. “Make our own fucking movie for those sick freaks” Aemond only nods in return. 

“Too bad Reaper couldn't make it”

You walk back to the booth, shrugging on a small knit jumper. Aegon slaps down bills on the table, they exit the dinner and you trail behind them as you light another cigarette. Orange embers glowing in the darkness. Aegon leads the way, keys jangling in his hand. You step into the RV, air humid. Aegon follows, Aemond shuts the door behind him. He feels his heart thudding against his chest. 

The RV engine rumbles to life, and the vehicle lurches forward. Headlights pierce through the darkness, bathing the road in a pale glow. The trees on either side of the road cast long, sinister shadows against your face as Aegon drives further into the slip road of the forest. 

You gaze up at Aemond, his dark gaze locking with yours. He watches you intently. The RV is quiet except for the hum of the engine and the soft sound of you exhaling smoke from your cigarette. The engine falls silent, as you pull up onto gravel, Aegon is the first to get up, seat creaking as he stands. Aemond waits, his muscles tensed, his eyes fixed on you. You extinguish your cigarette in the small ash-tray, the smoke curling up towards the low ceiling. You seem unfazed by the situation, your eyes still fixed on Aemond as you rise from the sofa. Aegon turns on the headlights and the area is flooded with a harsh, artificial light, he's already opening the rv door. The cool night air flooding into the vehicle. The light from outside casts a rectangle of light on the carpeted floor, illuminating the space in a pale, artificial glow.

You're standing in the middle of a small clearing, the trees like black sentinels around you. You look like a creature of the night, the shadows dancing across your face. Angelic even.He grins, his eyes roving over you like a wolf sizing up its prey, watching you run and strip off layers of clothing, tossing them aside. Standing there in nothing but your white lace underwear, your body fully exposed in the harsh light.

Aemond watches from outside the RV, his eyes growing dark as he takes in the sight. His jaw clenches, his hands balling into fists. He knows what's coming, he feels his blood boil in excitement. Blood thirsty. Aemond moves towards you, his hands grazing over your bare skin. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as if he's touching something he shouldn't. Despite the situation, he can't help but feel a sense of possession, a need to protect you. He steps behind you, his chest brushing against your back. He places his hands on your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. “Are we rollin’ yet?” you ask. Pulling loose hairs away from your face. 

Aemond's face disappears behind a black ski mask, his features obscured in shadow. He pulls the fabric taut, making sure it covers every inch of his face. He looks different now, the mask making him seem dangerous, savage. His eyes burn with a cold, detached anger, a stark contrast to his gentle touch on your skin. You pant against his touch, mewling in soft brushes. Turning to face him. 

“We are now sweetheart” Aegon mutters, you watch his eyes disappear behind a vhs camcorder.

Aemond's breath hitches as your lips caress his neck. He can feel your hot breath on his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. His hands on your hips tighten, his fingers digging into your soft flesh.

The camera recording every gasp and sigh. You're putting on a show for it, for Aegon, for Aemond.

Your hand slides beneath Aemond's wife beater, your fingers caressing his bare skin. His grip on you tightens, his muscles taut under your touch. A soft moan escapes his lips, muffled by the ski mask. 

You smile up at him. Flashy shiny whites. He runs a hand over your cheek. Your face presses into it. And then he's yanking his hand back, snapping against you cheek in a sharp movement. Your head is snapped to the side. You look up and smile at him through wet eyelashes. A silent plea for more. Your cheek is hot against his palm.

“Shit that's hot”, Aegon mutters. You don't look at him, all your attention is on Aemond. You watch his mask shift, muscles moving under the black fabric. His face moves closer to yours, your arms wrap around his neck, peppering kisses over black cotton, you feel him smirk against your lips. His hands grab at your wrists from behind and suddenly he's wrestling you to the ground. You whine, pressed into the mud, you feel aemond’s body from behind. Belt buckle stabbing into your lower back. Your feet kick upwards. His leg pins you to the ground. You squirm beneath him, your ass grinding into his crotch. Aemond lets out a soft hiss. Your every movement driving him wild. You feel his body responding to your touch. His cargos grow tighter and you feel his hardness press into you from behind. You smirk. He fights the urge to grind down on you. 

“Dirty, Fucken’slut huh” he mutters, his hands tracing your spine, pushing you into the grass. Your head turns to the side, revealing a sly grin. You hum in agreement. Growing limp in his arms, and then you pout up the camera, eyebrows raising, your lip shakes. He watches Aegon. He clenches his jaw, watching in anticipation, chest rising quicker as you bite your lip up at him. 

“Keep goin”Aegon barks out. The red light flashes towards you. You feel Aemonds grip grow tighter.

“Are you gonna fuck me or what?” You taunt. Your hips jerk backwards, Brushing against his hard cock “ I know you want to” you sing out, it's like a melody to his ears. He flips your body in response. Back hitting the grass. Your hair lays out like a halo behind you. You run your hands over his chest and press kisses into his neck. Watching as he unbuckles his belt hastley. You nip and bite at warm flesh, pulling your legs from underneath him, brushing past his dick. He lets out a soft hiss. Pulling your body towards him. He sheds your panties and bra. Groping at the flesh he's unveiled. You look so radiant like this. Skin glowing under the headlights of the RV. The tension is palpable between you. He imagines slicing through your skin with a knife and burying his hand inside to feel the heat of your heart. Feel its last beats drum through your chest.

Not yet. 

His cock runs through your wetness, your back arches against him, feeling the head of his dick knock against your clit, his hand runs up the column of your chest and settles on your neck. He pushes into you, slitting you apart with his thickness, you hum at the intrusion. Wide mouth, eyes closed. His hand squeezes at the base of your neck, you feel the blood flow to your head lessen. Dizzy in his hold. He moves slowly. Torturously slow, head knocking against your cervix. You wince. And then feel his cock slide against the gummy walls. He's quicker driving into you with such force you feel what little air you have get knocked out of you. He grunts against your neck, your eyes water. Feeling the camera closer to your face. You fake a moan. Running your hand down the side of your face and then down Aemonds back scratching at taunt muscles

Laid out like a sacrificial lamb pliant and malleable under his hands. The type of innocence that bites back. “Fuck” you moan out from under him, griping him tightly. You feel him pulse. Hips snapping, into yours, your face reddens. His vice grip around your neck softens, and he pushes two fingers inside your mouth,

. Aegon watches as he smears spit around your face, trailing the wetness down your neck and the valley of your breasts. 

“Shit, tight fucking pussy”Aemond moans, low and deep. You're turned on your back, and he slams himself back into you, arm around your waist the other makes its way to your neck, back arching till you're propped up against his chest, head lulling in the crooks of his neck. Sweaty bodies against each other,You tighten around him as he coos at your whines. “You close huh” 

You smile against him. “yeah, fuck so good” it rolls of your toungue so quickly, you squeak. He grips your throat and you watch as Aegon nods at him. You turn to Aemond staring into his eyes. His hips falter. Eyes shutting quickly but his hands don't leave you. Grunting as he comes, And then you look back to Aegon eyes running over his body, he's hard. Your eyebrow raises at him. “You gonna let me suck your dick?” you bat your lashes watching Aegon smirk. Aemonds hands tighten on your body at your words, hands slipping down to rub your clit in tight circles. Your eyes roll backwards, body shaking with blissful pleasure. You come down from your high. Aemonds hand runs down your sweaty face, his eyes darken as they watch Aegon pull his cock out from his cargos. You crawl over to him. Eyes on the camera. You kneel at his feet, the cameras passed into Aemonds hands. It just cuts off his face. 

You run your hands over his body, pressing kisses down his pelvis. Then you shrug his cargos half down his legs, he beacons Ameond closer with the camera as you stare up at him. Running your tongue against the length of his cock. He pushes your head closer to his dick. Aemond watches as your hands grab at something, but your face remains stotic, too involved with Aegon's dick. He clenches his jaw and suddenly Aegons falling backwards onto the grass, something running down his leg and then he spots it. Shiny silver. 

The buck Aegon chose a week ago in the hunting store. His eyes widen, his hands falter with the camera. He watches you straddle him, you look back at Aemond, your face stern. “Come on, keep the tape rolling I thought you wanted to make a snuff film” your head cocks to the side running your hand over Aegon's lips. You smile down at him. Your hand reaches behind you to the leather handle of the knife. He yelps as it slides to the side in his skin. And then you're yanking it side to side,out from his leg. He whimpers in pain, hands going out to grab at your hair. You push the knife to his neck, Aemond stands moving closer to you. Camera shaking in his hand. He's so bewildered by what's before him he doesn't even think to knock you off his brother's lap. Not that he'd want to.

He watches the blood spurt out of his leg angrily,“Who the fuck are you?” Aegon gasps. Your mouth curves into a smile. The knife traces the column of his neck , over his Adam's apple. You watch thin dribbles of blood mark up the white expanse of his neck. Your body shadows over his face. Perfect silhouette encased in a halo of light. “Aemond do something!” his eyes flick towards his brother. And your hand grips his chin harshly pulling him up until the knife is digging into his neck. 

“Your brother is too pussy drunk to help.” you look into Aegons eyes, perfect swirls of purple, his face pale and sweaty, “Isn't it so sweet? He would have thrown a punch if I asked, hours before I let him have a taste” you chuckle at your words. Reaching behind you to plunge fingers into the open wound. He screams out at the intrusion. Tears escaping his eyes. You push a finger into your mouth and then pull it out with a pop  “see i’d lie and say you tasted so sweet, real sweet. But you’re fucking rotten” you spit. 

You stand. Running your hands through your hair. The movement is soft and innocent in contrast to what you've done, you sigh. Turning to Aemond, your eyes softening. Your hand peels off the ski mask. Your hand smooths his hair back tenderly, “Like we planned, yeah?” you smile and then your hand traces over the scar he was left. He smiles, eyes closing at your touch. Hand reaching out to pull the knife from your hand.

“You fucking planned this!” Aegon shouts at the realisation, his face is pale at the blood loss, and Aemond drops the camera in response. He turns to you, capturing your lips quickly. He can taste the blood on his tongue. Warm, metallic. You're right, he is rotten. He smirks and turns to his brother. He grips the knife tightly in his hand. You press a kiss to his shoulder and them watch him stalk over to him.

The camera is heavy in your hands as you lift it from the grass. You kneel next to Aegon. Aemond grips at his hair pulling him from the ground and then lets the knife cut through his skin like paper. You watch Aegon panic. His hands reaching out to stop the bleeding but they only fall into his lap. The blood falls like a red scarf. Coating the grass and his body like blanket. And then his eyes still. His lips left open in a wide panic. Aemond drops his body to the floor. Hand grasping for yours. He pulls you in for a kiss over his body. You feel him shake in euphoria. Hands running down the length of your bare body

He pulls away“ I don't want anyone touching you again” his hand leaves a bloody print against your cheek. “Got it, Reaper?”

You smirk up at him. “Yeah.” 

You pull your hand towards your face, it still stinks of lye as much as you scrub at it. You inhale the cigarette, eyes glazing over to Aemond, one hand on the wheel. The other runs against the soft flesh of your thigh. You smile at his touch. Hand clasping as his own. The sun casts a honey light on his face, hair lighting up golden. The RV pulls up along the side of the road and he pounces on you like a dog. “Fuckin’ perfect, and all for me”

@spn-obession

ANGELS OF PORN

$10,000

LOOKING FOR DOED EYED PRETTY GIRL WHO WANTS TO MAKE A QUICK BUCK. ONE TIME PORNO, MUST BE OKAY WITH LIGHT SLAPPING, ROUGH SEX AND CHOKING. SEND A PHOTO.

In the heat of the floridian summer your picked up in a RV with two strangers and the promise of 10 grand lining your pockets after a night. Two bad one of you isn’t making it out alive.

dark!aemond x reader

read here!!

reader and daemon are going through the same shit rn isn’t that crazy

Beautiful Boy Three.

chapter one chapter two

Dark!aemond x strong! reader

Warnings: violence, fingering?afab reader, only description is long dark hair, Starvation. Stockholm syndrome(eventual)cnc,dub con, ptsd flashbacks

“You look better like this," he says, his voice low and raspy.You flinch, swatting his hand away from your face. He runs his hand over your cheek and then suddenly your head is knocked back into another direction, your cheeks swells. Without warning, he grabs a fist full of your hair, your chin rises upwards

You're perched on a chaise lounge, new gown, hair clean and braided, ankle bandaged. Aemond's head is in your lap and a book perched on his chest as he reads to you. Something about a war. You haven't been listening, you're too busy staring at the fire, Aegon's face melting and melting into heavy armour.  

You're starting to view Aemond as two different people, he's teetering over the edge of a coin. The prince regent, angered. Nostrils flared. His hands grip your hair tugging you further down his cock, unbothered whether you breathe or not. He uses you like he uses a weapon, flung about without care but precious. You've learnt to relax your mouth, letting drool pool out the sides. Sometimes when you tear up you feel him pulse within you, pressing the salty tears into your face harshly. Staining your cheeks. He tells you to ‘take it’ , take what, exactly? He only pushes your face further into the sheets. You’re half wept by the heat of his cock and the strangle of breaths that arise from your chest as he pistons inside you. He likes it when you whine. Likes it when you moan. Likes the power he holds over your head in the evening. The way his anger tears through your body like a violent sob. Pulling more and more from you every time. He can take it, he can take what he pleases.

And then he's Aemond, soft Aemond, his hands trail against you tentatively, like an instrument, hands running down you to see you hum, watch you sing. Voice like heaven, throat like sex. Brushing loose hairs, kissing sides of mouths. Thumb swiping over tears. His head nestled in the nape of your neck, pressed against your chest. When he comes he only buries himself further into your body like he's trying to part your bones, like he wants to stay there, entombed in muscle and bone. 

And sometimes he's balanced over the edge, smiling softly at you while he drives into you with such force, your hiccuping between sobs, he traces your jaw with kisses “my filthy girl” his girl, His thing. He plays you for a fool, wrapped up in this gilded cage you can barely remember the war cry in your head. 

Get out

You push his hair back from his face, eyepatch off. The sapphire eye glints at you. He hums in delight. Soft Aemond. His free hand runs against your arm. You feel so malleable beneath him. What was it he had said? Like clay, free to mould you however he wanted too. Pliable. My malleable girl. My sweet girl. How long has it been since you paced seven steps back and forth? Since your fingers traced the cracked brickwork. Since you prayed. You don't remember. Why does your back hurt? You hand shifts reaching out to prod the nape of your neck. 

“Please it hurts” You whimper, you’re bare, pressed to the floor, cheek wet. Diritied on the mudded ground. Something slashes you from behind. Once then thrice. “Please stop!” you shout as you turn around. Hands pressed against your face. 

“Are you alright my sweet girl?”a whisper. You hum in return. You stand near the fire, hand on the mantelpiece. Aemond pulls your body into his, he can see it in your eyes now, this emptiness. A hopelessness he brought about. It reminds him of his sister. “How was your day? Did you read?”

Ah yes, reading. Aemond seems to have a library's supply of books. You haven't found yourself in the reading mood lately, you remember your old copy of ‘The loves of Queen Nymira’ hidden away under floorboards from your brother at Harrenhal, how he would ridiculous you over giddy words. Aemond tends to read history and philosophy, you feel you might go mad under the writings of men. It is all war and great kings' deaths, You dare’nt say it. You nod and smile. “Had a bath”  

“Did you eat?” he knows what you're like, you forget. He thinks you're used to hunger now, but he's noticed your face looking brighter recently, finding you grazing on fruits as you keep watch out the window. You nod, smiling up at him. He continues to hold you, his fingers tracing small circles on your arms. He feels his heart flutter. The room has darkened now, and the glow of the fire encumbers both of you. Painting shadows across the walls. He pours a chalice of wine, sweet and sickly. It makes you feel all giggly inside. You wonder if you’ll ever slip past the gates of the RedKeep again. 

Get out.

His hand slides around your waist keeping his grip on you close, you lean into his body, sipping at the wine. It's spiced, different from how you remember. “Is this new?”

“Imported from Dorne” his hand slides higher up your back until he brushes your hair off your shoulder, moments like this that make you never want to leave. Your head leans back and he sticks his nose in the nape of your neck, breathing in the smell of roses, it reminds him of those sugar coated sweets from sunspear, Lokum. He kisses you softly, placing his cup on the small table before throwing himself back into the comfort of your skin. Soft Aemond. Your sweet Aemond. 

You sigh into his touch, finger pads running down your neck, tracing the bones. Your own hand grips his shoulder and you feel yourself fall into his embrace, neck falling, back arching as he pulls your waist into his own. He watches you melt into his arms. Lips brushing against your sweet soft skin. “You taste so sweet” he hums against your skin. Fingers planted against your throat loosely. 

You smile, his lips making his way slowly down your throat, licking and sucking, they find themselves at the hem of your dress, he knees before you, running his hands down your sides planting his face in your stomach. Tucking you tighter into his grip. You stumble slightly, hands smoothing hair away from his face and you unbuckle his eyepatch. You let it fall to the floor. You don't know why he keeps it covered, not really, part of you thinks it beautiful. Your hand reaches out, tracing the line that runs through his brow. Sometimes he flinches away in panic, other times he holds your hand to it. It hurts sometimes, he says. Phantom pain. As if his eye was being slashed through all over again. 

You understand, sometimes your back aches like it's raw. The maester had said the scars were at least a month old when he found them. They bled when you stretched. Milk of the Poppy had only let you succumb to sleep easier. It did nothing for the panic in your head. 

His eye closes and he rises slowly, standing taller before you. His hands reach out and touch you as if you’re made of silk, and he pulls your face in closer, his lip brush against yours  Teasingly, you approach and he only smirks in return, pulling away. He does this until you're whining, smothering you in kisses as quick apologies. gorging himself on your lips. 

“You're always so needy for me” 

Your head nods in tandem with his words, Needy that's what he calls it. Deny it all you want the heat of your arousal pools anyway. You remember those nights you spent with your hands pressed into yourself, cheek still flushed from his touch, It had burnt into you like hot iron had seared your flesh, half expecting it to scar. He's touched you all over now, every inch claimed by touch, lips, eyes. 

You wonder if you have the same impression, if during those nights he had spent at the whore house while you were held in the depths of darkness. That he drank in the skin of another woman and thought of you. That if she had given him the right look he could see you lying underneath him. You wonder if this is what he wanted. The undeniable way you crave his touch even at your worst. A saviour and a captor. How easy is it to save someone from the very thing you had put them in? 

He drinks you in, hurried out of clothes you had pressed to your body in the mirror mere hours ago. Hands under your shift, and then you're both naked, a tangled set of limbs as he hums at the sight of your body. It’s as if he hasn't seen it before, you watch his eye flicker with adoration and then ownership. Emotions plummeting through him like a quick wave of danger. You await from them to be dashed on the ground. Wait for the hardship. Wasn't that what Grand-Uncle had said? Wait for the hardship and let it pass? Did he ever fight for anything? 

You're pulled to bed, lips pressed to yours, Dizzy with spit. Sweet ambrosia. Your body is pulled towards his groin. He's hard, hand stroking down the length of himself, your hand traces at his jaw, sitting up on an elbow. You watch his face as he pushes into you, eye blissed out. It's as if he's found god between your legs, or in your sweat when he's pressed against you, breathing in your scent, A heavenly sight to behold. You feel so full, the pad of his thumb runs along the expanse of your cheek as he finds rhythm. Lips parting, silent moans, strangled breaths. Hair brushed out of your face. Blown pupils. 

“Sweet, sweet thing.”

He’s faster, slapping fills the air and you close your eyes as he hits that sweet spot inside of you, your hands find his shoulders smoothing the skin over as you find yourself closer to relief. The sound of cracking slides through the air, you swallow. Your neck curls in protest, hands gripping at the air, tighter and tighter until you feel something wet. Hand clasping round your wrist. You're back there all over again. Eyes closed tighter, you cry out. The lashing continues. Head thumping against something hard. Someones too close to you, too close to your back. Too close to your skin, sweat, alcohol and damp stone encumbers your body. The scent is heavy in the air. Your eyebrows furrow. Teeth gritting.

“Look at me” 

You shake your head, your eyes only shut tighter. Body sweating, you feel beads of blood rolling down your back. You’re turned. Back pressed into the dirt, eyes shut. Someone closes around you, your legs kick upwards but they are flung to the side and with no warning something enters you. You wail at the intrusion. White hot heat enters you. Your hand swings out in a fist.

“Stop!” you breath out dryly, heavy wails following you. Eyes opening, white hair brushing over you. Mouth opened in a dry scream. Your hand hits his shoulder again. “Please, please stop.” You hyperventilate, heavy laboured breaths, hand against your chest as Aemond comes to a stop, you don't look at him as tears well in your eyes.

“Look at me, please look at me” he grabs at your face, but you dig your head into the nape of his neck and breathe him in as he closes in on you. Sandalwood, books and dragonfire. You're okay. You're fine. You're in Aemond’s bed, in his arms. You soften. “I just want to know who hurt you.” he whispers.

You sigh, jaw moving from side to side.“It's just all fuzzy”, you slump, you can feel the weight of your tongue in your mouth, your head dives into the pillow. He pulls out from you and rolls onto your side. Hand reaching for your face, you turn to look at him. 

“I’d kill for you, you know that?” 

You nod, chewing on your lips, eyes fluttering shut as they try to keep the tears at bay. He pulls you closer to him, your head rests on his chest. You play with his hair, looking up at him, he smirks under you, you know he wants more. His thumb plays with your lip. Smearing spit all over it, You're on the fence with this. Make him mad or make yourself crazy. You decide on the latter. What another push forward to the top?

‘You're involved with the wrong prince miss’

Your body turns facing the bookcase, you take his hand and push it against your chest as an invitation. You feel his lips on your shoulder immediately and then he pushes back into you from behind, your hand rests on his hip. You whimper. He’s softer this time, hips rocking slower and more calculated. You try not to cry, but your face wettens anyway. “Fuck, my sweet girl” he pulls at your chin to kiss you. Eyes running over the wetness of face. You fake a moan as his hand dips down to your wetness. He swallows it between his teeth and smiles at you. Lips curling up. Kissing at your cheeks. “Why are you crying?” he grunts. Hand stroking at your slick pearl.

“Too good aem”,you whine against his hand, cheeks flushed. Your hand digs into his hip as he hits all the tight spots inside of you, turning your brain to mush. “So good,” you repeat, your head turns, back arching, your hands take his own, running them down the valley of your breasts, you let him grope, fingers digging into your flesh. You stare at the bookcase and imagine it setting on fire. He tucks his head into your neck when he comes, he's gonna break his nose one day. You're so sure of it. 

“So good, so good fo’me”, he wipes you with a clothe and then tucks his face right into your chest, falling asleep, hes curled up like a child. You thank the seven he wasn't angry. You thank the seven you get to see the sun. You thank the seven for…

Get out now

The words whisper in your head, but you fall asleep , hair around you like a halo. What's one more day? The glass hasn't even cracked yet.

Aemonds back turns, he reaches out hand grabbing for your own to pull towards his body, Comfort that's what he was begging for, his hands thumbles around on the sheets, emptiness. His eye opens and he turns in the darkness of the room, rain beating down on the stained windows. The white sheets lay crumbled where you had slept, your shift gone from the floor. Where he had seen it land after your night together. 

His eye searching the darkness of the room, for a figure in the night. Thunder cracks and more rain sprays against the window.lightning striking outside, the room lights up quickly. Empty. You hadn't? Had you? He was so sure you wouldn't run from him, he pulls himself from the sheets, dressing quickly. He hesitates at the eyepatch,but  he shoves it over his empty eye socket. He looks at his sheath, dagger gone. His heart thumps. Have you done something stupid? Has he fucked you up that bad? He heads out of  his chambers, the knight is gone.

 The castle is big. But you barely know your way around anyway, he's not expecting you to have gone far, the sheets were still warm when you left. There's only two options, the gardens or the throne room, both of which you have frequented many times. He makes haste, walking quickly down corridors and the flight of stairs, nodding to guards who have stood by their posts. He looks down the corridor, the throne room door wide open. He steps in slowly, eyes locking onto your form. You hum to yourself. Head rolling slightly back and forth.

You're glowing under the moonlight, white shift billowing in the air, dark hair dancing across your back. You begin your ascent up the steps slowly, bare feet dancing across the iron steps. He sees the dagger in your hand behind your back but remains confused. You clench it in your grip, When you finally get to the throne. His eyebrows furrow. You don't sit, instead your hand reaches out, appearing to stroke something. He hears a soft whisper, head bobbing down for a second, you pull your arm away. Head tilting to the side. And suddenly the hand with the dagger flings out, Hilt level with your neck. You hand snaps, arm making a cutting motion.Aemond walks up to you slowly, Footsteps clicking on the castle floor. But you remain staring at the throne. Then he hears it, thick sobs as you sway, He feels himself crack under the noise. You stifle a scream, hair brushing against your shoulder.

Your eyes are empty as your head turns, looking past him, dropping the dagger onto the floor in your outstretched hand, you scrunch up into a ball on the steps, weeping into your hands, “Im so sorry, Im sorry Aemond” 

“Sorry for what” he hushes, he climbs the steps cautiously. Hands reaching out to grab at your arms, they are cut all over, as if someone had put up a struggle. What have you done? Your fingers flex. 

“I killed him, I killed him” you whimper against your palms, rocking back and forth. He tries to pull you away but you are relentless in your efforts, keeping your limbs closer to your body, like you've nailed them into yourself.

“Killed who?” he questions, his hands brush against your soft hair.

You sniff, head snapping back, you look him in the eye,“Aemond” you smile, eyes softening. Your hands run down your hair and you stand. Stepping down the forged steps, hands brushing your shift. You begin to walk back to his champers as if nothing had happened. He picks his dagger up avoiding the swords that shoot out of the ground. Watching you, as it was merely all a dream. He follows you back, moving in calculated steps. Eyes staring straight ahead even in his efforts to get your attention. 

Then you slip back into bed, eyes closing as they pull the covers back up to your neck. You hum. There's a beat as you shift under the covers, hand smoothing. Searching. He watches your eyes snap open and your hand digs round for something under the covers, you sit up and look at him.

 “Why are you dressed?” you clench your teeth. Looking down at yourself, you notice the shift, and then the marks all over your arms, you panic. Hands clutching at your body, Chest rising. You look at Aemond, his dagger in his hand. “What have you done?” you lip trembles. Aemond approaches, you flinch back. 

“Please Aemond, I'm sorry, I haven't done anything, I swear’ you hiss at him as he approaches. Head shaking, He drops the knife quickly and it clangs against the floor. Hand reaching out to your leg. He watches your hands come up to cover your face, blood running down your arms. You cry against them, “I don't wanna go back”, it almost breaks his heart. 

“Shh, it's okay” He smooths his hands over your legs, and then he stands heading for the door to call for something, he keeps his distance as he waits.

Cowboy au god damn// bounty hunter!aemond x barmaid!oc

Beautiful Boy Two

dark! aemond targaryen x strong!reader chapter one chapter three

Warnings: violence, fingering?afab reader, only description is long dark hair, Starvation. Stockholm syndrome(eventual)cnc,dub con,sa "You look better like this," he says, his voice low and raspy. You flinch, swatting his hand away from your face. He runs his hand over your cheek and then suddenly your head is knocked back into another direction, your cheeks swells. Without warning, he grabs a fist full of your hair, your chin rises upwards

You stare at the wall, condensation drips. Your lips crack, hair knotted, dirtied fingers run against the divots, stone brickwork that dusts under the weight of the castle, another mindless dream of escape. The taste of blood is persistent in your mouth. You sip the water, eat the mouldy bread. Run your hand against the wall, scratch your nails deeper into the hole with the rats. You dream again of close bodies and gouging yourself on sweet foods, kneeling down praying to your rescuer, but you always awake back here. Back in your cell.

You're so sure you're on the brink of insanity, about to tip over the edge. 

There's about three steps from your cot to the wall, three small steps and then seven from the bars to the other wall. You're plagued with thoughts of escape, wishes to pull a guard inside and change their mind by kneeling before them. But they all take their oath way too seriously. You feel yourself drown in your hopelessness, every footstep without the sound of heavy armour sending frivolous goosebumps down your arms. You miss the smell of rain, the feeling of sun on your face. Things you hadn't even thought about while being in the safety net of the damp castle. The only thing that provided you comfort was the dripping of water, bringing you back home for just seconds. 

The rowdiness of men subsidies for a mere moment, and then there are angry shouts, ​​exasperated yields of freedom, pleads and begs towards the stranger. Well what you believe to be, you can hear the footsteps, just brushes of fabric and shadow figures that double under the candle light. 

You sit up, ears straining for sounds of the stranger, this had brung as much excitement to you; as when you had found two rats curled up asleep next to you on your cot, hands grabbing the crumb of bread you had picked off ,and then the sound of nothing. As if the visitor had disappeared. You look towards the gates, hoping to make out a shadow, barely even noticing the sound of them swinging open as your prince had already stood over you. 

Your gaze stiffens, eyebrows raising up. Mouth opening in protest, but he hisses at you, a lone finger over his mouth. Be quiet, let him speak. He crouches and you notice he has come without his eyepatch this time. You stare at the sapphire eye, brighter under the light of the candle, hoping to make him as uncomfortable as he did you, his face remains unreadable holding your gaze. 

“How you withered in here”, he speaks, voice softer than it had been when he had last seen you, his hand grabs at a strand of hair twisting it ever so slightly and then letting it fall back onto your face, you wished his hand had brushed near your mouth so you may bite it, but you act obedient under him, Act broken and get out it repeats in your mind like a hum.

Your eyes flutter, offering a small sweet smile in his presence. He huffs, hair grazing against his knee as his head tilts, you're encumbered by sweat and dirt, lips cracked and bleeding, you could be shoved on the street in the poorest area and still be seen as dirty, a filthy wench. He offers no sympathy towards the predicament that he had landed you in.

He opens his mouth to speak instead turning to the corner to see rats scurrying across the floor, a piece of bread in their mouths. “I see you have company” His mouth curls to a smile, watching to see if you bite back, a test.

“Not very good company, I was saving that bread for dinner.” You watch his face fall, and then you smile offering a light chuckle in return. “I merely jest, It might be odd. I feed them because I fear waking up in the night to a missing limb.” you smile back at him.

He scoffs “ You think that will stop them?” 

Your smile fades at his darkened tone, “well, if it doesn't i hope they aim for the throat”

"And why would you want that, exactly?" he smirks, his eyes still fixed on yours. 

“A quick and honourable death” you lean into your words, feeling your cracked lips brush against each other.

Aemond's smirk fades at your words, replaced by a colder, more calculating look. "There is nothing honourable about death by rodents." He says, his voice low and firm. "And it certainly wouldn't be quick."

Your eyes flicker downwards, grasping hair in your hands near the roots ,”Then i hope you would pity me and give me mercy” you run your hand down the expanse of your leg.

He studies you, face unreadable, the pleading in your eyes that fills him with a sense of power as if he didn't hold it already. “And you would want me to kill you?”

“That's what you've come to do isn't it?” 

Aemonds jaw tightens in return, he pauses standing quickly, turning to the gates and then back at you. He takes a step closer. “ And if I were to say yes?” 

“Then i would thank you, for a quick death would be better than withering away alone” your shoulder sag, head nodding in tandem as you speak. 

He takes a step closer towards you. Piqued with interest at the hopelessness in your voice. He looks down on you, and then suddenly his hand reaches out to grab at your face, his palm is soft, softer than anything you've felt in months, and the pad on his thumb draws circles around your face, you sigh into his touch. Eyes closing at the soft nature he had presented. You find yourself tearing up in his hold and then suddenly you're breaking under his face. He brushes a tear from your face. 

“Can't you see?” you splutter, “what you've made me” the sound of your voice is cracking and desperate. Your head tilts into his hand and then your own hand presses over his own, pressing the salty tears into your face. His eyes widened, he wasn't expecting such distraught sadness. Anger? Yes. Despair? Maybe. The feeling of discomfort sturs in his stomach. But he doesnt pull away, if anything his thumb starts to rub small circles on your cheek again. The tears pour and time passes quickly. He rises hand leaving your face. He turns to leave without a word, you stand hand grabbing at his arm, he tenses under your grip. He looks at you surprised. 

Suddenly his hand flies through the air and smacks you in the face. Anger boiling within him, you clutch your cheek, falling to your knees. “Wait! Please, I've had no comfort here for so long, that I've begun to think I've gone mad just under your touch.”

His hand stings from the impact and he peers down at you, your breathing laboured and thin. He thinks about moving but he stays kneeling down to your level. Hesitation. His expression has softened. "Why would you want comfort from me?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly. "I am your captor, your enemy. I have caged you here like a bird. Why would you want me to touch you?"  

The words roll off your lips like a plea,“Can't you see what you've done to me? You've driven me mad without saying a word” 

“One moon has passed” His gaze flicks over you, taking in your pathetic, desperate form as you kneel on the cold stone floor. A mix of anger and something else - something he can't quite identify - flickers in his eyes. Then, without a word, he turns and steps out of the cell, slamming the door shut behind him.

You sink down into the floor, eyes on the empty space he had left. The candle flickers. There's a grunt. It startles you from your thoughts of Aemond, “Miss?” it's rough, he’s from the north, maybe. 

“Hm?” you mutter, eyes turning to the source of noise. You peer before you, just making out the figure of a man held captive, a man of a taller stature, covered in furs.

“You're involved with the wrong prince miss” He mutters, hand coming up to run through his curly hair and then there's another voice, quieter, older.

“Don't talk to her, he’ll have your tongue!” The gasps turn into a stumble of laughs and sputters and then a huge coughing fit. You watch as the man turns around from you in his cell, sitting on the cot. Your own hand presses over your mouth as you conceal a whimper. Eyebrow’s furrowing. You shake under your own palm. Your other hand runs through your hair, providing little comfort. Cheek still hot from where he slapped you. Cheek still hot from where his thumb rubbed against your skin as if you were a precious child. 

You kneel in the corner that night and pray to the seven, pray he will come back, pray you won't die down here with the rats, from starvation. Pray your brother will be slain. Pray for salvation.  

Act broken and get out. 

You tuck your legs into your body and trace the cheek he held, You fall asleep. In the morning you braid your hair over and over again, letting not knots fall out, You use your water to rub your face from the dirt, you drop half the amount of bread on the floor this time, you don't pick at your nails or scratch at the surface, and then you wait, and sleep and wait and sleep and wait. 

Act broken and get out.

And sleep. It tolls on your body like a heavy cloud, you dream of all sorts of things, slaughtering your brother yourself. Killing the king, Aemond on the throne, a burning of flesh and metal fused together under the hot sun. White hair soaked with blood, body impaled on spikes. And you awake, wash your face, eat the bread, pray to the seven, braid your hair, stroke the rats. Your nails grow back, skin now pink instead of the blackened blood that had dried there. You pace along the expanse of your cage, waiting to hear the roars from men begging for relief. 

Act broken and get out.

You pace, pray in your corner, braid your hair, stroke the rats, tuck your legs up into a ball and trace the cheek he held. 

Act broken and get out.

It happens when you least expect it just like last time, in the midst of prayer, head buried in the wall, hands clutched so deeply. the hinges had moved from your cell door so quickly. The screech had bled out like a scream, you had only thought there was another prisoner, another captive who had joined you in the under belly of the RedKeep. So when you had turned to pace along the little expanse you had and noticed the flash of white hair, your eyes had brightened up like a pup seeing its owner, heart leaping. 

You smile “Aemond, your back.”

His jaw tightens, unsure of the happiness that displays across your face, it's cleaner now. And your hair doesn't look unkempt like last time, there’s something wrong, he can feel it deep within. It makes him uneasy. 

Your head tilts, hair falling against your shoulder like riptides of waves. “Aemond?”

He doesn't respond, studying your face quietly, your smile not faltering, there's a beat,“yes?”

“Are you well?” your brows furrow in concern. 

He seems taken aback by your question. He's not sure what he expected you to say. He blinks, "What do you mean, am I well?" its snarky, voice ringing against the walls of your cell. 

“Sorry” you look at your feet, fiddling with your hands. 

“Im fine”, He answers, voice flat.

“Good” you smile, hand’s smoothing against your dress as you sit on your straw cot. His eyes follow your hands. Hand reaching out beside you to signal him to sit down, he hesitates for a moment. Then he heads closer to you, finally perching himself on the floor next to you, his long legs against the wall. 

Get out.

Your eyes perch on the cell door, it opens at a crack, the door to freedom. Aemond’s eyes follow your own and then suddenly you're grabbing at his face. Pulling it back to look at you. Both of your eyes widen, he looks angered. You're shocked at your own movements. Mouth gaping open and yet your hand stays laid across his cheek, you feel yourself heat at the movement. And then the weirdest thing happens. Aemonds hand lays across your own and his eye shuts. You feel the warmth of his cheek. 

Moments pass, he lets go of your hand and instead of leaving, he grabs at your waist, tucking his head into your lap. His hands smooth over the material of your dress, you feel a sob rake through his body as he holds you in his arms. You are unsure of what to do, so you take to stroking his hair away from his face, his cries seem to stop simultaneously. You lean against the wall, his hands pulling you closer to his face. He clings to you like a child. 

He lets go, and stands swinging the cell door behind him, disappearing into the shadows. The guard locks it.“It's been three weeks” you clench your jaw at the revelation, nearly two moons. You slam your hand against the wall, feeling the bones crack, and then you scream. It cuts through you like a knife, you wanna bash your head into the wall, you wanna feel Aemond’s bones crack, you want to make him feel crazy, drive him to the brink of insanity over and over until he feels dizzy with panic. 

You bind your wrist quickly with material torn from your dress, keeping it elevated against the wall to avoid swelling. You're unsure if it's broken, you can still move your fingers slightly but the pain worsens as the hours go by. 

You wake up. Drink water. Eat bread. Try to braid your hair, but fail. Scream into the wall. Pace the cell with your arm up in the air until you feel dizzy, and you wait and sleep and wait and sleep and wait and you're falling deeper and deeper into madness. 

Get out.

Your hand traces the wall, noticing every single divot in the cracked interior. You say fuck it and move your cot, finding nothing. You put it back. You pace with your wrist held high. It’s started to bruise and swell. You could use some hot water to soak it, or something colder, you hold it against the wall. The swelling goes down, pain lightens up after a couple of days and you can stretch it out slightly, it's not broken. You thank the seven. You dream of pain beyond compare, stretching out over your body.

Get out.

You count the bricks, you count the strands of hair on your head. You pace, you pray, you sleep and wait. You push your head into the wall and scream. You finally braid your hair loosely behind your back and tie it with the piece of dress. You press your fingers into the divots your cheeks hold. You stand against the wall and scream until you can't speak, can't sing, can't scream. 

Get out 

Your head is pressed into the wall and you feel the presence behind you, it hasn't been that long, you don't think. Time passes oddly; sometimes you awake to three pieces of bread on your floor stacked up in the dirt, other times it feels like hours go past and the candle hasn't even melted. You don't turn, you face the wall, watching the water run through the structure, droplets racing each other, one gets held up in the moss, the other races past and then your hair is snatched backwards by its braid, your hands reaching out to your scalp, you haven't even heard the words muttered until Aemond is shouting at you. “Fucking look at me!” you're pulled down to your knees, head shoved into the ground by a boot. You lay limply staring into the wall, eyes flickering between the bricks. 

GET OUT!

Your head is screaming at you, Do something, fucking do something.You hands scratch at the dirt, watching mud collect under your nails. Your cheek burns with pain. “Such a pretty little thing” he mutters, “and yet my brother wants nothing off you” your eyebrows furrow, his voice is more melodic than his usual soft, stoic tone, your eyes turn and you gaze up at the bright eyed targaryen, aegon. 

You scurry to the corner, legs pressed against your chest. Not him, he promised, Not him. 

“Aemond said~”you splutter. 

Aegon’s hands land on his waist,“Well i'm the king” his head tilts to the side, and then you notice a bright light, red fire erupting throughout his body so suddenly, he stands unaffected as you cover your ears and scream at him, watching the fire spread quicker and quicker, flesh burning, the smell rancid. You close your eyes, feeling the heat rise to your face. 

When you open them you're standing in the middle of the room. Blood pools in your hand, you touch your nose, wincing, turning to the wall, a spot of blood just lower than your head, Your eyebrows furrow. Metal fills your mouth. Your wrist is unbound, no bruising. You swallow back blood. 

Wake ,Drink, Prey, Eat, Pace,Braid. Over and over and over and over.

Get out.

“Two weeks” 

“Hm?” you look up, Aemond stands there near the cell door, eye patch on. Has he been there long? He looks at the guard, you touch your nose, is there blood there? You look at the wall. Nothing, you look at your wrist, Nothing. Your hair is braided down your back. You whimper, it catches his attention, he turns a look of care in his eyes. 

“Are you still in there?”He whispers. The candle light shines behind him, he looks like a prophet of some kind of god, a religion you would fall into. 

“Sorry?” you mutter, hands clutched towards your chest. 

“You dont look like you've eaten much” he peers down at you, the dress appears to hang off your shoulder,his expression is unreadable. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze taking in your dishevelled, malnourished appearance.

“Aemond” you whisper, your voice crackles. 

His face softens, hand reaching down to grab at your face you nearly flinch at the contact. He pauses, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Easy," he whispers, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not going to hurt you." 

“I'm confused” you shake your head.

“Can you stand?” low and gentle, you nod standing on your feet, you tremble against the wall and his hands reach out to catch you, pulling you into the heat of his body. “it's alright, i've got you” his hand smooths your hair against your back. You lean into his chest.

“Is this real?” 

There's a pause, you await the obvious wait for his eyes to bleed and snarl about your insolence. But he nods his head slowly. The door to the cell opens, you hush out into the hallway, eyes darting around the room, rats scurry, you look at the cell across you, Empty.

He leads you up hallways, down corridors, up steps you reach a large oak door, the knight opens it. The bedroom is clean, orderly. Filled with bookshelves, the fire roars, you remember Aegon, the way his skin blistered under the heat,you look at Aemond. Eye intact. “Your brother is going to burn” you utter.

His eyebrows furrow, he looks at you like you've gone mad, he leads you into the room “Who told you that?” 

“No one, i saw it when he visited me” you shake your head, suddenly you feel stuffy, you pull at your dress. it falls off with a thud. 

“He didn't~” Aemond’s eyes widened and you followed his eyes. Looking down at your feet. It's a mangled and bruised mess wrapped in the same fabric from your dress, but that's not what he's looking at, your undergarments just cover your thigh, you lift them. It's like someone had whipped you from behind, rope burn wrapping around your thighs, you feel his hands on shoulders turning you, lifting your slip, there's a strangled breath. 

“Who did this?” it's angered.

You shake your head, Did what? Did what! You lift the slip of your body, baring yourself, turning it in your hands, blood staining the back of it. “Am I dreaming again?” you look to Aemond. 

“Let's get you to bed” he gestures to the bed you are near.

“I don't want to wake up there again”you shake your head, exasperated tears wrecking through your body like heavy waves, you clutch your face.

“You're not going too” he smiles, hand smoothing down at your arm, you feel yourself fall into his grip. Breathing in the scent of sandalwood, books, ash. 

“Do you promise” 

He nods his head. You slip into bed, eyes heavy, your back doesn't even hurt, you can't even feel it. You toss, and watch Aemond sit at the edge of the bed looking at you, the last time you had held him he had the same look, almost like pity. 

You try to close your eyes, but all you can smell is the heavy moisture under the cold damp stone walls. You scratch at your hands, Aemond feels closer than before he reaches a hand out tentatively smoothing back your hair. “ I don't want to go back there,” you mutter. 

“I know, i know” 

You drift off, eyes aching, if this was a dream it was a nice one. 

You feel heat on your face, there's the smell of something fresh like bread and then there's the weight that settles against your back, your eyes open afraid your face will be face to face with the dungeon walls, instead a bookcase, you try to turn but instead find yourself tangled in limbs, Aemond had tucked himself behind you his head nestled in the small your your back. You sigh, head perching on the pillow again, you grit your teeth and then look at your hands. Blood is spread all over them. 

You think you need a bath.

Beautiful Boy

aemond targaryen x strong!reader

chapter two chapter three

"You look better like this," he says, his voice low and raspy.

You flinch, swatting his hand away from your face. He runs his hand over your cheek and then suddenly your head is knocked back into another direction, your cheeks swells. Without warning, he grabs a fist full of your hair, your chin rises upwards.

You find yourself in the RedKeep, keeping the bed warm for the one eyed prince.

Warnings: violence, fingering?afab reader, only description is long dark hair, Starvation. Stockholm syndrome(eventual)cnc,dub con,sa

Word count: 7k

There's a pregnant pause and then a soft gurgling noise. A burning ash smell fills the air in the expanse of the riverlands, you stay nestled between the walls of the keep, smoke rises from the grounds, a loud marching of what you can only hope is the Strong soldiers that come to save the few around Harrenhal. Maybe the Castle was cursed as people believed it to be. The death toll had only added up after Harren Black and his sons had withered away in the dragonfire. First the attack from Daemon and his army, then the Targaryens had only abandoned Harrenhal is such fleeting moments, You believed there was more death to come. Only years had passed since your brother and fathers death when you were Two and Ten, Larys had only hidden you away after he was confirmed heir for Harrenhal after Lord Simon Strong (your great Uncle) would pass. 

How you wish he could see the destruction of his hold after he had executed your Family for treason ,although the castle had been withering away under the rain for years. Lary’s mendacious nature had you squirming under his tend, knowing he would set you with a match that would only make your skin crawl, when the time had come. 

The stench of Dragon fire comes closer, and you slide down the cool wet stone wall of Harrenhal, hand over your mouth, you sweep the length of your dress closer to your body, you find yourself in a precarious situation, wedged into the many nooks the building had to offer. You gaze down at the mossy grass, the sky darkens in a cloak of ash and you almost believe it to be over, then the rainfall had come, sweeping the castle into a darker shade, it washed the blood away from the walls. 

Aemond stood at the edge of the ruins, His lone eye surveying the wreckage that stood before him. The aftermath of dragon fire had been a sight to behold, even after he had witnessed it so many times. His eye catches upon a lone figure in the distance; close to the edge of the keep upon the mountain, hidden away just out of sight, so intriguing. A flash of a Light green gown, rustling against the stone brick after a crack of lighting befell the castle. The sight had provoked him after bearing witness to the slaughter of all who laid here at Harrenhal. 

His long fingers traced the hilt of his dagger, he drew it close to his body as stalked towards the keep, passing the rubble and cadavers that lay upon the bloodied grass. He moved silently, his eye drawing in on his prey, he was a Predator after all. Before you knew it you were unknowingly cornered, He came to the nook where you had hid yourself, “come out, I know you're there,” He called out, voice low and dark. 

You clench your hand closer to your face, squeezing over your nose to still your breathing, fingers digging into flesh. It wasn't safe for you to come out, not yet. Not when you were unsure of who had called for you.You sniffled, raindrops running down your face. 

Aemond found his patience wearing thin. He could hear your shallow breaths, heart so loud he was sure he could hear the beating rhythm of your heartbeat thump against your ribcage. The tension builded in the air;thick and stuffy. He steps closer to the nook, your eyes widening as his boots crunched against what was left of the desecrated building. 

“I won’t ask again,” He said, Lifting his dagger away from his body, “Come out, or I will do it myself. I doubt you will enjoy that very much.”

You rise slowly at his words, feeling like a fresh doe on your legs, you peek your head round the corner. His eyes meet yours, gaze unwavering as you reveal yourself. Your eyebrow raises in a piqued interest and you slowly slide yourself out the nook you had buried yourself against. He was not a Member of the strong army, But he wasn't part of the queens.

“The king's army?” You sigh, “Daemon isn't here, they've left in the midst of your war” Your eyes gaze upon his face, meeting the horrific scar that ran from his brow to the bottom of his cheekbone, You feel his strong gaze on your own face, his lone eye roaming over your figure, you wonder if he remembers your watchful eye at the Red Keep, those years ago as he trained with a sword. 

Aemoned chuckled softly, he stepped closer towards your form, dagger clutched in his right hand as he assessed you. He could see the slight tremble in your form, a small inclination of fear within your eyes. “You’re observant, I’ll give you that,” His tone was cool and neutral. He takes another step forward, muscles flexing under his leather as he raises the blade to your chin, tilting your face to meet his eye. 

“I’m flattered, but it doesn't take a genius to know that this, is your blood-shed.” You feel the edge of the blade against your skin, it's cool in the humidity of the storm, Your hands run along the frills of your soft cotton dress, now wet. 

“You're a smart one, are you?”He chuckles dryly, he moves the dagger away from your chin, it slides down the expanse of your neck, hanging around your collar bones for a moment too long. “Mouthy too.” He steps even closer, body heat radiating off him like Hot fire on a cold day. “That’ll get you in trouble” 

“And yet I'm the last standing amongst this battlefield”. You pull away from his danger, swinging your body in the direction of the surrounding walls. “Though there wasn't much left to stand”

Aemonds lips curl into a smirk. “Cocky too”, He muses. He sheaths his dagger back into the scabbard, it makes you feel some sense of disappointment to be known now as not a threat. “You’re not wrong” he concedes, the scent of ash and fire fills the air as he chases your body with his own. “But don't forget, you are alive because i allow it”

You smirk, feet stepping over bodies and slabs of stone from the wreckage “well, I suppose it's time for me to leave, It was wonderful meeting you.” You nod your head. 

Aemond’s eyes widened in surprise as you began to descend the hill, his hand shooting out to grab your arm, grip firm and bruising. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere” He commands with irritation, he spins you around forcing your back into the mossy stone wall, leaning in close trapping you against himself “I’m not done with you”

“Gosh, men really are all the same. You think I have to listen to your orders because you believe you hold more power over me? You may be a prince but i won't take an order from one who's lost an eye to a child”

Aemond's face enrages at your words as you smirk. His grip on your arm only grows tighter, and you struggle to breathe through the pain,His eye narrowed at your insolence. 

“Watch your tongue or i'll have it” He pushes you further against the wall, body flush against yours, his breath warms as he speaks. “I don't take kindly to being disrespected like that, especially not by mouthy wenches like you.” 

You laugh in his grip, “Mouthy wench? If my brother was dead I'd be set to inherit the very ground you stand on” you sigh, eyes gazing away from him to look upon the grounds. “To bad you torched it ”

His eye widens at the revelation, grip tightening even further, you're surprised you can still feel your hand. He leans in closer, face mere inches from your own, “You’re a highborn?” He studies your face for an inkling of a lie, but only truth prevails. “And yet, you're hiding in the ruins like a commoner” He mocks.

“Only because you slaughtered my family and army, Did my brother Lary’s Strong give you the order?” You almost wince as you say his name, it had been so long since you had seen your brother, now he was a Lord working under the new king. 

His gaze hardens at the mention of Lary’s, eyes filled with spite. “I'm not a lapdog, I'm the prince. And yet you speak with such disdain for your own brother, why?” he queries. 

You smooth back your hair, Aemond steps back finally giving you room to breathe. “He wishes to marry me off to the next man he can, I suppose I'm trouble for him.” 

“Marry you off, eh?” there's a hint of a smirk on his face, you watch as his white hair blows against the wind. “Who does your brother think is worthy for your hand”

You shrug, hands wrapping against your body. “It's not he who has to be worthy, But I, I'm sure he would sell me to a Peasant farmer if he could, for free no less.” you sneer at the thought, the smell of sweat and shit. 

Aemonds chuckles darkly at your words, his eye roams over the soft features of your face. He reaches to brush a strand of dark hair behind your ear. You flinch. The sentiment is oddly gentle in comparison to the mere moments ago where he had held a dagger against your jugular. 

“Fiery, most Highborn girls would throw themself at the opportunity to marry a prince” he mumbles “and yet you resist?”

“Resist? You act as though you haven't killed my family and destroyed everything I have ever known, all because of the boy who took your eye, the one you accuse of being a bastard son to my brother!” you grit your teeth together in destain. “and yet you ask for my hand? As what? A prize? Or a warning to the people that resist you?” 

His eyes darken, jaw clenching at your words, he grabs you by your shoulders forcing you to look him in the eye, his touch feels like fire, itchy and spreads up into a red heat across your cheeks. “You think this is about revenge? This war is more than you and your family” His grip tightens, Face mere inches away from yours. “Besides, I have no interest in taking a spoiled, defiant women as my wife”

“Then let me go” You spit.

He glares at you with rage, “You think it's that easy?” His voice is laced with sarcasm, “just let you go, You think I can simply let you go after all this?” he pauses as he steps closer to you. 

“You won't wed me, you won't kill me, you won't let me go, what do you want with me? To make me a slave? A prisoner?” 

"A slave? A prisoner?" he repeated, his voice low. "No, nothing so cruel." He leaned closer, his body now fully pressed against yours, the heat of him almost burning through your clothes. "I have much more... interesting use in mind for you"

“Gods, you disgust me”

"Oh, do I now?" he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "And yet, here you are, trembling under my touch. Tell me, is it fear that makes your heart race?" 

“It is my hatred for you” you scoff.

"Your hatred, is it?" he said, his fingers tracing a path down your collarbone. " I can almost feel the heat of it, the fire burning inside of you." He leaned in again, his breath hot against your ear. "But fire can be tamed, just like a dragon.”

“I’d rather die than let you touch me”,you push your weight on to him, he eases giving you enough room to sprint for the gates; an exit. You nearly trip against your feet as you run. 

He curses, hand on his dagger as he runs after you, his longer legs catching up, he pulls you into a bruising grip. Dagger against your throat. Aemond chuckles as you struggle.

“You thought you could escape me, did you?" he said, his breath hot against your ear. "How naive of you." He steers you towards the open field, unbecomered by wreckage. 

“Tegon, Vhager,Tegon!” (land), Aemond spits out. 

There is a large flapping of wings, The sound claps loudly like a Bomb exploding, you hide your face in your hands as air and dirt rises into your face, The great dragon lands, dirt and stone crumbling under its feet from the weight. He tightens his grip on your arm, pulling you closer to the dragon that has landed before them. The beast roars, its scales glinting in the sunlight.

"Now behave yourself. We're going for a little ride."

"What! No" You kick your feet into the dirt, Struggling in his grip, nails scratching at your attacker. 

Aemond grits his teeth at the feel of your nails on his skin, the sharp pain causing him to tighten his grip on you even more. "Stop struggling!" he snaps, "You're only making this harder for yourself."He forcibly pushes you forward, towards the dragon, dust rising as your feet scrape along the floor. "Get on Vhagar,"

“Please, No, I beg you, let me go” 

“Please no,” he pouts mockingly. “you’re coming with me whether you want to or not.”he pulls you closer to Vhager, heat radiates of her scales, “Climb, or i'll throw you over the back myself” 

You shake your head at his command. He grits his teeth. Aemond's patience was wearing thin, yet again. He let out a frustrated growl, his hand tightening around your arm to the point of pain. You yelp. "You're testing my limits, you little wench," he snarled. "Get on. The. Dragon. Now!"

He pushed you closer to the Vhager, her eyes watching you closely, huffing billows of smoke out her nose, He almost shoved you up her side "I won't tell you again."

“No, I won't go with you!”

He raises his other hand and grabs your hair, giving it a sharp tug, you yelp at the pain,hot heat on your scalp, you look back at him. His nostrils flaring."That's it," he snaps, his voice low and dangerous. "You're leaving me no choice." He grabs you around the waist and hoists you up onto the dragon's back, ignoring your protests.

“Fuck you” you spit at him. He climbs onto the dragon, his form pressed tight against your back, you flex your shoulders, flinching away as his arm grabs around your wrists.

“Hold on tight” His breath is hot on your neck.

“Please just let me go” Aemond smirked as he easily bound your wrists together with the cord, securing your hands in front of you.

"Oh, I doubt that very much," he said, his voice low and amused. "You've proven to be quite the disobedient little wench." He pulled you against him, his chest pressed firmly against your back. "No, I think it's best if I keep you bound and under my control." Your eyes widen.

“Gods, you’re a whore” 

“naejot se jēdar, Vhagar” (to the sky) The dragon's wings beat powerfully as they took to the air, the wind whipping around you both. Ground growing distant below them. He chuckles at your insult. “I might have to gag you as well if you keep up with that language” 

Your eyebrows raise at his words, “you wouldn't dare!”

"Oh, wouldn't I?" he said, his voice a low growl.His hands slid up your body, his touch almost possessive. "Perhaps a strip of cloth over your pretty little mouth might help you keep that sharp tongue under control or maybe something else~" He pulls your chin to look up at him.

You shake at his words, “I wouldn't touch you if you were the last man in this realm” you bite your tongue “I'd rather throw myself from this dragon” Aemond's fingers dig into your skin. He chuckled darkly, chest rumbling against your back.

 "Oh,you have quite the mouth on you, don't you?"His tone mocking. "Throw yourself from this dragon? What a shame that would be. All those beautiful bones and curves dashed against the ground." He ran his fingers through your wet hair, his touch almost gentle. "But I wouldn't let that happen."

It feels like mere hours, you look towards the open skies, the sight of Kings Landing coming to view as you part from the storm. Aemonds eye follows your gaze as you notice the red keep come into view, the sight blurred from your defiant tears. Vhagar’s great wings clap against the air as they begin their descent into the pit. You begin to understand the gravity of your situation. 

Vhagar lands, dust settling mere moments afterwards, Aemond climbs off the dragon pulling you with him. The cord only employs extra security of your restraint. Your wrists pull against the cord only tightening the harsh rope. Your gaze hardens as you stare at him, hiccuping as tears run down your face. Without warning his hoists you up into his arms, throwing you over his shoulders. 

You thrash around, his hold still firm ignoring your wiggling. He carries on down different hallways, each step closer to the throne room. “One eyed Cunt” you whisper. He stills, hands gripping firmly at your flesh. Growling as the knights open the door to the great hall.

“Now be good and keep that mouth shut” Aemond shrugs you off his shoulder letting you hit the floor, your eyes gaze up at the Iron Throne, swords melted down to form a horrid sight, Aegon sits upon it drunkenly "Brother!" he slurs, watching your body slumped on the ground of the castle" you've brought me a gift?"

Aemond grimaces at his brother's drunken state,his foot nudging you to stand. Face a picture of disgust, “Not exactly a gift My grace, she's mouthy one, needs a firm hand”

Aegon let out a chuckle, his eyes raking over your body. "she'll do nicely," he slurred.You shake your head at his words, remembering how his eyes used to scour your body when you were younger.

“No, Please.Anybody but him” You look up at Aemond from your knees, Aemond's eye watches you, a flicker of satisfaction in his gaze seeing you squirm and panic.

Aegon chuckled again, his gaze never leaving your body. He motioned for Aemond to bring you closer. "Don't worry" Aegon said, his voice thick with drunken desire. "I'll be gentle."

You shake your head, tears only gathering against your waterline. “Please! I’ll do anything not to be owned by him” You grasp Aemonds legs in your hand, pawing at the material, he looks down upon you seeing you beg. Aemonds lips curl at your obvious desperation, revelling in your pleads. He glances at his brother, his eye mocking."Oh, she's quite the pleader, isn't she?" he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Aegon let out a scoff, his gaze still fixated on you. "Such a lovely little wench," he mutters.

Aemond leaned down, his face just above yours. Hand gripping the back of your hair, pulling you up to look at him. "Anything, hm? How desperate are you, darling?"

you begin to sob at his words "Anything, please" a meer moments ago you would have found yourself enraged by begging for a man. 

Aegon turns his head towards you, he mutters "Accept me as your king and Aemond can have his way with you, im sure theres plenty whores who would love to take my cock"

Aemond smirks at his brother’s response, Watching you sob beneath him, He pulls your hair till you stand, Now a tangled mess. His eye flickering with mockery. "Go ahead, then. Accept my brother as your king. Beg him like the desperate little wench you are."

You bow, taking a knee in front of the throne, “I~”there's a hiccup,“I accept Aegon as the true king of the seven kingdoms” You look up at Aegon, He smiles in satisfaction. his gaze locked on you as you knelt before him. He raised his goblet in mockery, his expression pleased.

"There you have it, brother," he slurred. "She's all yours." He knocks back the goblet, red wine running down his pale face.

Aemond smirks, his hand still gripping your hair tightly,he gestures for you to stand, releasing the grip on your hair. “My Grace, where is Lord Lary’s Strong?”

“Probably sulking somewhere, why?” He waves his Goblet in the air awaiting for it to be filled by a servant. “`Why?” 

“This is his sister” 

Aegon’s eyes fall down on you,he raises an eyebrow, you think about how horrible you must look, stained with ash and mud. Hair a wet mess from the rain. He cackles. “Sister? And yet she is here before us like an insolent pup. It runs in the family, I say.”

“I’m glad we have common ground for I also hate my Impudent brother, he's always been a stuck up man”

Aegon chuckles, “I'm sure you will be glad to see him then, i can't wait to see his face when he sees his little sister bound at our mercy”

You pull against your restraints once more “I’m not exactly precious material, I'm sure when he sees me in your Kinslayer cunt hands he'll be more than happy”, Aemonds hand clasps tightly around your mouth to silence you, you whine. His face mere inches from yours again, you wonder if he gets off on this.

"Watch your tongue" he growls,"Insulting me will only make things worse for you."

Aegon chuckled, clearly "I have to admit," he said, his words dripping in eagerness. "You're more fiery than I expected."

The wait seemed to drag on for an eternity. Aemond keeping his hand firmly over your mouth, grip unrelenting, silencing your protests. Eventually, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, and the guard returned, leading Larys Strong into the throne room, his expression stern and composed despite the circumstances, he hobbled on his crutch. Aemond's smirk widened at the sight. " Lord Larys Strong," he taunted.

Larys, turns to aegon nodding his head “My king”

Aemond smirks, his hand still tight on your mouth you can taste his sweat,"Ah, Larys Strong," Aegon said, a smirk on his face. "Your sister here has been quite a delightful addition to our court."

Larys' gaze flicked to you, his usual stoic expression, Not a flicker of concern crossed his face. "Sister," he said, his voice cold. "What have you gotten yourself into now?" 

Aemonds hand releases your mouth and you take a deep breath in, raing your eyebrows “What have i gotten myself into?”You point to yourself,  “I've been kidnapped” 

Larys looks right through you, turning his head “By whom?” 

You shake your head at him, lips pursed “By Whom? Who do I stand with now? Bound? Taken out of my own home after it had become a wreckage!”

His eyes narrow in on Aemond, and then he laughs, “ And what do you plan to do with my sister?” 

"What's it to you, Larys?" Aemond says "Your sister is in my hands now, and i can do whatever i with please with her, i'm sure you'll be glad to not have her in your keep" 

Lary shrugs, his hand gripping his staff, “Do whatever you want with her, Though I beg of you to take her hand, a Strong and a Targaryen would make a fine match" Larys utters , he limps away leaving you to your kidnapper.

You gasp, shocked at Larys' casual dismissal of you. Aegon chuckles, taking another drink from his goblet. "How thoughtful of him to think so highly of your value." he said, his tone mocking. 

Your eyes well up at the sight of him leaving knowing it was your last chance to leave his hands,You think quickly. Jabbing an elbow into Aemond’s side and making a run for it. But he had played this game before with you, he grabs at your arm, bringing you back into his chest. “The more you struggle the worse it’ll be for you”you kick your feet at the stone.

Aemond drags you out of the throne room, his grip on your wrists firm and unyielding. He leads you down the corridors of the Red Keep, his stride long and purposeful.

You try to struggle and pull away, but his grip is too strong, and he effortlessly pulls you along.

“Where are we going?” 

Aemond casts a glance over his shoulder at you, his smile widening at your question.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he says, his voice dripping with poison.

He continues leading you down the halls of the castle, passing by guards and servants who give you curious looks. Soon, you find yourself in a part of the castle you're unfamiliar with. 

“The dungeons?” Your boots dig into the stone floor trying to pull yourself from his grasp, but he's merely too strong.

His smirk widens, eye glinting with dark amusement. "Very observant of you" he ridicules.

He leads you down a set of stone stairs, and the smell of damp stone and confinement becomes more intense. The air grows colder, and you find yourself in the dimly lit dungeons of the Red Keep. You shudder as you pass men’s intrepid eyes and womens weary faces  “so you do want to take me as a prisoner, and what leave me to rot till im begging for you?”

Aemond laughs at your words, his grip still firm on your wrists. He stops in front of a cell and pushes the door open. He shoves you into the cell and locks the door behind you, leaving you in the cold, damp darkness. He leaves without saying a word.

You sit there for what feels like hours, the only sound being the occasional clanking of chains and the faint cries from the other prisoners. You shiver in the cold, your knees to your chest, mind racing. Suddenly, you hear footsteps coming down the corridor. The light sound of boots on stone, and your heart starts to pound. Wondering whether he had come back already, you hear the drip of moisture from the stone ceiling.The footsteps draw closer, and you watch anxiously as a guard stands in front of your cell, followed by Aemond, who stands behind him, a smirk on his face. The guard unlocks the cell, and Aemond strides in, leaning against the wall. "Get up," he orders, his eye locked on you. You rise slowly with stiff legs. 

Aemond looks you up and down, his gaze hungry and predatory. "There, that's better," he says, his voice low. He steps closer to you, cornering you against the wall. His hand rises to your face, his fingers brushing against your cheek, you wretch your head back to avoid his touch.

"You look... messy," he says, his tone almost cruel. "Unkempt hair, dirt on your face. Not exactly a pretty picture" He leans in closer, his breath hot against your bare neck and then he turns suddenly, grabbing your wrists in his hands taking you out of the cell, "and clearly in need of a bath." 

Aemond leads you through a door and into what you only assume is his chamber, the scent of rosewater hangs in the air. In the centre of the room, a large steel tub is filled with steaming water. He pushes you towards the tub, his gaze dark and possessive. "Strip," he demands, his voice harsh and commanding. 

“Sorry?”

Aemond's eye narrows, "You heard me," he snaps, his voice cold. "Strip. Now."

He leans against the wall, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin shiver.

“Can you atleast turn?” You ask, biting your lip.

“No” 

You bite back a snarl and turn your back, Unlacing your dress quickly and then pulling off any undergarments. Aemond watches you intently, his eyes cutting into your back,

Your nipples harden at the chill in the air. Once you're completely undressed, he steps closer to you, his hand brushing against your bare shoulder. "Get in," he orders.

You sink into the hot water, feeling your muscles relax instantly, the smells of oils fill your nose but the knowledge that Aemond is watching you makes you feel uncomfortable, you pull your knees to your chest, wet hair surrounding your body. 

He moves closer, pulling up a stool, eye fixed on your frame. He reaches out a hand, running his fingers through a strand of wet hair that has fallen across your face. "You look better like this," he says, his voice low and raspy.

You flinch, swatting his hand away from your face. He runs his hand over your cheek and then suddenly your head is knocked back into another direction, your cheeks swells. Without warning, he grabs a fistfull of your hair, your chin rises upwards. 

“Don't test me, you're in my possession now. I can touch you however i please” He lets go of your hair, the back of his hand tracing the cheek he had just hit. 

Aemond stands up, grabbing a bar of lye soap and a cloth from a nearby table. He kneels down beside the bathtub, dunking the cloth into the water, and then lathering it up with the soap.He begins to slowly and methodically wash your body, his touch firm but surprisingly gentle. His eye watches your every reaction, taking in every shiver and flinch. You stare straight ahead. 

Aemond finishes washing your back and then moves to your legs, his hand gliding up your thigh, his touch sending shivers through your body. He pauses, his eye flicking to your face, his expression hard. "Do you trust me?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No”

Aemond chuckles at your response, his smirk returning. "I didn't expect you to," he says, his tone mocking.

He runs the cloth over your legs, his hand moving higher, gliding up your inner thigh. His other hand snakes round your chest, moving to your shoulder, pinning you against the side of the tub.

“Stop!” you push against his hand but it only grips tighter against your shoulder, you feel the blood rush to the spot his fingers press into.

"I don't think so," he says.

His hand moves higher, and his fingers brush against the sensitive flesh between your legs. He looks at your expression, watching your face for any sign of fear or pleasure. You struggle against his grip, but it's useless, his strength is much greater than yours, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your skin.

“Please stop,” you cry out.

His hand continues to move slowly, his touch becoming more intimate.

Aemond looks at you with mock sympathy. "Please stop?" he repeats, his tone drenched in sarcasm. "You're so sweet when you beg like that." His grip on your shoulder tightens even further, and his hand moves higher, brushing against your most sensitive spot. "But I'm not going to stop," he says, his voice low and commanding.

He continues to move his hand slowly, his thumb pressing against you in a way that makes you gasp, you spite yourself. His eye is fixed on your face, watching your reactions closely.

"You might as well give in," he says, his voice soft and persuasive. "It will make things so much easier for you." 

His hand moves again, stroking you in a way that sends ripples of pleasure through your body, despite your attempts to resist. His body is fully pressed against yours now, his chest against your back, his breath hot on your neck. You struggle in his touch, holding back a moan. His hand from your shoulder moves to clasp around your neck. 

His hand moves faster now, his fingers and palm working in tandem to bring you to the edge. His other hand grips your throat, holding you in place, as he continues his assault on your senses. You try to hold back, biting back moans. He grins in your efforts, fingers working your clit faster, You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, and Aemond can tell. His hand moves even faster, driving you towards the peak of ecstasy. “Just let go” he whispers against your neck.

“No!” you whine.

"Just let it happen.", it drives you to the brink of insanity, and you don't think you can hold back anymore, his thumb brushes against you, and everything you had been avoiding snaps, he feels you squirm underneath him, teary eyed, silent scream. He lets out a satisfied laugh. Fingers still moving against your skin, it begins to feel like too much. 

“Too much, please”

Aemond's hand finally slows, his touch becoming gentler as you come down from your high. He pulls away, standing up and watching you with a smug grin on his face, his fingers run against your closed mouth. “Open”

You shake your head at him, put his fingers into your mouth anyway, you gag, he laughs at the sound and pushes further into your mouth anyway, drool pools at the side of your mouth, he releases you with a wet pop and you slump into the side of the bath, watching his next move.

His hand moves down your neck, his fingers tracing over your collarbone, his touch leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. “Get dressed” he points to the clothes horse with a new gown on it laid out for you. 

He watches you stand and dry yourself with a cloth, Aemond watches you dress your back turning as you try to lace your dress together, he grabs your shoulders and makes quick work of pulling the string tighter,watching as you gasp for air you feel like you can barely breathe. Ribs collapsing in on themself. 

“Back to the dungeon then?’

He nods, Leading you back down to the dungeon. Through winding hallways. You reach the room you were once in. You stumble forward, Aemond shuts the cell door, the clanging echoing against the walls of your cell, he leaves you, room barren apart from the cot in the corner. You sit on the Cot, it feels as though the walls are closing in on you. You try to calm your breathing, but the realisation of what Aemond had done hits you more than anything. He had pulled pleasure apart from your body with ease. 

The hours pass slowly, you try to sleep but all you can do is toss on the straw mattress, by morning a guard throws a piece of bread in your cell. It hits the dirty floor, brown mud and flys encasing it, you don't eat it. And then more hours pass and the same thing happens, you chew at your nails. The candles burn slowly, a fly buzzes, the smells of sweat and dirt closes in on you. 

It feels like minutes and days, time is all muddled up, you’re asleep one moment and the next your fingers are encased with dirt and blood, people shout out and cry. The candles get replaced. You haven't spoken in so long, eating hasn't even crossed your mind yet takes toll on your body, you begin to dream of twisting shadows and watery lands, cities beneath the ocean, a skeleton pierced with a sword through the eye. 

It feels like months have passed, and you believe yourself to be going mad, the isolation has turned your thoughts wild, your beginning to lose your grip or reality, you pray to the old gods, begging on your knees to the guards who pass by, but the days pass as usual. 

You hook your hands around the rusted prison, reaching a hand out to still the guard making his rounds, he turns to you. He stops in his tracks, eyeing you cautiously."What do you want?" he asks, his voice gruff and filled with irritation.

Your throat feels raw and scratchy as you try to talk, only coming out in quiet whispers “please,I~ need” your throat feels like sand. 

The guard shakes his head and continues on his rounds, ignoring your pleas. You're left alone once again, tears prick at your eyes as you sink into the thin mattress, you wail.

The loneliness and despair seem to close in around you, suffocating you.

More weeks pass and you barely move in your cot, bloodied fingers tracing the wall. There's a set of footsteps that stop outside your cell, candle light casting a shadow on to the wall, it pulls you out of your daze. 

You sigh, the shadow moves closer to your cell, face obscured by the darkness. “Are you still alive there?” it is but a whisper, low and soft.

“Yes” you mutter, you shit in your cot, gazing up at the figure. 

“You dont look like you've eaten much” they peer down at you, the tight dress now hangs off your shoulder. You sit up. 

The man pushes back the hood of his cloak, uncovering his face, his hair bright white. You can see that he's wearing an eyepatch over one eye, and his expression is unreadable.

He looks at you for a moment, his gaze taking in your dishevelled, malnourished appearance.

“Aemond” you whisper, your voice crackles. 

His face softens, hand reaching through the bars to grab at your hand, you nearly flinch at the contact. He pauses, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Easy," he whispers, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not going to hurt you." 

You gaze up at him, he pulls out a key from under his cloak, unlocking the door.He steps inside. Standing there for a moment, his gaze fixed on you as you look up at him. "Can you stand?" he asks, his voice low and gentle.

You nod, Feeling like a newly born doe as you struggle to stand, legs buckling from under yourself, he reaches out and stills you, hand around your waist. He smells like old books and dragon fire. 

"It's alright," he says, his voice low and soothing. "I've got you."

“How long?” 

Aemond thinks for a second, he leads you out the cell slowly, steering you down the dungeons, he’s patient as you step up the steps slowly, his hand near your back for support. “Nearly three moons”  You nod at the revelation. He continues to guide you down the castle hallways.His steps slow, matching your pace. 

"You look terrible," he says, his voice blunt but not unkind. "Have they been feeding you?"

“Scraps of mouldy bread every morning” you bite your cheek.his grip tightens on your waist. “you left me down there” you cry, your lip wobbles. The corridors wind on until you find yourself in front of a big oak door. 

He speaks softly voice filled with a hint of regret. “I had too.” 

“Had too?” the knight opens the door, it creeks slightly, you walk inside books toppled over on chairs and tables, along with scrolls. The fire roars, a platter of food is laid out on the oak table. He guides you over on the bed in the corner. You let him fuss with your dress until you're in some kind of cotton nightgown, he touches you like your glass, He pours you a glass of water. You sip slowly. 

“You wanted me to break in there”

"Yes," he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted you to feel broken”,his hand runs tenderly across your face, you still yourself trying not to chase it with your cheek “And now look at you, like clay in my hands, mine to hold however i see fit” You look up at him with wet eyes, his thumb rubs gently over your cheek. He steps closer to you. He runs his thumb over your lips. “You must be hungry.”

You nod, He steps away, moving over to a table in the corner of the room where a tray of food has been set out. He picks up a plate and brings it back over to you, setting it down in your lap. “Eat” You eat slowly, picking part of cheese and meat. You find yourself filling up quickly.

“Are you tired?” 

Your head nods quickly, the thought of sleep is terrifying to you in such a big room. “You may sleep here.” He peels back the covers, taking the plate from your lap, you climb in, and he tucks the covers up to your neck. You feel exhaustion wash over you, although you're so close to him there's a sense of loneliness within you, you turn to your side. “Relax” he whispers.

“Can you hold me?” you stutter. 

Aemond seems surprised but you seem so desperate for human connection after so long he slides his arm under you, pulling you closer, you're pressed into his back tightly. He tries to soothe you, hand running through your hair, but it only knots. Your body grows less rigid as you begin to fall asleep in his arms. He watches you succumb to sleep, body growing limp. 

Hehehehehehe (evil laughter)