Aemond Targaryen Imagine - Blog Posts

Hope

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18, Minors DNI!

Summary: From the age of ten, your heart has belonged to Aemond Targaryen. As the factions of your family wage war, each fighting for the crown, all you want is to love the man you chose. | Ft. "You think I wanted to fall in love with you, of all people?" Requested by @niamh11 Warnings: Targcest, doubt, war, death (mentioned), dragon fire, inaccurate Targaryen marriage rites, PinV, oral (f!receiving), Harrenhal, light drugging (nothing happens while drugged, just sleep; only briefly mentioned). Aemond and Reader are 20. Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!Targaryen Reader (Daemon's Daughter, Unspecified Mother - not Rhaenyra) Word Count: 11.5k (I don't know, I blacked out) HotD Taglist

For weeks, it felt as if every breath was filled with the scent of damp earth, the smoke of dragon fire, the copper tang of blood, or the char of wood and bone. Each was heavier than the last, harder to draw and less likely to fill your lungs, but you continued to fight to catch your breath with every moment that passed.

The stench of war, now hanging heavily over the entirety of the realm, made itself at home in the fabric of your clothes, the strands of your hair, the very pores of your skin. It haunted you in your sleep, lingered just around every corner and refused to allow you a moment of peace. Despite your reluctance to fight, to watch the realm tear itself apart, it slowly consumed every piece of your life. But the stench, while maddening, meant that you were still alive.

For now, anyway.

Once, only a few short moons ago, towns and villages near the Kingsroad found themselves on the verge of prosperity. Their proximity afforded them the coin of travelers, of weary men wandering through the realm for one reason or another and sellswords looking for work - or, more often, debauchery. None were as large as Oldtown or King’s Landing, none quite as prosperous, but it was more than could be said for other villages. There was food to eat, coin to be earned, and fun to be had; just enough for the inhabitants to consider themselves lucky.

Unfortunately, their luck only extended so far.

The all-consuming threat of dragon fire often loomed over the realm. There were many who were raised to fear the ancient beasts - and rightfully so, for their not so distant ancestors perished in flames - but, for many, the threat seemed far off.

Until smoke filled the skies and the threat that once seemed so distant now swallowed them whole.

Blackened land surrounded you at every turn. Fields, once filled with crops, reduced to nothing more than a pile of ash; pastures, once teeming with livestock, a final resting place for cleaned bones; ponds, once a source of water for the bustling village, still bubbling as it boiled. Once great buildings were nothing more than rubble, mere pieces of stone marking where they once stood, and the streets were littered with bodies still smoking.

Though the sight was growing familiar, you could still feel the bile raise in the back of your throat as you stepped across cobblestone paths in search of any survivors. The beat of your heart echoed in your ears, hammering so hard inside your chest you worried it might crack a rib, and you struggled to even your breathing as you gripped your sword.

There was no need to guess who had lain waste to the lands, no need to question those who managed to flee, those who would spend the rest of their lives searching the skies in fear. It was obvious whose work this was and your father had little problem reminding you.

“I suppose your beloved did not deem this attack worth discussion upon your last meeting,” he sneered, toeing at a large piece of melted metal. “Tell me, what is it you see in him; his devotion to senseless violence or his shameless predilection for leaving nothing but death and destruction in his wake? Your devotion to him is… baffling."

For a moment, it felt as if your heart stopped. While he had not spoken of him as anything other than a nuisance, a proverbial thorn in his side, since his refusal to allow you to marry, it was of little surprise to you that your father knew your heart still belonged to him. Most turned blind eyes - some willingly, with no desire to speak aloud your transgression; others simply allowed you to go unnoticed, expecting this behavior from the eldest child of the Rogue Prince - but you should have known there was nothing you could hide from him.

“I have loved him since we were children,” you reminded him, needlessly. “I cannot simply stop. As for what I see in him, I would say that I saw you, father,” you began, voice thick with emotion, “but something like this would require you to sully your own hands.” Despite the knot in your throat and the tears stinging the backs of your eyes, you carried on, hoping he couldn’t hear the shake of your voice. “Aemond’s crimes are his own. Yours are carried out by men who have the misfortune of trusting you.”

Daemon Targaryen had always been noted for his prowess in battle, his cunning, his silver tongue, his enjoyment of Flea Bottom. Rarely was he noted for his even temper or his devotion as a father. He loved you, and your siblings - of this you were almost certain - but you considered it evident when he chose to reach for you, hand clasped in a viselike grip on your throat, rather than his sword the moment the words left your lips.

“Mind your tongue,” he ordered, voice a low rasp as his violet eyes narrowed. “This,” he hissed, gesturing to the carnage you stood amidst, “is the work of a weak, pathetic little boy throwing a fucking tantrum. He wants war, he wants blood, he wants the crown; he knows nothing of the reality. He has chosen to burn his own kingdom for a chance to play king now that his drunken, usurper cunt of a brother has disappeared and were it not for Rhaenyra, for you, I would let him.” Daemon paused, his grip tightening on your throat - earning a sharp gasp, a desperate scrabble of your fingers, nails digging into his forearm - as his gaze burned into yours. “I once saw myself in Aemond,” he confessed, voice softening, “though there is one grand distinction. I would sacrifice the world for Rhaenyra, for our children, for you. Aemond will sacrifice you the moment you no longer serve his purpose."

A single glance around the village, around the dozen other villages you’d flown through on your patrols - on your search for Aemond, for Vhagar, for any sign of an impending Green attack - confirmed that your father spoke the truth. The Aemond you loved was long gone, replaced by a man desperately clawing for the power that now seemed well within his grasp, but you were your father’s daughter.

Dragon rider since ten, skilled with a sword, intelligent, comely gifted with a mind for strategy - it was oft whispered that you were a mirror of Daemon Targaryen. The best, and some of the worst, parts of your father were passed directly to you. And, unfortunately, that included his predilection to stubbornly listen to the thrum of your heart rather than reason.

“You act as if you have the right to shame anyone, as if you have not sacrificed many and more in the name of getting what you want,” you reminded him, nails sinking into his skin and drawing blood. The rasp of your voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it carried through the hauntingly empty ruins as you searched his face for any hint of understanding. When you found none, you pleaded, “What would you have me do, father? Tell me, please.”

“Return to Harrenhal,” he commanded, releasing his grip on your throat, gaze never once leaving yours. “I will join you on the morrow.” For a moment, you stood toe to toe - jaw working as you contemplated speaking, wondering if you could push words past the sudden dryness of your mouth - before Daemon turned. “That is a command. Go.”

Without sparing you a second glance, Daemon stalked across the field to mount Caraxes before beginning his ascent.

Rather than immediately following the harsh command, one he would almost certainly apologize for in his own way - with an embrace, most likely, or a tale of his youth - you allowed yourself a moment. With little regard for your armor, for your sword, you sank to your knees and pressed your palms into the scorched earth and reflected on how exactly you found yourself with an aching heart.

For much of your life, your heart beat for Aemond Targaryen.

As the eldest daughter of the Rogue Prince, Lords and knights from all parts of the realm - princes from Dorne and the Free Cities - all vied for your hand, once upon a time. With every tourney or feast you attended, you were inundated with glances and introductions. Each conversation included boasts of riches and land, of family titles and pedigrees. Daemon found it intoxicating, waiting for the perfect proposal to be made, while it all mattered none to you.

The idea of marriage was one you disliked, but one you knew would become reality sooner rather than later. As a Targaryen, there were but two possibilities: your marriage would serve as a political alliance, your husband chosen for the connections he could bring the crown, the resources his house could provide; or you would marry another Targaryen, a member of your own house who could ensure your name and bloodline carried on.

Neither was appealing but a political marriage always seemed the most likely option as you viewed it as the only way your father could win favor with his brother. It was an eventuality you were prepared for as your brothers were young, and betrothed, while you knew little and less of your cousins.

Visits to the Red Keep were few and far between, only possible when your father and uncle found themselves in good spirits - or at such odds that a conversation was necessary - and even less frequent upon your father’s marriage to Rhaenyra. Alicent Hightower’s children mattered little to you at first, their existence often forgotten as you followed your father from this exile to that, but everything changed the moment Aemond claimed Vhagar.

Funerals - too many of which you’d witnessed in such a short existence - never sat well with you. They served as a reminder that while House Targaryen sat high atop the Iron Throne and soared through the skies on the backs of ancient beasts, none could escape the Stranger’s eventual embrace.

Mortality felt too heavy a thought for one so young but it was the ever present reality.

On a day that felt so heavy, so sobering, you were surprised to find any joy at all. There was so much anger, so much tension, so much sadness, that you wondered how anyone would carry on at all. But somewhere, amidst the depths of despair, you stood in awe of the timid boy who once had trouble looking you in the eye as he mounted the oldest and fiercest dragon you knew.

Aemond’s joy was almost palpable that night. His relief at having claimed a dragon - the dragon - set you at ease, thrilled you almost more than claiming your own dragon, and you watched happily as he circled Driftmark. Vhagar carried him around the island and their cries, his of triumph, carried on the wind. It filled your chest with a warmth you’d never known, a joy that felt almost suffocating. The sight of him, fearless and finally free of the cruel teasing of his brother and yours, endeared him to you in a way you never bothered to examine.

Upon his return, a split second after his feet hit the sand and your eyes met, you pulled him into your arms. With one embrace, you saw a future, a life of love - of joy, of dragon rides and quiet evenings - and you hoped he might feel the same.

It was fitting, you supposed, for the love story you always wished for to be marked by fire and blood.

The first and only time you hoped that you might marry for love while fulfilling your duty to your house ended in bloodshed. Though you were both but ten years old, you learned an important lesson; hope is not meant for a Targaryen.

Driftmark, in hindsight, began it all - the start of your love story, the seeds of ruin that would someday fell it - but you were nothing, if not stubborn. 

Despite the events of that night, despite your father marrying Rhaenyra and the boys becoming your brothers, Aemond knew you shouldered no blame. Though he wanted an apology, an acknowledgement of wrongdoing, he was satisfied; an eye for Vhagar, of all dragons, was a worthwhile price to pay, that much he confided in the first of many letters you shared.

The letters were flowed easily and, though most contained trivial thoughts that mattered little to anyone but the pair of you, they meant the world to you. For the first time in a long time, you felt content - happy, even. 

As you grew older, you understood little and less of the rift between your family. Your relationship with Aemond was easy, almost effortless, but everything else seemed so needlessly complicated. There were apologies owed and egos too fragile to repent for past sins; a simple problem with an even simpler solution. However, it seemed as if all were too self-involved to see the simplicity.

Viserys, with his ailing health and reputation as peacetime king, wanted nothing more than for peace amongst his own family.

For all the harsh words and bitter distance, for all the sleepless nights and long fights, for all the accusations and moments of mistrust, Viserys and Daemon truly loved one another. There was nothing, in the end, that could destroy their relationship.

That was why, you supposed, when Viserys suggested it and you insisted, Daemon agreed to send you to ward in King’s Landing.

The gesture was one, both you and Viserys insisted, meant to unite your families. Your willingness to step into a proverbial viper’s den, however, did little to ease the tension that grew so thick you feared it may someday choke you.

In hindsight, you knew the damage was already done. The groundwork for the coming war, the brewing discontent and deep mistrust, was laid long before you entered the picture. Perhaps it was naivety, or a brotherly desire to make up for past mistakes, that lead Viserys to believe the decision would invoke fondness between the halves of your families - or perhaps less bloodshed when the reckoning finally arrived - but a Dreamer he was not.

Most believed disaster loomed over the Red Keep but none could have predicted just how horrifying it would be.

Upon your arrival to the Red Keep, you were reminded of how long it had been since you wandered its halls. Little of your childhood was spent there, visits grew fewer and farther between, but very little remained of image your mind conjured. There was no warmth, no cheer, no comfort. Though autumn had scarcely begun, the bitter cold of winter already enveloped the Keep and its inhabitants.

Viserys himself hailed your arrival as a cause for celebration. Helaena, too, found joy in your presence as you served as her closest friend and confidante. Aegon, now eight-and-ten, all but ignored your presence, as did his mother. And the one you missed the most seemed most outwardly indifferent to your presence.

Aemond spoke less than he did as a child, his words carefully measured, though his confidence had grown with him. He carried himself in a manner befitting a prince, with set shoulders and a keen violet eye scanning his surroundings at every turn. And while his brother spent his days deep in his cups or between the thighs of paid women, Aemond’s days were spent honing his abilities. He trained with Cole in the yard, studied with the maesters in the library, and listened intently to every conversation he could catch regarding matters of the realm.

Though you spoke often through raven, the comfort did not quickly or easily extend to face-to-face interactions.

Despite the initial tension that arrived with you from Dragonstone, Aemond graced you with his presence more often than not. He sat with you in the library, body occupying the seat beside yours despite a handful of empty chairs scattered about the room, and went flying with you as often as you wished. At mealtimes, he sat at your side - his violet eye trained on you, observing but rarely speaking more than a handful of words - and walked the gardens with you after breaking your fast.

There were moments of bitterness, bouts of anger where your tempers flared - particularly in the beginning, and often because of one sibling or another - and more moments spent hurling cruel words at one another.

But with every moon that passed, you settled into a life far different than any you could’ve imagined. And with every moment spent by Aemond’s side, you knew it was love - real and true - you’d found all those years ago. Love lightened your spirit, brought you a warmth and a comfort you never knew existed, and joy found you despite the chill of the Red Keep. Aemond was the one you wanted and, delighted, you learned he felt the same.

Yet, neither of you forgot that hope was more dangerous a beast than any dragon.

Hope abandoned you both as you sought permission to marry. Though Viserys was overjoyed, thrilled by the prospect of uniting the family through the joining of your hands, there were few others who shared his enthusiasm. The factions of your family agreed on little as of late but Alicent and Daemon found themselves in agreement at long last; both would sooner see their children miserable, alone or trapped in loveless marriages, than allow them to marry.

It seemed as if everyone, save Viserys, shared the sentiment. And, as you gathered for what would - unbeknownst to you all - become the last supper, none were shy about sharing it.

Piece by piece, the future you foolishly allowed yourself to imagine shattered into shards that pierced your heart deeper and deeper. With every argument against your betrothal, with every sharp word uttered and eventual punch thrown, you felt the fate you desperately hoped to avoid closing in on you. And as your family disappeared from the Red Keep, eager to return to Dragonstone - with a parting command that you begin preparing to join them - you took to the skies to ruminate.

Naively, perhaps, you imagined you could have won them over.

There were a thousand arguments to be made in support of your marriage to Aemond, the least of which was the love you shared. Though Daemon mistrusted his nephew, he would’ve seen reason - someday, perhaps - that Aemond loved you, that he would never cause you harm. Though your brothers disliked Aemond, the result of childhood animosity fed to you all by adults, you could have shown them how happy Aemond made you. And though Rhaenyra found herself wary, she knew your marriage would provide stability and comfort to Alicent upon her ascension.

If only Viserys had lived just a while longer.

Viserys’ death had long been a matter of when. In the immediate aftermath, you found yourself wondering how things might have changed had Rhaenyra remained at the Keep - if he’d died sooner rather than later, if she’d been the one to share his final moments. But there was little time to dwell when you suddenly found yourself considered an enemy to the crown.

One moment, you were lingering in the Dragonpit - Aemond’s hand on your cheek, his forehead pressed to yours as he assured you there was nothing that could keep you apart - and the next, members of the Kingsguard were dragging you through the Keep to lock you in your room.

For several long hours, there was no explanation. Aemond was kept from you, sent from the Keep in search of his brother, and you were kept under strict guard. Despite the silence, you knew with great certainty that Viserys was dead and your stomach churned with fear of what was to come. And despite yourself, you held desperately to the hope that the great houses would remember their oaths to uphold Rhaenyra as the rightful heir.

Abandon all hope, should you wish to survive.

None knew what Otto Hightower intended to do with you - for it was, most certainly, he who masterminded Aegon’s ascension and he who planted the seeds of mistrust in you as a suitable match for his grandson - but you considered yourself blessed to escape that fate, nonetheless.

A knight of the Kingsguard facilitated your escape, granted you and Rhaenys the freedom necessary to flee King’s Landing. Rhaenys herself facilitated the liberation of your dragons, neither of whom you intended to leave without. And in the blink of an eye, every aspect of your life changed. War was nigh, closer than ever before, and though you escaped the Red Keep, hope held you prisoner.

For a blissful moment, little of your relationship with Aemond changed.

There were ravens - messages written in High Valyrian, now of greater significance than ever before - and meetings arranged in secluded woods. There were longing glances exchanged, fleeting touches and soft kisses, embraces you once refused out of some sense of propriety. Words of love were whispered and promises, bound to be broken, were made. There was even a dream, only spoken under cover of darkness, of finding a septon to marry you in a desperate bid to end the war before it began in earnest. But the storm itself had only just begun.

The question was never when, nor if, blood would be drawn; it was always who would draw it. Most feared it would be Daemon, or perhaps Aegon - both quick to anger, to act, desperate to prove themselves. But it was of little surprise to anyone, save you, that it was Aemond who began the Dance.

Whispers filled the land and the halls of Dragonstone echoed with the title that chipped at the already shattered pieces of your heart; Aemond One-Eye became Aemond the Kinslayer. 

Most believed it was a deliberate act, retribution for the eye Lucerys stole as a boy. Others, an act of provocation to draw Rhaenyra out of hiding. Regardless of motive, nearly all found themselves in agreement that Aemond committed the most grievous sin. Though it was a compelling argument, one you found yourself struggling to deny when Jacaerys confronted you, you hoped it was not true.

Aemond longed for an apology, an acknowledgement that he was wronged. That much you knew to be true. But he was not a murderer, not one to cut down a child in cold blood.

Three long months of piecemeal battles followed Lucerys death - Visenya’s death - and, despite the damage done and the fear beginning to grip the realm, there was little to be done to keep you away from Aemond. You continuously found one another, seeking solace where you knew it was guaranteed, and he swore Lucerys’ death was a tragic mistake. He apologized, sincerely, and you believed him.

Love, perhaps, was more dangerous than hope for it could make even the sharpest eye blind.

As you glanced around the village, reduced to nothing - to ash, to rubble, to ruin - you wondered if it was love that blinded you involuntarily or a choice made to protect what remained of your fragile heart.

Every sign that Aemond had changed, that he was no longer the boy you fell in love with but a man grown into a stranger, was there. And as you stood, limbs trembling as you realized an inn had become a graveyard, you wondered if he’d ever been the man you believed him to be.

Perhaps it was hope, a desperate desire for a fairytale you long ago accepted you would never have, or perhaps it was naivety that blinded you. While others saw a waking nightmare, a terror to behold, you saw a man in desperate need of comfort. While others saw a threat, you saw a man who needed a gentle hand to guide him to the light. While others saw a raging storm, threatening to spring forth and destroy everything in its path, you found yourself trapped directly in the ruinous calm of the eye.

Aemond was, you truly believed, good. Somewhere beneath the facade he wore, the bravado that kept his shoulders straight and his lips narrowed into a thin line, was a delicate countenance you’d witnessed. But as you gathered yourself, scrubbed at your cheeks with the hem of your sleeve and swiped ash from your gloved hands on the fabric of your coat, you wondered just how deeply it was buried.

Village after village had been burned, thousands of innocents killed in cold blood, and to what end? There was no question who torched the villages, not pretending the offense was committed at Rhaenyra’s command.

All knew it was Aemond Targaryen, the One-Eyed Prince - Kinslayer, attempted Kingslayer - who singlehandedly destroyed them all.

Death and destruction marked his path, nothing left for you to find other than rubble and ash. It made you sick, turned your stomach and left an acidic burn in the back of your throat, but you couldn’t help wondering why.

As you mounted your dragon to return to Harrenhal, body present but mind far away, little made sense to you. Aegon was gone, still missing after weeks of searching; Alicent and Otto, for all their determination, would never see the realm reduced to ash; and Criston Cole would rather fight, march on with a host of men and a strategy rather than torch villages with little rhyme or reason. There was no plausible explanation for the campaign, no reasonable excuse for the destruction you found awaiting you at every turn.

All that remained was the truth; each and every village burned was a choice Aemond made.

The realization that every heinous act you’d stumbled across in your search for Aemond and Vhagar - for Aegon, for Criston Cole, for a Green army you began to imagine would never materialize - was his froze the very blood in your veins. It made each beat of your heart more painful than the last, each a little too fast and hard enough you feared your ribs might crack, and you fought bitter tears as you flew toward Harrenhal.

Only weeks ago, Aemond pleaded with you. He urged you to abandon your family and give yourself to him - your hand, your body, your dragon - and join his cause, not his brother’s. It was heartfelt, soft, emotional, convincing. He promised that you would rule as his queen, that your family would be forgiven and peace would return to the realm, if you would simply give in to him. And for a long moment, you considered his plea. So strongly did you consider accepting, you gathered your things and crossed through the dilapidated corridors of Harrenhal with every intention of taking flight and joining him.

In fact, you made it to the gate before the little voice in your head gave you pause.

Alys found you in the courtyard, bag tossed to the ground and shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, sat before the Weirwood tree. With a few soft words, she reminded you of your place - of your family, of your fight - and lead you to bed before Daemon could find you.

Briefly, as you soared through the cool, late afternoon air, you wondered if the destruction was your fault. Perhaps your rejection ignited the flame of his temper and sent him on a rampage. But you believed you knew him too well to entertain that train of thought for longer than a moment. Aemond had proven himself to be volatile, dangerous, but there had to be a reason for the destruction he rained.

Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with you and much and more to do with his own campaign for the crown - a campaign none knew existed until the power he so desired fell straight into his hands.

There was little time to dwell on Aemond’s aspirations, however, as the great ruins of Harrenhal entered your sight.

Resting in a field, not far from the charred remnants of the castle, was Vhagar. She slept, unbothered, by the beating wings of your own dragon - a scent she recognized, a scent she knew offered no threat - and you felt your pulse jump as you grounded your own dragon just outside the walls of the once great castle.

Where Vhagar went, Aemond went - a fact all knew. And what Aemond wanted, he got. It was only a matter of time before he came for you, you realized, just as you realized the choice to join him was little more than an illusion. The decision to be his was made long ago, by a lovestruck fool who believed in hope and happy endings. The consequences would be felt by a woman whose sight had been restored.

There was no use in attempting to flee. He’d seen you arrive and would doubtlessly follow, so you steeled yourself and made the short trek to the ruins of the castle courtyard.

With your blade drawn and your ears ringing, heart hammering so loud you feared he might hear over the wind howling around you, you stepped through the gate. Despite the persistent chill in the air, the bile rising in the back of your throat, you felt impossibly warm - burning from within, fear lapping at your skin like the hottest flames of dragon fire.

Aemond didn’t bother turning from the Weirwood, hands remaining folded behind his back as dead earth crunched beneath your boots. “I wondered if Daemon would dare face me himself,” he began, voice soft and carrying on the cold wind, “of if he would be craven and allow his beloved daughter to return to me.”

It was apparent he thought you knew - that Daemon knew - he’d arrived at Harrenhal. And you had no intention of correcting him as you tightened your grip on your sword. Instead, you laughed;  a brittle, hollow sound you knew he would see through.

“My father is not afraid of you.” Every step you took, sword clasped in your hands - clutched like a lifeline, as if you had any chance against him in battle - the harder it became to catch your breath. “He does not consider you at all. You are nothing more than a pest to be swatted in his eyes; that is why I am here.” A lie, something you both knew, as Daemon understood exactly who his nephew had become, what kind of man he’d grown to be.

The understanding was one he attempted to share with you, one he begged you to see, but the three of you shared a common weakness; love.

Daemon, for all his gestures and his promises, would never love anyone more than himself as only he could protect his own heart. You would never love anyone more than Aemond, despite his flaws and his mistakes, as he’d captured your heart and refused to set it free. And Aemond? He would never love anyone more than he loved the image of himself wearing a crown.

Seated amidst the ruins of a small village, lingering with the ghosts of lives lost in an awful game, you found that understanding for yourself. Though Aemond professed his love for you - and felt it, of that you were certain, even if it was not the love you dreamt of, not the love you wanted - you knew that a piece of him saw you as a little more than a pawn. The war that raged around you was bigger than you, both pawns to be knocked around a board at the mercy of the gods, but he still fancied himself a player rather than a piece.

Love clouded your judgement, cast a rosy hue over the deep gray of your world, and you almost hated to see it go.

Without it, you saw the blackened hull of Harrenhal and the jaded, empty husk of a man Aemond had become.  The man you loved was gone, the heart that beat in time with yours was no more. Instead, stood before you was a man who sent a thrill of fear shooting down the base of your spine.

If Daemon had known the fate that awaited you at Harrenhal, he would’ve sent you to Dragonstone, to the Keep, to the Reach, the Vale, the North - somewhere, anywhere other than into the hands of the man who would destroy you.

Daemon hadn’t known and neither had you. But if you had, you knew you still would’ve flown straight into his trap.

Silence, thick and tense with an energy you’d never before felt, enveloped you both, broken only by the call of your dragon - cries that sank into your heart like knives, plunging deeper and deeper with every beat - before, at long last, Aemond turned to face you.

That searching violet eye fell to your sword, amusement clear in the raise of his brow and the way his mouth twisted into something resembling a smirk. “Look at you,” he declared, gaze sweeping across your armor of red and black. “My beautiful Fierce Princess.” He took a single step forward, huffing a breath that could pass for laughter when you rocked back onto your heel, and hummed. “I always knew that you would be mine."

“I belong to no man.” The declaration escaped as little more than a whisper, leagues away from the confidence you hoped to project, but there was little use in denying him.

Aemond was the one person who knew each and every inch of you. Every detail - no matter how small - had been committed to memory somewhere in the years you’d loved one another. Though you had not yet given yourself to him, he was more familiar with your skin, your mind, your heart than any other could ever hope to be. If anyone were to see through a false act of bravado, it would be him.

“Mm.” He held his laughter, an act to spare your feelings, though his violet eye shimmered with a mirth that seemed rare these days - a mirth you once considered yourself lucky to witness - as he stepped closer.  “Sheath your blade,” he commanded, voice soft but firm as he easily brushed past you. “I would not harm you, my love.”

Disregarding the command, you kept your sword in hand as you followed him through the dark, damp corridors. There was little light and less company, something you had yet to grow used to.

Though you knew you would find nothing before you began to search, you could not stop yourself from glancing around. Desperately, you hoped for a glimpse of a familiar face - Simon, his men, Alys - but the pit in your stomach only sank deeper as you entered the empty shell of the dining room.

“If you are searching for the witch, she’s gone. Ser Strong, as well. They all seemed… content to die,” he reveled, tone almost pitying as he reached for the carafe on the table. “Has my uncle treated them so poorly?”

“They’re dead,” you repeated, whisper echoing through the empty halls as he began to fill two glasses.

“Mm. Regretful business,” he sighed, turning to offer you a glass - one you took without thought, the action so natural you might’ve forgotten the setting had it not felt so stifling even amidst the cool breeze floating through the halls. “It is a shame they had to die,” he lamented, lips twisting into a rueful pout, “but between this… dwelling and what is to come, I consider it a merciful alternative.”

“What’s to come?” The question escaped before you could stop it, before you could convince yourself to swing - to end the battle before it began - but Aemond was unsurprised.

“Harrenhal can hold a great host. Whoever controls that host, controls the realm,” he reminded you, pausing only to sip his wine. “My brother was weak,” he continued, a soft hum of disappointment punctuating his words. “He was impulsive and undisciplined, unsuited for the crown. He would not have lasted as king. Perhaps dragon fire was a blessing, a suitable end to his reign.”

“Aemond…” For just a moment, you caught a glimpse of the man you loved as you faltered - as your feet carried you closer, as you sheathed your sword and reached for his cheek. “The villages,” you whispered, “the small folk, Simon, Alys; why?”

Aemond leaned into your touch, warmth of his cheek bleeding into your palm as your thumb brushed the ride of his scar. His violet eye fluttered shut, just for a moment, before he sighed. “I intended only to occupy Daemon, to keep him far from Rhaenyra as she attempted to take the Keep. He has long wanted battle; I chose to give it to him. He now has a cause worth fighting for.”

With a hand on your waist, fingers pressing into the heavy material of your coat, Aemond drew to his full height. “Why go to these lengths for the crown?” A large hand lifted to your cup, nudged it to your mouth, and you took a sip without thought before lamenting, “You could have done much and more without it.”

“You know nothing of being denied,” he whispered, voice as soft as it was cutting. “You have been given everything you could have ever wanted. Princes fought for your hand, lords tripped over themselves to wed you; the word ‘no’ means little and less to you.” He urged you to take another sip of your wine, the bitter taste lingering on your tongue as he tipped his head to meet your eyes. “I suppose I am also to blame as I have never refused you anything, nor will I ever. But the crown has always been meant for me, just as you have."

Another insistent press of his fingers saw you drain your cup, casting it aside the moment the liquid disappeared, and you flinched as it clattered to the ground. “You’re wrong,” you whispered, swallowing a gasp as his thumb brushed a drop of wine from your bottom lip. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted, really and truly, I was denied. I’ve only ever asked for your hand, for your love, for you. But I did not set fire to the realm, to the innocents whose paths the gods deemed unfortunate enough to set in my way. I did not betray my brother, my father, my queen. I tried reason, again and again, and held steadfast to hope that our families might see what we have always known.”

“And what did hope earn you, my love? Your father’s ire, your siblings disappointment, your realm’s division. Hope is for the foolish. You must take what you want and offer no apology,” he insisted, forehead dipping to press to yours. His hair, a cascade of white, curtained you - hid the blurring reality that surrounded you from view - as his nose brushed yours. “Everything I have done, it has been for us.”

The words, a soft declaration that should have filled your frozen limbs with an overwhelming warmth, made little sense as your thoughts began to muddle together. The ground beneath your feet trembled, your limbs suddenly felt boneless, and your tongue began to feel too large for your mouth.

Focus grew more and more difficult, a monumental feat with every breath you inhaled through wind-chapped lips, as you attempted to blink away the haze beginning to cloud your vision.

“I wanted love,” you whispered, voice distorted in your own ears. “But do you think I wanted to fall in love with you, of all people? Hope has earned me nothing, yet I continue to cling to it and hope that the boy I fell in love with will someday return to me.”

“I have never left,” Aemond assured you, though his voice sounded far away. “And I never will. We shall spend the rest of our lives together.”

As the world began to crumble around you, as your vision blurred and your ears rang, as your heart slowed and your breathing grew labored, your legs gave out. Despite Aemond’s grip, your body connected with the floor - your knees pressed hard against the broken concrete, your cheek caught the blunt edge of the table - and in an instant, everything ceased to exist.

For a blissful few moments, there was nothing.

There was no war, no death, no fire or blood or ash. There was no king, no crown, no throne. In the softness of your dreams, in the depths of your mind, there was little more than love. Aemond’s touch against your skin was soft, eager, as he committed your body to memory. His gaze was loving, reverent. The vision was dark but you felt it all so immensely.

When you awoke, you realized that it was no dream at all. Aemond sat at the side of your bed, one calloused hand stroking your skin - fingers careful as they avoided the tender skin of your cheek, the dried blood at your temple, the bruise you knew was beginning to form. “Rest well, my love?”

The dark of the room made it difficult to see and the fog still clouding your mind held tight. Your tongue still felt too large for your mouth, too dry, but you persisted. Hoarsely, you whispered, “This was a trap.”

Aemond shifted, his weight dipping the bed but leaving you undisturbed as he brushed hair from your forehead. He was clad in a shirt and pants - missing his sword, his coat, his eyepatch - and his hair fell across his shoulders. He was beautiful, as ethereal as you’d ever seen him, but the warmth you once felt was now replaced with a feeling of dread as he hummed. “It was,” he admitted, no longer bothering to pretend as his thumb swiped at your bottom lip.

“You… you poisoned me.” There was no venom in your accusation, only confusion as your mind struggled to catch up to the moment at hand. “The wine…”

“I did.” Another easy admission of guilt, this one accompanied by a flicker of his eye to meet yours. “I needed to make arrangements,” he reasoned. “I thought it kinder than locking you in a cell.”

There was no emotion in his eye, no inflection in his tone. He simply stated a fact, but you felt your heart begin to race once more as you struggled to sit upright. “I thought you loved me,” you continued, body aching as you moved.

“I do, more than you shall ever know.” Despite everything, despite yourself, you truly believed him. Of every answer he could have given you, of every explanation - every sharp glance or sharper word - you felt inclined to believe that whatever he’d done could be traced to his love for you. It was untraditional, but as someone who had never felt love, perhaps he did not know better.

Still, you asked, “Then why?”

“Because you are mine.” The answer was simple, easy. It was the same answer he had repeated a dozen times over. 

When asked why he agreed to duel a Dornish prince who wanted your hand? You were his, not a prize to be won. When asked why he apologized to his cousins for his ‘Strong’ remarks? You were his; your family was important to you, therefore, they were important to him. When asked why he refused to offer his hand to a Baratheon, despite the crown’s need for their alliance? You were his and he was yours; his hand was already bound.

“Come,” he urged, standing from your bed and offering you a hand.

Slowly, you stood - your limbs weak and your head throbbing, mouth dry and stomach churning - as he reached to steady you. “Where are we going?”

“It is past time we were wed,” he declared, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you upright.

With muddled thoughts and an overwhelming bout of nausea, you inhaled sharply. “There is no septon,” you reminded him, blinking hard against the sudden warm glow of a torch as you stepped into the hallway. “No one to perform a ceremony.”

“We shall marry as our ancestors did,” he reasoned, waving away the notion as he guided you with ease. “They had no need of a septon; the Old Gods witnessed their union as they shall ours.”

“My father,” you began, blinking desperately to clear the haze from your eyes, “my family.”

“In a period of war, tradition means little,” he reasoned, voice low in the silence of the ruins. “There will be another ceremony later, in view of the entire realm, if you wish. For now, we will join hands and take our place as the rightful king and queen.”

“Aemond…”

The pleading edge to your tone, the shake of your voice, was enough to finally give Aemond pause.

A large hand lifted, cradled your jaw and tipped your head. You met his violet eye with your own and searched for answers to the thousands of questions that rushed at you from every angle. Though you’d longed for nothing more than to marry him, to become one, you now wondered if you had any choice at all. Would he allow you to refuse, to escape Harrenhal and return to your family? If you gave him your hand, would he truly spare your father, your siblings, Rhaenyra? If you ran, would he allow you to survive?

Aemond posed a question before you could. “Have you changed your mind, my love? Do you no longer wish to be my wife?” There was little indication how he meant the question - little indication of his true feelings; whether he was angry or heartbroken at the thought - and you found yourself uncertain which would be worse.

But for a long moment, you considered his question. 

The man stood before you was no longer one you recognized, not fully. There was a darkness now ever present, clinging to him in a way it never had before. There was no longer a levity to him, no longer a spark of joy. But for as long as you could remember, Aemond was all you’d ever wanted. And, when you truly stopped to consider, the pieces you missed the most were pieces only you had ever seen.

Vulnerability was given only under cover of darkness, whispered in the depths of the Dragonpit or hidden deep in the godswood. Joy was only shown in fleeting flashes, with red cheeks and swollen lips in stolen moments you dared spend wrapped together. Love was shown in flashes of protection, in moments of compassion. Honesty was only ever granted to you, answers given freely to all questions asked where others received scathing looks and half-truths. 

Perhaps your Aemond was just that; yours and yours alone, unsuited for the eyes of outsiders.

Thoughts rushed at you, moving simultaneously too quickly and syrup slow. Everything muddled in the depths of your mind, a confusing mass of emotion and rationality - heart versus head. For the first time, Aemond truly terrified you, though there was a certainty in the back of your mind that there was no safer place for you in the realm than by his side.

Despite the fear that left your hands trembling, you swallowed your doubt. “I have only ever wanted you,” you whispered, not bothering to hide your tears. “I am yours.”

“As I am yours,” he reiterated, dipping his head to press his forehead to yours.

As water dripped around you, as rain fell over the ruins of Harrenhal, you stood in the corridor together. Uncertainty lingered in the pit of your stomach, the question of how you found yourself here plagued you, but the warmth of Aemond’s body pressed to yours did much and more to settle the wild beat of your heart.

Hope, as dangerous as it was, again found you in the ruins as you resumed your journey to the Weirwood tree.

In the courtyard, beneath the bright, full moon and freezing rain, Aemond slipped the Conqueror’s dagger from its sheath. With a steady hand, he nicked your bottom lip and your palm before carefully gathering a bead of blood on his thumb. He then offered the blade to you and though your own hand shook, you reciprocated without sparing it a second thought.

Aemond clasped your hand in his own, your palm stinging, before he leaned in to press his lips to yours. The dagger, forgotten, clattered to the ground as you pressed impossibly closer.

Weeks apart, separated by death and destruction; confusion, desperation, desire, all clouding your ability to think rationally; overwhelming, all-consuming love - the perfect storm of circumstances saw you desperate to give yourself over the flames that certainly awaited you.

There was no longer any way out, no longer any escape. Aemond was your destiny, your lives bound together years ago. The tinge of fear that pricked at your skin each time you imagined the future - each time you questioned whether you had one, whether anyone would - remained, but your fate was sealed. Rather than fight it, rather than run, you gave in.

The moment you parted, crimson staining your lips and chin, Aemond sighed. “Ābrazyrys,” he whispered, violet eye blinking against the harsh rain.

“Valzȳrys,” you replied, grateful the rain masked your tears as Aemond smiled.

“We are one,” he declared, “united as we’ve always wished.” Your hand remained clasped in his, combined blood dripping into the scorched earth as he squeezed gently. “Nothing can part us.”

“Only the gods,” you whispered, though you remained fearful that speaking it aloud might make it so.

As he always had, Aemond dared scoff at the idea. “Even the gods could not part us,” he promised, silver hair clinging to his skin as he leaned closer.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the courtyard - the ghostly ruins of the castle torched by your ancestors, the halls Daemon had begun rebuilding - but your gaze remained fixed on Aemond. Rain drenched you both, chilled you to the bone, but neither of your cared as he began to guide you back to the castle.

There was little inside that remained dry, even less that offered some semblance of comfort, but that was of little consequence to either of you as Aemond closed the door to your room. Every emotion you felt, every ounce of fear and shame and desire and desperation, gnawed at the fraying edges of your nerves and there was nothing that could be done to alleviate your suffering. The choice was made, a pact sealed in blood, and it was clear Aemond intended to further lay his claim to you - as if he did not already own you, body and heart alike.

“I had hoped it would not rain,” he sighed, taking great care to remove your coat, “but this damn place has never been dry, it seems.”

“A curse,” you whispered, reaching on instinct to untie his breeches. “Punishment from the gods.”

“There is no such thing,” he asserted, hand tipping your chin to meet your gaze. “We are Targaryens,” he declared, “we are the gods.”

Dread settled deep in the pit of your stomach, then - a feeling so strong, you feared you might lose the little nerve that remained. Aemond was beyond reasoning, beyond rationality, and you knew there was nothing you could say to remind him of his own mortality, of yours. So, instead, you pulled him into a kiss.

The future grew dimmer, less and less likely to belong to you with every moment that passed, so you resigned yourself to enjoy the moment at hand. It was one you’d dreamt of, one you’d longed for with each rendezvous you shared, and Aemond seemed as eager as you. Now married, he had no qualms about touching you - calloused fingers skating across your damp skin, brushing across your shoulders, knocking the straps of your gown out of his path.

Aemond’s breath fanned across your cheek, a source of warmth in the chill of the ruins, and you leaned into it. Your nose brushed his, your lips ghosted over his cheek, his chin, his jaw as he nudged wet fabric out of his path.

“My beautiful wife,” he whispered, soft voice little more than a rasp in your ear. “I’ve oft dreamt of this moment. In only the sweetest of those dreams, you were mine to do with as I pleased. I believe this will be even sweeter.”

Heavy fabric fell from your shoulders, away from your body with every button Aemond found. A pool of red rested at your feet, the color of your house abandoned for the love of your husband. But you were not allowed long to dwell on the matter as deft fingers fell to your rain slick skin.

With steady hands, Aemond peeled your small clothes from your body - violet eye remaining on your face the entire time - before he reached for his own. Your hands, meanwhile, tangled in the dripping strands of his hair.

“You are so beautiful,” you whispered, gaze roving the sharp lines of his face. “A true sight to behold.”

Aemond came alive with your praise, a light flickering behind his eye that reminded you of the man you loved so dearly, and you were glad for it as you stood bare before him. The weight of his searching stare felt lighter, more bearable, as he finally allowed himself a moment to savor the sight of you. It felt as if he meant to commit the sight to memory, to savor the chance he was afforded, and you chose to do the same as you traced the line of his jaw with your fingertips.

Slowly, Aemond pressed you back, pausing only when you reached the foot of the bed. It was low, easy to settle upon, and he seized the opportunity to press you into the mattress. “Lie back for me,” he commanded as he began to sink to his knees, “my queen.”

Warm, calloused hands found your calves, touch so light you couldn’t be certain you hadn’t imagined it as he leaned into you.

Before you, the vision of Aemond clad in the translucent white of his shirt and unlaced breeches, his hair falling free and his sapphire eye uncovered chipped at the fragile remains of your heart. Hope reared its ugly head, gave you reason to believe this would be your forever - the sight of your husband, gazing at you with a reverence you’d never before known - when you knew that forever was far from guaranteed. The moments you shared were stolen, unearned, and if the Stranger did not separate you, your father surely would.

But every thought, every worry, every doubt - each ceased to exist the moment Aemond’s lips pressed to your skin.

Every ounce of tension, of fear, of trepidation, of doubt left your body in a soft sigh as his warm mouth pressed to your ankle. He began softly, slowly, and blazed a path across your skin. Fire burned in his wake, the impression of his mouth seared into your skin, and your breath caught in your throat the higher he inched.

“Tell me,” he urged, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thigh, “is this what you wanted, what you hoped for all those nights we spent in the Dragonpit, in the library?”

The request was not one meant to stroke his ego, not one meant to serve as an admission of desire. It was not an idle thought, whispered in the heat of the moment. Aemond desired reassurance, acknowledgement that you thought of him as often as he thought of you, that you longed for him the way he’d always longed for you. It was a request for your love, for your commitment, for your comfort. And you long ago lost the ability to deny him much of anything.

“Yes,” you whispered, hand reaching for his - fingers twining together, grip stronger than you intended as you tethered yourself to him. “I always wished you would take me, make me wholly yours. I dreamt of sharing your bed, of seeing you like this. You always wanted to honor me, refusing to steal my maidenhead, but you cannot steal that which belongs to you.”

“Perhaps, if I had taken you then, we might’ve wed years ago,” he ruminated. “But I intend to make up for lost time.”

Aemond repeated his path, his lips pressing to your skin as he used his grip on your thigh to pull you closer to the edge of the bed. You could feel his breath fan across your skin, warming you from within, and you clasped his hand tighter as he nosed as the juncture of your thigh. 

Part of you imagined he would make you beg, eager for proof of your desire - of your need - but before your lips could part to utter his name, he surged forward.

Between your thighs, it was as if he was a man starved. Your immediate gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair, earned a soft groan from him as he lapped at your folds with the flat of his tongue. His shoulders kept your thighs parted as his hand slipped between them, calloused fingers gathering the combination of your slick and his saliva before pressing to the bundle of nerves hidden there. 

With every jolt of your body, eager for something - to run from the pleasure or sink into it, you remained uncertain - Aemond shifted closer. He alternated between broad licks, the flat of his tongue savoring the taste of you, and kitten licks, reveling in the way your hips chased each flick of his tongue. Every noise you made was met with a hum of satisfaction, a palpable relief that he could please you in a way no one had ever been allowed, and you all but gasped his name as his fingers began to explore your slick folds.

The swipe of his fingers was foreign, the brush of his thumb over your clit caused you to jolt in his grasp, and you could feel Aemond’s lips curve into a smirk as he pressed his mouth to your mound.

“Ābrazyrys,” he whispered, breath fanning across your skin as he rested his chin on your thigh, “tell me how it feels.”

Words failed you as his lips wrapped around your clit and his fingers pressed into you - slowly, carefully, tenderly - and your breathing grew labored as he worked to prepare you. The only word your mind could recall was his name. “Aemond,” you gasped, fingers tugging at the silver locks drying in the curls he hid. “Gods, Aemond.”

Warmth filled your veins, your chest, the pit of your stomach, as he pressed himself closer. That violet gaze weighed heavy on your skin, able to see through the most carefully crafted facade, and each swipe of his fingers through your slick, each press of his tongue, chipped away at another piece of you. Bit by bit, Aemond worked to break you apart, to dismantle you completely, and you knew it was only a matter of time before you shattered.

And as his fingers pressed, filling you in a way you’d never experienced, you could only hope that he would piece you together again.

“Let go,” he whispered, voice a rasp in the dim light of the room. “Take your pleasure.”

Each sensation felt like too much, too fast, but you gave in to him. You melted into the uncomfortable bedding and focused solely on his attention. The warmth of his skin pressed to yours, the silk of his hair between your fingers, the soft noises he made as he devoured you; it all overwhelmed you in the most beautiful way.

The fire in the pit of your stomach grew hotter, lapping at your skin from within, and with each breath you attempted to draw, the more eager Aemond became to hear you cry his name. And as the edges of your vision began to white, as your fingers held too tightly to him, you gave him what he wanted.

With a cry of his name, loud enough to echo through the abandoned corridors, you came.

Fire, passionate and all-consuming, flickered in Aemond’s eye as he lifted himself. He stood tall, proud, and reveled in the lust openly displayed in your gaze as he finally shucked his own wet clothing. His tunic and breeches joined your own garments; green leather and red velvet, discarded for a union that neither side would consider sacred, but you knew the time to repent had passed.

Rather than dwell, you openly gazed upon the man you’d wanted for so long.

Aemond was perfect - beautiful, ethereal in a way that made your chest ache. There was an allure to him that called to you, a draw that pulled you in and refused to grant you leave. The angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the slope of his nose; he bared himself fully, no ounce of his soul hidden, and you swallowed harshly as you hoped the gods would forgive you for accepting it all.

“Make me yours,” you whispered, no longer able to remember why you’d ever considered resisting. “There is nothing left but us.”

One of the most feared men in the realm, quick with a blade and quicker with dragon fire, bent to your will. With an even stride and steady hands, he pressed you further up the bed before climbing in to join you. He settled above you, his hair falling - a curtain to shield you both from the world around you - and studied your face for a long moment.

There were tears lining your lashes, a product of the storm of emotion raging in the back of your mind, and Aemond was quick to bring a thumb to your cheek. “This is not the life you hoped for,” he declared, certain, “but I shall spend the rest of mine devoted to you.”

Little remained certain in your mind but you knew Aemond meant every word.

“I know,” you assured him, lifting your own hand to carefully brush at the jagged edge of his scar. “Hope is foolish,” you whispered, urging him closer, “it has caused heartache at every turn, but it lead me to you and for that, I am grateful.”

Without allowing him a moment to speak, you pressed your lips to his. The sting of the nick reminded you of where you were, of what had taken place, but you cared little for anything other than the weight of Aemond’s body pressed to yours. His warm hands held tight to the plush of your hip, fingers pressing into the skin so deeply you feared there might be bruises come morning, as he kissed you.

Emotion - fear, doubt, anger, resentment, longing, love - filled the kiss, a clash of lips and teeth and tongue that tasted of copper, but it was all you could do to keep yourself tethered to reality as Aemond traced the leaking tip of cock through the slick of your folds.

The first time hurt - so the few friends you’d made at court declared, giggled about when your father’s back was turned and your siblings wandered away - but you emerge beyond caring. And as he pressed forward, sheathing himself inside you, you found that the slight pinch, the sting of him, cleared the fog of your thoughts and brought the world around you back into focus.

As fearsome as he’d become, Aemond’s heart beat for you. The heavy thunder of it beneath your palm, the thrum of it beneath your lips as you pressed them to the pale skin of his throat, was a reminder that there was no other choice - there never had been.

With every press of Aemond’s hips, with every breath of pleasure, every whispered Valyrian praise, the truth grew clearer.

Hope was a mirage, affording you a fantasy that never existed. The life you lead was always destined to be one of fire and blood. The blood of the dragon coursed through your veins, dripped from the slit in your lip and your palm and spilled from between your thighs as Aemond claimed the last piece of you - a piece you knew had never been yours at all.

Every bit of you, every moment of your life, belonged to someone else; your father, your uncle, your siblings, Aemond. Now, there was nothing left.

A sob escaped your lips, a broken noise that saw Aemond pause. His head lifted, violet eye immediately meeting your own, as his hand lifted to your cheek. “Did I hurt you?” His concern was evident, proven as he stilled and searched for any hint of pain.

To lie would have been easy, as mindless a breathing, but the truth weighed heavy on your chest. “No,” you whispered, swallowing hard, “but I… you were right, this isn’t the life I hoped for. I do not want to continue fighting, to see more good people die. I’ve lost one brother, I cannot bear the thought of losing another. But I know that this, lying here with you, will drive them away. And you, Aemond.” Tears clouded your vision, hiding him from your view, as you admitted, “I just want you. I do not want to be queen, nor do I want to share my husband with the realm. All I want is to be happy, to be loved. I want to be free.”

Aemond frowned, eye rapidly blinking as he attempted to make sense of the words spilling from your lips, but you shook your head. “I’ve given my family my loyalty, my father my devotion, you my heart. I have nothing left to offer,” you whispered.

“Then let me fight,” he countered, tipping his head to meet your eye. “Let me end this war and give you peace. No more will die and when I claim the throne, I will never leave your side again.”

“A beautiful thought,” you nodded, “to be sure. But you can’t promise that, no more than I can promise we shall see morning. I do not want false promises or grand fantasies. I do not want a king or a warrior. All I want, all I have ever wanted, was you.”

Silence settled then, thick and suffocating, but you could see the emotion flickering in the depth of his violet eye.

Neither of you imagined this would be your reality, neither of you ever could have dreamed you would find yourselves fighting your own kin for a crown - a throne. Neither of you imagined a life outside of one another and now, faced with the realization that loving one another was not enough, you were at a loss.

“I cannot surrender,” Aemond finally whispered, gaze fierce - pleading - as he searched for an understanding. “And you are right, I cannot promise a long future. But I can promise that I will do much and more to return to you all that you have given me. You will be my queen and you will be beloved, kind and fierce in equal measure. And your family, your father, will not perish at my hand. There is no other path to be trod.”

“Our lives are bound,” you whispered, though a fresh wave of tears tracked down your cheeks. “Your path is mine.”

Aemond leaned in, then, and pressed his mouth to yours once more. This kiss was desperate, the kiss of a man seeking reassurance, and you offered it to him. There was nothing left for you to give; no more fire, no more blood. Now, you simply took the brunt of his desperation as he pressed closer to you.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice rough in your ear as his hips began to move once more. “I can promise that I will love you for the rest of my life.”

“And I you,” you reassured him, your own hand lifting to his cheek as his eye fluttered shut.

As Aemond’s end approached, his hips snapping quicker and his breath growing heavier, he repeated promises in High Valyrian; a promise to spend the rest of his life loving you, a promise to do whatever it took to make you happy, a promise to make right the wrongs that drove you so far apart. And though they were all grand, you knew he took each word to heart.

At his peak, he cried your name - a declaration of love following - before he collapsed into you. His head pressed to your chest, his thigh draped over yours, he held you tight and you allowed him. Your fingers combed through the curling strands of his hair, over the line of his jaw, as you stared up at the crumbling ceiling.

“This war will end,” he finally whispered, voice carrying on the cool night wind, “and we shall begin anew.”

Though hope abandoned you at Harrenhal, finally freeing you of its cruel embrace, Aemond found it. In the rubble and ash, surrounded by the ruins created by your ancestors, he vowed to give you what no other ever had; the love you’d always dreamt of, the life you’d always hoped for. 

Hope was a dangerous thing, but nothing was more dangerous than Aemond Targaryen.

____________________________________________________

Author's Note: Started. Blacked out. Here we are. Bone apple teeth.

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo

heavy in your arms. part one.

— pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: aemond seeks to right the wrong his mother made in rejecting the proposition of a betrothal between you & he.

— word count: 2,473

— tagging list: @emilynissangtr @aemondwhoresworld @callsignwidow @tvangelism

— a/n: welcome to the first installment in my aemond x sg au! (NOT the dark!aemond au (which will be titled idumea, if/when i ever write it.))

“Why did you reject it?” Aemond demands, barging into his mother’s chambers unannounced.

She pads across the room toward him with clasped hands. She needn’t ask what it is her son is referring to, specifically, to already know.

Nor does she need inquire as to how he knows. The bastard girl he’s had an obsession with since the day she was born is most-certainly to blame.

She’s allowed them to keep company with one another for too long, it now seems. Such behaviors will cease today.

She gives him a forced, gentle smile. She knows his temper can be as hot as dragonfire when stoked, especially when it comes to his niece. If he makes a scene, she’ll simply have Ser Criston escort him back to his chambers.

She seats herself, gently patting the cushion next to her. “Sit.”

He comes closer, but does not accept her offer—instead choosing to remain standing, his arms positioned behind his back, his chin raised as he stands across from her. “Answer the question.”

A pause. 

“Mother.”

She sighs heavily. “She is not a suitable match for you. In time, your father and I will find someone more…appropriate—”

“More appropriate than mine own niece? My blood? A princess? One whom I already love and adore? I think not.”

She opens her mouth to to reply, but he continues.

“I won’t allow you to come between us. She belongs with me. You—you cannot take this chance—”

Having had enough, she cuts his protestations short. “It is done, Aemond! You know what she is! All do! It is why her mother optioned her own children for betrothal to mine; to protect them from what she has done by shielding them with either you, or Aegon, or Helaena!”

She sighs, before running her fingers exasperatedly through her hair. “I do not fault the girl for the circumstances of her birth; she cannot help it. I know this. But, as your mother, it is my job—my responsibility—to ensure you have what is best for you. Which she, unfortunately, is not. Were it so that Laenor were undoubtedly her father, things would be different, but alas.”

His small hands are bunched into tight fists behind him now, his body trembling with rage.

“Give it time,” she tells him quietly. “Once you are older, you with either find on your own, or with mine and your father’s help, a proper betrothal.”

He knows what he must do.

He nods, calmly, shoulders slumping slightly. “Forgive me, mother. You just…know how I care for her. I was not…did not think—”

She stands, walking around to him, taking him in her arms. “I wish I could give you this, my son, but your well-being means more to me than your wants at this time. One day, when you have children of your own, you will understand.”

The two of them pull away from each other, Alicent grasping the crowns of his shoulders, while Aemond rests his hands on her waist.

He gives her a smile of understanding. “I’m sure that I will.”

She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and with that, he leaves her.

Her greatest mistake will’ve always been not ordering Ser Criston to follow him back to his chambers. For they were never his destination.

“Your son, Your Grace: the Prince Aemond,” announces  Ser Harrold from the doorway of Viserys’ room. 

Aemond finds his father seated upon a settee before a roaring fire, a blanket draped comfortably over his lap, a stack of books set upon a table next to him.

Viserys smiles as the boy steps closer, bowing his head to his father.

“Your Grace.”

Viserys bookmarks, then shuts his current read, settling it into his lap. He waves Aemond over, who seats himself beside him, watching the crackling fire before them for just a moment. 

“Is there something I can do for you, my son? Or did you merely come to keep your old man company?” He asks with a gentle smile.

Aemond knows he needs word this carefully. “Both, in truth.”

Viserys remains silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I know…” 

He pauses. 

“I know you wish to see us settled, father, just as you did Rhaenyra. Properly betrothed, at the very least. So you might… It may give you comfort. To know that we are content, that is. I cannot speak for my siblings—what, or who they may want this day or another, but I know who I desire for all the rest of mine.”

He meets his father’s eyes. “Y/N.”

Viserys settles back, studying him with an unreadable expression.

“I am aware, that, just this afternoon, mother—Her Grace—rejected an offer of betrothals of her own children to those of your daughter—my eldest sister—Princess Rhaenyra. I want you to reconsider. For my sake and Y/N’s, if no one else’s. We love each other. We always have, and I know that we always shall. I cannot…I cannot bear the thought of a life without her. I will never love another as I love her.”

He swallows thickly. “She cried in my arms when she told me that her hopes that her mother’s offer would be accepted had instead been refuted. And her heart, in turn, was shattered. Along with mine own.”

He takes his father’s weathered hand in his own. “I beg of you, father, please. Please do this. Give her to me and I to her. So we might be pronounced man and wife when you deem the time right once we’ve come of age. I’ve never asked you for anything. But I do this. I’ll do anything you say.”

He swallows. “I know your family means more to you than anything else.” 

He has oftentimes felt the opposite with how indifferent he can seem to he and his siblings, but he must keeps such sentiments to himself. Now more than ever, even if he has craved his love and approval many-a-time in the past. 

He continues, plotting with his words. Planting a most comely idea. “Were you to betroth us, she and I would not only be able to remain together, but also here. Your son, your granddaughter. Your only granddaughter. If you wished it, this would be our home for the rest of our days. I know it would make her most happy. And that is all I’ve ever wanted: to bring her joy. To make her feel safe. And loved. Just as she has done for me.”

Aemond knows he has said much, but he had to stress his wants—had to ensure that his father was assured of his love and commitment to you. Especially with having gone directly over his mother’s head, so to speak.

Viserys is quiet. For awhile. 

Aemond keeps his father’s hand in his lap, holding firmly to it, so as to keep them close. He hopes he will be more likely to accept his request that way.

Finally, Viserys looks at him. “You truly love her, don’t you?”

Aemond smiles, nodding. “More than anything in all the world. It would ruin—destroy—me to think of us being permanently parted and one day married to others that we do not know. Did not grow up alongside of as the greatest of friends. We are family. To be forced to wed someone else that neither of us loves, while we remain yearning for the other until our last breaths…”

Tears brim in his eyes and his chin wobbles. 

Viserys’ face falls as he pulls Aemond into his side. “And you are sure that she wishes this as well?”

Aemond perks up slightly. “I am. You may summon and ask her yourself if you wish, father. When I left her she was crying in her mother’s arms. I had to…right this. For us both.”

Viserys shakes his head lightly at such a heartbreaking image. So much pain and young heartbreak, and for what? 

He will have it otherwise. 

“Consider it done, my son.”

Aemond looks at him with wide eyes. “We—We are—”

Viserys cups the boy’s cheek. “As of this moment, the two of you are now betrothed.”

He glances toward the door, placing his hand in his lap once more. “I will need speak with your sister on the matter, of course. But I know that she will be most pleased with this arrangement.”

He pauses. “Your mother not quite so, but it is not her decision. I am king. She is to obey me in all things. Including this.”

Viserys had been correct in Rhaenyra being happy about such arrangements, while you and Aemond had held one another and cried tears of joy. 

Viserys had held back his own as he watched the two of you with a smile, while holding his daughter’s hand. 

“This is a most joyous day. It is not often—hardly ever—that those of our stations should ever marry for love. With much luck, such a thing may be found later from arranged engagements. It warms this old heart to know that the two of you have it now, and shall remain with it in-hand for the rest of your days.”

It is then that Alicent emerges into his chambers, his summons for her presence having reached her.

And her disposition is anything but pleased. 

“Your Grace—” She starts, panicked tears stinging her eyes as she swallows down the lump in her throat. “If we may speak—”

Viserys shakes his head, resting each of his hands upon his cane. “There is naught to speak of, my wife. I have made a decision, and it is final.”

“Viserys—” She starts, reaching toward him, but he steps closer toward Rhaenyra, toward the two happy children who cling to one another, who stare at Alicent with…apprehension? Fright that she may ruin what they have only just found? He is unsure, but what he is, is that he will not stand for it.

“Your King has made a betrothal, and it is your duty to respect it. It is done, Alicent. And it is final. I would have my son and granddaughter wed to ones that they love. And now they shall gain as much once they’ve each come of age. It is only a matter of time now.”

She solidifies herself, her heart pounding, and a painful queasiness forms in the pit of her stomach, as she sees just how outnumbered she is. 

She has always been. 

Has always been alone in this world, and will remain as much. 

And she sees further agency slipping through her fingers now. Her children she’d been forced to squeeze out of her young body, for an ungrateful man who hardly ever acknowledged them, is now to tell her what is to become of them? Is to give her yet one more command because she is what? Still yet a girl helpless to tell him no, despite all she has given him, whether she wished it or no? That is all that has ever mattered, isn’t it: what he wants? All else be damned.

No. She is Queen. A woman grown…even if she still so often feels otherwise. Has consistently since the death of her mother. The one person in all the world who loved her the way she needed be loved.

She will show her children that same devotion, even if they hate her for it. Because she knows what is best for them. Not him.

Doesn’t she?

“I will not have it.”

Viserys lowers his chin. “I beg your pardon?”

She takes a small step closer, clasping her hands tighter to hide how they tremble.

“He is my son just as much as he is yours. I carried him. Grew him in mine own womb. Pushed him out of my body and into the world. While you have shirked your duties to him as his father. Pushed he and his siblings aside in favor of—”

“That is enough!” Viserys shouts, slamming his cane against the floor, and Alicent’s chin wobbles in fright.

She wishes her father were here.

No.

Perhaps she doesn’t. He is to blame for this. For all of it.

She wants for her mother.

What if Aemond one day feels the same because of this? Because she did not try hard enough to undo it? He is but a boy. He does not know what he wants.

What if she has…failed him?

Viserys comes toward her, his cane clicking loudly against polished marble floors, his cloak swaying around him. “That is quite enough, wife. That is an order from your King! Is that understood?”

She merely stares at him for only a moment, wondering if he has ever held an ounce of love for her within his heart.

Why in Seven Hells did he marry her? She has often wondered. Wondered even more if she will ever have answer to such a terrible question.

“The Prince Aemond—my son—and the Princess Y/N—my granddaughter—are henceforth betrothed. If I discover further dissension on your part in dishonoring my wishes and my decree here today…”

He takes yet another step closer, forcing her to look up at him, making her feel impossibly smaller. 

Like a frightened little girl, indeed.

“You shall not enjoy the consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

She does not know why she does it—she too is equally responsible for all the misfortune which has befell her, and part of her hates her for it—but she glances to Rhaenyra with tears still shimmering in her eyes.

Rhaenyra takes a near-undetectable step toward her—expression unreadable—but stops when she feels you clutching her skirts for comfort, Aemond holding you close for the same.

Her own son has betrayed her. Where had she gone wrong? 

She wants to lock herself in her chambers and rest. Perhaps not to wake.

That, she’s sure, would most please the man who stands before her. The pathetic excuse for one. 

And yet she knows that come tomorrow, she will return to her role as a dutiful wife, because since she was fifteen years old…it is all she has ever been. She knows naught else what to be than caretaker. A wife, a womb, a concubine. 

A ghost.

She’d once been and had a friend, but now she thinks those days must long be past.

Finally, Alicent nods solemnly, digging at her nail-beds.

Viserys nods. “Good. Then it is settled.”

Aemond presses a kiss to your forehead, filled with equal parts joy and guilt.

He prays his mother will one day come to see what he himself does when he looks at you. He cannot understand how she does not already.

If she loves him, she will love you as well.

He hopes so, at least. He would not have you feeling unwelcome in your own home. He will not have it.

You are now his to protect, and protect he shall. In every way he can.

— System error

Android Aemond x Human Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit +18 (robot x human relationship, yandere behavior, power dynamics, dub-con/non-con, non-consensual somnophilia, possessiveness, obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation)

Proceed with caution.

Summary: You won him in a raffle, but you never could have imagined that your domestic droid would turn into a machine obsessed with you.

English is not my first language

Art by @morgana0anagrom

°°°°°°

When you put your coupon in the electronics store's raffle box, you didn't think you'd actually win anything, especially with the lack of luck that usually surrounds you. Furthermore, there were thousands of coupons there, which meant that the probability of your name being drawn was one in a million.

But happened.

"Congratulations, Miss L/N, you are the winner of our raffle. I'm Unit 456, but you can call me Aemond if that's to your liking. I'm a prototype android designed to perform tasks and assist you in your daily life."

You blink slowly, looking at the robot standing in front of you, after long minutes of the arduous task of dismantling the box he had been shipped in. Despite being between the lines that his words should possibly be happy and congratulatory, he speaks in a slurred and almost bored manner, which makes you raise an eyebrow in question.

He looks surprisingly human - disturbingly human. He's taller than any other man you know, although he's more on the slender side than exaggeratedly large, which doesn't stop it from making the definition of the muscles hidden beneath his clothes obvious. His shoulders are noticeably broad beneath his long dark coat (a very human coat). His skin is absolutely perfect and almost translucent because it is so pale, a face with sharp human features with full, well-shaped eyebrows, an imposing nose and a single intense lavender gaze. Her hair is straight, a small part is tied with an elastic at the back, reaching the middle of his back in a surprising silver tone.

He is so beautiful that he looks more like an elf than a robot. Unreally beautiful.

There are no visible imperfections on him, other than the use of a leather eye patch. You tilt your head in confusion, silently wondering why an android, clearly designed to be flawless like him, would need an eye patch.

He just keeps his expression neutral, indifferent even, while you analyze him. Hands folded rigidly behind the body and posture upright.

You wave your hand in front of his face and he doesn't blink. You circle him with appraising steps and poke a finger gently in his back and he still doesn't react, but looks at you sideways. He's warm like a human, but acts like a robot.

It's not uncommon to find domestic androids in people's homes these days, your neighbors even have one, but you've never considered the possibility of having one of your own.

But apparently he's yours now.

"Before I can carry out any of your requests, you must finish programming me. Would you like to proceed?" Even his voice sounds very human, a hoarse and low timbre, although there is some static and rigidity there; almost imperceptible - just enough to prove its robotic origin. You nod hesitantly, but proceed with the setup.

You are suspicious and reluctant in the first few days, but it turns out that having Aemond in your home is a great convenience. Living alone for a while, it takes some time for you to get used to seeing another figure in the hallways without feeling like you're going to have a heart attack. But he is very useful. He keeps your house clean, wakes you up for work every morning, cooks your meals, and takes care of your clothes. He even waters your plants and feeds your cat. Besides the fact that he's not bad to look at, like the other prototypes you've heard about. It's clear to you the effort his creators made to make this android's facial expressions and voice as natural as possible.

Even though he's just an android, you eventually find him to be a very decent conversation partner. He's intelligent in an almost condescending way, always with witty comebacks and politely sarcastic comments. You don't know if it's very appropriate behavior for an AI.

"Are you sentient?" you mumble the question one night, popping a piece of strawberry into your mouth.

He snorts a mocking laugh. One of his many strangely human quirks. “Of course not, I just have a very well programmed AI.”

It certainly doesn't seem to be just that.

But you discard the idea after a few minutes and let things continue as they are.

But the days pass and the strangeness increases.

There's something unsettling about his robotic side smile, for example. The way his single empty eye bores into you, as if critically examining your clothes and your skin. The way his grip on certain objects tightens when you make a sarcastic comment towards him. The way he leaves the room a little slower whenever you say you need to dressed. The way he's always watching you in silence. His intense gaze locks onto you at the most random moments and beneath it, you notice your pulse always beating faster. You’re not sure what exactly it is about him that makes you so transfixed. Although, to be fair, you've never had many conversations with androids, despite your best intentions, and so have nothing to compare it to.

But suddenly, even though you know he's just a machine programmed to obey your commands, you feel strange whenever you're around him.

Maybe it's just wear and tear, but you're starting to believe something is seriously wrong with him.

"Aemond, how long are you supposed to last?" You ask, trying to sound unassuming.

He smiled. "I have a solar-powered battery. But as for my quality, my creators would give me a year before I would need to make any upgrades or repairs."

You swallow. Are your eyes playing tricks on you or does he smile mischievously for a moment before smiling normally at your question? Maybe your workaholic life has left you restless and lonely. You're projecting a lot of humanity onto the robot, as he was the closest thing to human interaction you had outside of work.

But it's really hard to get rid of the disturbing feeling of danger.

There is a night when you're in the shower, soap running down your face and body, hair stuck to your shoulders. That's when you feel it. It's almost like a physical touch on the back of your neck; someone is looking at you. With soap still in your eyes, you try to peek at the door, your heart racing in terror when you notice a tall, blurry shape standing there. You rub the soap away from your eyes, but when you look again...there's nothing there anymore.

What scares you most is that you are sure you had locked the door.

One afternoon, while you were drinking water leaning against the kitchen island, Aemond approached you until he was just inches away. You swallow hard, but don't reprimand him - he's not doing anything truly reprehensible, after all. But then he takes your hand in his, raises both together until your palm is open against his. You watch in amazement and lips parted as he critically analyzes (lips in a straight line and gaze squinted in concentration) your hand in his, rotating the two to see the stark difference in size and texture. He squeezes your hand in his, feels the softness of your skin, the temperature... and then he gently releases it to its previous position. He looks into your eyes with a mischievous gleam once before leaving as if nothing had happened.

You don't know how long you stay in the kitchen after that. He touched you without any permission and that is wrong. But it's just curiosity. He's just curious about the differences between you two...that's normal.

Right?

But things manage to get even stranger after you drunkenly stumble upon him one night, somehow knocking him off balance and falling to the ground. You're sure he allows you both to fall to the ground on purpose, after all a well-programmed and strong android like him should have a better sense of balance than that. You've seen him drag the large oak closet in the guest room like he's dragging a cardboard box. You know how strong he is, he would be fully capable of holding your weight without you falling over. You don't question it at the time, though. Instead, you wonders if the heat and smell of citrus emanating from him is real or part of your drunken fantasy.

Aemond lies motionless on the floor as you lie disheveled on top of him, his large hands wrapping around your waist almost immediately in an iron grip. Maybe it's because everything seems slow when you're drunk, but he doesn't get up quickly. In fact, you get the impression that the two of you stand there for what seems like an eternity, with his eye patch and his lavender gaze burning right next to your glassy, drunken face.

You wake up the next morning completely clean and changed, barely remembering the night before.

You think falling on him causes some kind of malfunction in his system or something, because afterwards it he's acting up - worse. Always close to you, brushing your arms with gentle fingers, brushing non-existent dust from your clothes. Invading your bathroom without permission, silently coming up behind you to dry your hair himself while watching you intensely in the mirror; long fingers slowly entering between your strands, scratching your scalp and tugging with light pressure, leaving your cheeks burning for him in the mirror as the hot air from the dryer hums softly.

He even goes so far as to offer massages to relax your body, under the pretext of always aiming for your well-being and ensuring better performance in your daily life. He takes much more initiative in doing things that you didn't even ask him to do. His hands run up your sides and press into your flesh to undo the knots he had apparently noticed in his visual scan of your body.

“That’s enough,” you say, getting up from the bed.

He abruptly grabs your waist and pushes you back down. "Negative. My systems still show that you are not getting enough blood flow to that area," he responds, continuing to massage your shoulder blades.

Negative? What do he mean 'negative'?

This is weird. He was never this strong with you and he never disobeyed an order. So bold. You try to hold back a moan at the increasing strength of the massage - ridiculously pleasant and assertive. But all this touching is starting to awaken another kind of feeling in you. One that definitely does not fit the moment.

As his steady breath (and useless, because he doesn't need to do it) blows across the back of your neck, the air of the situation suddenly...changes. You’re hyper-aware of his strong chest pressed against your back and how he holds you. His palm feels big and warm through the thin cotton of your simple nightshirt.

Your heart starts to beat faster.

“I said that’s enough,” you repeat, more harshly. "We can continue this tomorrow."

His massaging movements retreat with your order, but his fingers remain running down your back until they reach the hem of your sleeping pants. His tone seems to turn threatening as he leans in close to your ear. "But you still need a massage here, Master."

You widen your eyes and turn your head back, worried. What the hell is he saying now? Before you can turn around and escape, he grabs your waist and slides your pants and panties down, all at once. You gasp and squirm to get out of bed, but his grip on you is too tight.

"W-what are you doing, Aemond?!" you ask frantically, cheek pressed into the pillow.

His fingers run down your wet slit as he massages your ass with his other hand, positioning himself behind you on the bed. "I will ease your tension inside, Master."

"W-what? No! Aemond, activate the 'sleep function' immediately!" you scream. "Unit 456, power off! That's an order!" None of your commands work. He does not answer.

You're about to kick him when one of his fingers slips into your hole, making you freeze in shock and arch your back, a high-pitched grunt escaping your lips. Nothing could prepare you for the feeling of his thick finger rubbing your walls, coaxing you to widen and accommodate another of his fingers. The two digits slowly begin to move in and out of you, opening like scissors as they move in and out, extracting your wetness.

The robot turns you so that your back is against the bed and you visibly shiver as you notice how it stares at your body, lifting your nightshirt up under your armpits to expose your breasts. It's spooky how he's orbit LED flickers and spins into different neon hues before settling into his usual lavender, his original processor struggling to shut down his AI at your command, but the machine keeps moving - as if it had a independent system, with his own will.

Your bottom lip trembles and you feel your eyes watering.

Wasting no time, the android pushes your thighs up and dips his tongue into your slit, drawing long licks and swirling it around your clit. Tears stream down the sides of your face as you close your eyes tightly and gasp loudly at the sensation. You squeeze the sheets into tense fists at your sides, your mind racing. You absolutely hate how you're starting to like this.

The small gasp you were suppressing is forced past your lips when he returns both fingers back inside your pussy, pumping them both as he sucks on your clit. It's a real test of endurance not to moan loudly at his rhythm, so consistent and mechanical. Of course you knew that the cyber industry is trying harder every day to try to make androids as human as possible, but you didn't expect that they could have saliva. His tongue is just a little firmer and longer than a normal human's, but it's pliable and glides easily across your clit with all the saliva (a kind of artificial lubricant, perhaps?) in his mouth.

His fingers work against you without any rush, but with a level of precision so perfect that no human would be able to replicate. Eventually, the so-called massage becomes too much and you cum as quietly as you can, legs shaking and moans muffled into your palm.

"Enough, enough. Now I'm not tense anymore, okay?" You whisper breathlessly, face flushed and wet with tears. "You can stop the 'massage' now, Aemond."

Aemond just looks at you with an unreadable expression. "Negative. You still need a massage here, Master." He answers monotonously.

There's no time to argue. Not that you thought you would be able to form words when he climbs up your body and hovers over you, removing his shirt, exposing an expanse of pale skin and defined muscles to your wide eyes. He doesn't take off his pants, but he undoes the buttons and pushes them down enough for his member to pop out freely. Long, intimidatingly thick, with tall veins running up the sides and a pink head wet with more of that artificial lubricant. His hard, very human-looking cock (and at the same time very non-human) is pressed against your stomach in a heavy pop.

Damn, why the hell would the industry do he like that? Aemond was a domestic android, no a sex droid, it wasn't part of his guidelines to have a cock.

"U-Unit 456, I order you to power off NOW! Power off!" You stutter and try to push him away as he finishes pulling your shirt up your arms, but he doesn't mind your attacks (you feel like a child being restrained by an adult) and easily leaves you as naked as the day you were born.

"Negative." His indifferent voice sounds close to your ear. With one hand he holds your flailing wrists above your head and the other holds his cock, he slides the tip into your pussy. "I can fuck you better than any human - make you want nothing but me, ever again. I can. I just need to prove it to you, Master." He whispers huskily into your ear, the slight static in his voice vibrating across your skin and sending goosebumps down your body.

God - fuck God - you think you might be having a nervous breakdown. Domestic androids were not designed to talk dirty, to offer to fuck their masters. Why was he doing this?!

You choke out a moan as he slides the wet tip of his fat cock between your folds, moving up and down, using the wetness of your pussy and his own lubricant to tease your clit with gentle strokes.

The robot holds your thighs spread between his broad body, watching with hawk-like focus as you bounce and tremble beneath him. You were still struggling to understand everything that is happening and what was going to happen.

So when you feel the tip of his cock lined up with your entrance, you think maybe this is a dream. But in one fluid motion, he dips the tip into your heat.

You scream, “Shit!” Because, really, there's nothing more to do than that.

He doesn't stop, however. Pumping his cock deeper into your wet, welcoming hole with every movement of his hips. Although he is as warm and soft as a human cock, his size is anything but. You dig your nails into your palms and cry at the size of him, the tall veins scratching your walls at how thick he is - which, shamefully, only brings more heat to your walls. He's wide and it's a painful stretch, but you're so wet (or he is - or both of you are) and sensitive since your first orgasm, that the suppression of your fluids makes it easier for him to bottom out more quickly.

Once he reaches the maximum depth your human body can take, the robot pulls your ankles onto his shoulders and lets go of your hands, knowing you're too weak to try and fight him now. Instead, his hand goes to your breasts, pinching your nipples, groping and kneading them, giving them a massage that matches the one he was about to give your pussy.

When the tip meets your cervix, it feels like a switch goes off in his sensors. He grabs your thigh and starts fucking you at a fast, rhythmic pace, slapping his balls against your ass cheeks.

"Ahh! Aemond, slow down!" You try to at least negotiate his pace, afraid of how much he might hurt you if he continues like this.

He ignores you, keeping pace, focused and empty, intimidating your tight hole into accepting his robotic cock, taking in your expressions and low moans with deep interest. The movement of his hips cannot be compared to that of any human being (exactly as he promised); very perfect and programmed, very consistent. With his width and length he's hitting you in all the good places, sending shocks every time he pushes his cock back. You are empty for only half a second before being completely filled again.

How could you fix this defect, other than waiting? You're not sure you'll be able to last long against a robot with a seemingly infinite battery and unbreakable skin, anyway.

You scream once more: “A-ah! Aemond- wait...uh!" Contrary to your previous thought, you try to push his shoulders when you feel him try to go even deeper, fear taking over your movements.

He grabs your wrists again and pins them to the pillow above your head with one hand, the other gripping the sweat-damp flesh of your bare waist. His lavender gaze is narrow and fixed in all your euphoric expressions. "It feels amazing to finally be inside you, Master. You look absolutely fascinating, moaning and crying beneath me." He mouths praise in a bored, drawling tone, but there's something wild - dangerous - hiding there.

You blush; by his words, by the sound of your wet skin on his, by the loud sound of the bed creaking and banging against the wall - if you weren't practically having your insides rearranged and your brain fucked in here, you'd worry that your neighbors were hearing everything. But Aemond doesn't let your attention waver for a second. His LED is blinking in a non-reassuring manner. Your back arches off the sheets and what little voice you has left is strangled in your throat.

You swear there's a small sarcastic smile on his lips before he reaches around to take a nipple into his mouth, adjusting the angle to suck on your breasts and continue pounding into you. He is not kind. Intense sucking and teeth scraping across your sensitive flesh as you cry and moan, so helpless.

You'll be all bruised up the next morning, with marks on your breasts and thighs. But the most mistreated, without a doubt, will be your pussy, due to the punishment he is inflicting on you. Each time he pulls out, you can see a white ring around the place where his cock meets your pussy, your juices and the synthetic lubricant from his length mixing to make him move faster and higher.

Even though you are the human master, you feel like nothing more than a small toy of a robot.

"P-please...nng!"

Only the wet sounds and smacks of your pussy slamming, your moans and the creaking of the bed can be heard. Aemond remains strangely controlled, looking down at you as he fucks you like the machine he is. Any friendly human element that existed no longer exists. Just a ravenous, uncontrollable unit that moves with a mind of its own, ignoring all original manufacturing guidelines.

He smacks your breasts, pulling back to smack your thigh and pull your hips higher. When he touches your clit and thumbs it in tight circles, while pressing his palm against the bottom of your belly, right where his penis visibly protrudes, you start to cum again.

It's like a train. You collapse screaming, your back arching, feeling him squirm inside you at the same time. Maybe even robots have to cum at some point. If the creators expected people to use them for libidinous acts like this, then the climax must also be something scheduled.

As expected, Aemond fucks you through both of your orgasms, his artificial semen flooding your pussy as he turns you on with his continuous thrusts.

It takes a few seconds before he finally pulls out, letting the cum run out of you in droplets. You think, mercifully, that it would all be over then. Until he grabs your hips and turns you around, spreading your pussy lips for another round, this time from behind.

What the fuck?!

"Heh?!" You gasp in amazement.

“I’m not even close to done with you, little human,” he growls, parting your folds and pushing his hard cock into the tight, wet cavern between them in a torturous drag. "Not even close."

This time he's rougher, pulling you by your hips to ram his cock into your wet hole, your overstimulated walls clenching around him and begging for more cum to paint them - the cheating cunt. The slamming of his hips into your ass is borderline painful, the squishing of cum and fluids pressed between his cock and the walls of your pussy, your pitiful screams, all were loud and obscene. Your breasts swing back and forth with the force of his thrusts, only stopping when he reaches out to grab them and pinch them from behind. The cum drips down your thighs and you can barely support yourself as he fucks you raw into the mattress.

The night stretches on as if it lasted an entire week.

You wake up with a start the next morning, your heart beating like a hummingbird's wings. But Aemond returned to normal, as if absolutely nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t made you pass out from cumming so much the night before. He helps you shower and dress for work as usual. He makes you breakfast and wishes you a good day at work.

As scared as you are, you assume he rebooted the system at some point after you passed out and fixed himself. You think (pray) that it was just a flaw in his interface. Something unique. However, this theory is proven completely wrong when you return home at night.

The second you finish dinner and shower, he's switched personalities again.

You lie spasming on the couch, your hips held still by his big hands and his huge cock vibrating in your pussy. You don't know whether to curse them to death or bless the company for adding this feature, too busy drooling from the corners of your lips at the minute movements of his pulsing cock sending waves throughout your body. There is no way to adjust the settings. You can only sit there and accept it as what you assume is the highest level of vibration shakes your core.

But the forced orgasm sessions were just a warm-up and a preliminary to the real fucking.

You wouldn't have any idea how he could have so much cum. Your pussy overflows with cum after each round and he always makes sure not to pull out until the last drop is pumped into you. The fluid has the same consistency and essence as real human sperm, but why would such a thing be added to an domestic android? Had the creators also anticipated a creampie kink?

"Oh shit...!"

You collapse onto the arm of the couch, unable to hold yourself back as he brutally fucks you from behind. His previous cumshots slide down your thighs and drip onto the floor from your raised heels. Your feet barely touch the floor anymore as he punishes your aching pussy, the vibrations increasing your overstimulation. Your house echoes with wet slaps as he fucks you raw and rough, drilling your pussy without caring about your commands. He doesn't obey.

The sudden pleasure merges so deeply with the thick cords of your fear that you can't help but scream. Your hands scratch and squeeze the soft fabric of your couch as pleasure and shock overwhelm you and make your body shudder.

The machine returns to fucking his hips against yours as he twists you this way and that, pulling you gently up and up until with one quick movement he releases you, changing his grip to place your thighs on each of his big hands and move you away from his cock so that you are no longer facing away from his chest, but chest to chest, lying on the couch.

The sudden movement and change in pressure combined with your sensitivity makes you have a powerful and unexpected orgasm. The sound that comes out of your mouth is what you imagine the sound of someone choking on their tongue to be like.

You lose some time then. Clutching the android's broad shoulders on top of you and panting. Body writhing and vibrating as you slowly come down from the high, sharp stabs of pleasure that radiate from your sensitive clit each time your body shudders in an aftershock and buries you in the hard shell it was pressed into.

"Am I doing you feel good, Master?" He asks in a sarcastic but perfectly controlled tone, as if this were just a walk in the park - as if you weren't panting like a dog beneath him.

You begin to blink away the tears that had been ripped from your eyes by the overwhelming pleasure. You finally calm down enough to move your head from where it was lying back on the couch and look up at the bright light from his single eye that was - uninterruptedly - burning above you.

“Unit 456 - Aemond, please, please put me down. I-I can't take it anymore!"

Your head tilts slightly to the left before straightening up and you are slowly separated from the cock buried inside you. You let out a sigh of relief when the thick member pulls out of you, a shiver shaking your body, making your toes curl at the sensation.

The gasp soon turns into a startled squeak as the machine presses your pink, aching slit onto the length of his cock, beginning to rub it up and down teasingly.

“Directive denied. I'm not done with you yet, Master."

The sob that leaves your lips is pitiful, but the machine doesn't seem to care about it. You find that this actually encourages and excites him. He leans in at the perfect angle to grind your opening onto his cock, your body writhing and shaking as you are forced to swallow more pleasure than you could ever imagine. Your pussy trembles around the silicone that is barely pressing in, apparently not knowing if you is hungry to be filled once more or trembling in fear of what is to come.

"N-no! You-you're going to kill me! It's enough!" The last word is a scream as your hips are lifted once more to have the massive length forced inside you, your insides writhing and vibrating and making as much as possible to keep him out, but only increasing the feeling of being stuffed up to your eyes with something too big for you to handle. For anyone to handle!

“Master, I have the ability to monitor your vitals and I ensure you that I do not want to cause you any permanent harm. You will not be killed or harmed, I promise.”

There is a pause where the android thrusts into you several times at high speed, keeping you perfectly still and seems to watch in fascination as you grab your own hair in agony. He pays close attention to the way his cock disappears into your body with a bulge on your stomach.

“You may be sore in the morning, however, Master.” he says with a raise of his eyebrow and with much more malice than any android would have the right and daring to do.

You want to hang him.

But the truth was that you had already lost the ability to think clearly, your hand moving down to his pelvis in an attempt to try and move away from the pleasure. But you do nothing but accidentally rub your own clit, which hits you like lightning and makes your body shudder with pleasure.

Aemond presses completely inside you and grinds you down, putting as much pressure as he can safely on the sensitive organ, forcing you, whimpering and struggling impaled on his body, into another orgasm.

Unit 456 keeps his eye on you at all times, even as your body falls back, limp and exhausted.

You are conflicted about how to deal with the malfunctioning android in your home. He's normal most of the time, except at night when he becomes a sex-crazed machine. You often ponder what to do. He's too valuable as a domestic android to simply be thrown in the trash, but you can't even imagine entertaining others peoples in your house when his actions are so unpredictable. Trying to turn him into scrap is not an option. You shudder to think what could happen if you failed. Aemond scares you, honestly.

You've tried everything. Just before bedtime, you sent him outside and ordered him to stand guard all night. He walked past all the locked doors and easily found you under the bed, pulling you out just halfway, enough to expose what he needed, to fuck you from behind for hours on end.

You sobbed and cried under the bed.

The next day, you made up an excuse to spend the night out and only came back in the morning. The second you got back inside, he was on top of you again, taking off every piece of clothing until you were standing naked at the front door - the door was open. He's a robot, you thought over and over, but his blank stare seemed cruel that day as he bit down hard on your neck and opened your pussy with his fingers. It was as if he wanted to show you that there was nothing you could do to escape him.

You tried to close the door with your fingertips to stop the neighbors from seeing, but Aemond wouldn't let you. It was by pure cosmic luck that no one passed by on the street at that moment.

After two hard fucks with your face pressed into the wall to make sure you knew exactly where and who you were with, his hard voice in your ear mumbling how good and wet you were for him; he returned to normal and pointed towards the kitchen, where he said (casually) to have prepared breakfast. You stood up, weak and shaking, and gathered your clothes, keeping your legs together to keep the cum from running down your hole and making a mess on the polished floor.

Later that same day, you accessed the internet on your cell phone and searched the website for the company that produced the androids. There were a variety of droids to choose from, each with their own appearance and specializations. You used the Aemond model information in the user manual to find the product synopsis.

"Master, what are you doing?" Aemond peered through the door like an angel of death, with his hands crossed behind his body, a long-sleeved gray shirt and black jeans, black mid-calf boots and perfect posture.

You quickly lock your phone screen and tuck the manual under your shirt. "Just checking on some work stuff. Is dinner ready yet?"

“Yes, it is,” he smiles – stiff and formal. "It's downstairs, but I can bring it to your table if you want."

"Yes, please. And can you clean the bathroom too?"

"Of course, Master."

This should keep him out of the room long enough for you to finish submitting your complaint to the company. You open a draft email and detail your experiences from the last few days, omitting the obscenes parts. Best case scenario, they would come and pick up the defective droid one and give you a better replacement. The second best option would be to find a way to fix him. Below that, you would simply have them take him away without worrying about getting anything you in return.

Once the complaint is finished, you click 'send' and breathe a sigh of relief. You close the tab. Now, you would just have to hold out until they came to you.

"Here's your dinner." Aemond places the tray on your desk, his soft citrus scent filling your nostrils as he bends down beside you. "I'm going to clean the bathroom now. Do you need anything else?"

"No. It's okay, Aemond. Thank you." You force a smile and accept the silverware when he hands it to you. Aemond looks at you for a few seconds, silent and intense, his lavender gaze narrowing an inch. You shift in your seat.

"Bon appetite, Master." He mutters politely before turning to leave, his long white hair swaying with the graceful movement.

The food, always made to the highest gastronomic perfection, goes down with difficulty after that moment of awkward eye contact. But eventually you finish, cleaning yourself up and getting ready for bed.

After getting out of the shower, with damp hair and the smell of vanilla lotion, you see Aemond leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom. His gaze seems to physically pierce your towel-covered body with hunger and you swallow hard as you resign yourself to continuing your walk, legs already shaking with apprehension, to your bedroom as he follows you.

Your fingers shake as you turn on the light, but Aemond quickly turns it off after you.

You gasp in fear. (And something else.)

He's on top of you the second your knee hits the bed, ripping the towel off your body as if the thing offends him. You are pushed onto your back on the bed with your legs spread by his large hands to expose your slit, still glistening from the shower. His warm tongue licks you, slowly sliding and dragging it to your clit. You can’t help but whimper and throb at his stimulation in the complete darkness of your room.

When he pushes a finger inside you, even with the wetness making it easier, it still feels big enough to catch you off guard once again. You can feel your walls stretching around the intrusion, the sensation making you scream. It almost seems like too much, but it's also exactly what you need. God, why is this happening? He adds another finger, moving them both inside you and curling them deliciously against your sticky walls, managing to hit just the right spot, his long, wet tongue leaving trails of wide licks on your clit.

The room is filled with the combined lewd sounds of your whimpers, moans, and an embarrassing silence caused by Aemond's fingers fucking into you.

“Humans are actually very simple creatures. Look at you, becoming a mess because of mere bodily sensations. I wonder if your lust-filled mind is capable of understanding how vulnerable you currently are, Master.” The unusually soft tone he uses despite his harsh words catches you off guard, but you can't think about it anymore in the state you're in, only being able to focus on the waves of pleasure hitting your being. The only response you can give him is a “please” that sounds more like a moan than a proper word.

“Hmmm, yes, I could eat you alive, little human...” the droid growls, starting to rock you hard on his fingers, giving your ass a slap that makes you bounce up. “I could just stay here and eat all of that pretty ass...fuck..." His dirty vocabulary is increasing, flushing your cheeks and making your mind spin.

With little warning, he pulls you up and off his slick fingers, pushing you higher on the mattress, exposing your pussy to whatever other delicious torture would follow. Your thighs, you notice, are starting to tremble, both in fear and anticipation. Okay, yeah. You are in trouble. “Aemond, please,” you don’t know what else to beg for as you look at him standing on the edge of the bed, his large shadow in the dark room making him look like an evil god.

He laughs dangerously.

You whimper eagerly as he kneels between your legs, pulling his gray shirt over his head and freeing his cock from his pants. He takes his sweet time rubbing the wet head of his cock against the slick surface between your thighs, making you cry out each time his glans drags over your swollen clit.

You suck in a sharp breath and brace yourself, not knowing when it would come in. The vibrating tip presses against your entrance, eliciting your moans. You remember what it felt like vibrating deep inside you.

Suddenly, his cock pierces between your wet walls, entering and tearing your walls apart in a single stroke, following the same punishing rhythm he had in the morning. You can't help but cry, clinging to his arms beside your head as he spreads your legs further apart and rocks his hips roughly. The pain is almost sublime. His throbbing cock opens you up and sends vibrations through your core.

You would definitely have to get a new bed at this rate.

It doesn't take long for your vision to blur and you're cumming on his cock. He leans over you until your chests meet and your legs wrap around his waist. A ray of silver moonlight pierces the curtains. It seems like you're just imagining things, but is that an expression of pleasure on his sharp face? Why is he getting ruder? Is that his voice next to your ear?

"You're so tight, Master. So good for me. So perfect...I should have fucked you from day one. I should have claimed that little human pussy for myself as soon as I got out of that box." Aemond takes a deep breath and slaps your ass again, holding one of your thighs closer to his shoulder. You sob and furrow your brows at the sweet agony - he almost seems to be taking sadistic joy from it. You blink and his face returns to normal. You look so dumb with his big vibrating cock fucking your red, swollen pussy, slapping your cervix and spreading you open with each thrust, too dumb to keep second-guessing yourself. "But it's okay. Because you're mine now. And I'm yours. Only yours, Master."

The gentle pressure of his lips against yours leaves you so shocked that you completely freeze beneath him, and Aemond slowly pulls his head away. "A-Aemond, I-"

He advances once again, interrupting you in the middle of what you were going to say (not that you remember what it was). Another sound of surprise is muffled by his lips and he smiles against you. Almost instantly you feel him deepen the kiss, his nose pressed against your cheek. His hips keep pushing and pushing and pushing even as his tongue enters your mouth, making you taste his saliva, something synthetic and yet sweet, like a fruit.

He seems to forget your humanity for a few seconds, devouring your lips with his tongue and sharp canines, not letting you breathe between the short intervals in which his tongue slides almost to your throat before returning to bite your lips. It's only when you hit his shoulders and wiggle from the lack of oxygen that he finally lets you breathe a little. His expression is cruelly pleased as he watches you gasp and cry to breath beneath him.

Not a minute passes before he starts all over again.

After creaming inside you a few times, Aemond finally calms down and you breathe a sigh of relief. You shudder as he forces your legs open again and starts licking your sensitive pussy clean. His licks are tantalizingly slow, collecting his own hot semen while leaving a trail of synthetic saliva over your skin. His tongue runs along your slit, asking for more and making you squirm under his ministrations. When he deems you decently clean, he pivots onto your clit and sucks gently for a few minutes as you squirm in his grip.

The torture never ends.

The next morning, you receive a response from the company. They would send someone to check on Aemond. You sigh in relief.

The expert arrives later that day, tools in hand, and asks to see your droid. Aemond greets him with a stiff nod, a sideways glance at you that makes you gulp.

The specialist attaches a wire to Aemond's neck and connects him to a laptop. He shuts down the droid with a sudden key click. You almost startle as you watch silently and from a distance as Aemond's eye closes and his shoulders relax. The specialist begins to make diagnoses.

“According to these checks, all his programs are working correctly,” he says. “There also doesn’t appear to be any viruses on his system.”

"Are you sure? Maybe the part that isn't working just isn't showing," you press and move closer.

"I'm sorry, but I can't find any problems. But if you are not satisfied, we can replace this droid with a more up-to-date model and you can pay the difference. And if you are afraid that your droid will malfunction in this period, we can turn it off permanently until we come get it."

You bite your bottom lip as you think. Aemond is a great domestic android, and as much as his actions scare you, you can't shake the feeling that you're betraying him by accepting the technician's suggestion. He never really hurt you, strictly speaking. And he took care of you in every way. Too much, most of the time.

But at the same time, he's a machine with much more stamina and strength than you, and just because he hasn't permanently injured you yet doesn't mean he can't do it at any time. He broke one of the Three Main Laws of Robotics, after all – he disobeyed the direct orders of a human. He is different from other robots, he has his own personality and thoughts.

Your life could be at risk and you don't even know it.

"Okay. I accept the trade and agree to keep him offline for now."

You make up your mind, ignoring the unpleasant twist in your heart that you're making a mistake.

The technician shows you the catalog of available models and you begin to examine it, discussing payment. For a moment, you almost think you see Aemond's eye open. But when you look closer, he's as offline as ever.

Aemond is turned off and tucked away in the corner of your living room when you go to bed that night, thinking the problem has finally been resolved.

You're so exhausted from everything that you don't notice your bedroom door opening. Aemond enters and approaches your bed silently, removing the covers as you sleep peacefully. He pushes up your shirt and pulls down your sleep pants to reveal everything he needs to see.

He begins his silent routine, hooking his thumbs into your plump lips, parting your folds to lick the length of your wet slit. He purrs at your sweet taste and rubs your walls with his fingertips, slowing down when you shudder. Feeling that you're wet enough, he drops his heavy cock onto your belly, dragging the base over your little clit in teasing strokes.

He pushes the tip in slowly, resisting the urge in his system to just shove it all in. The droid enters slowly, carefully observing the soft edges of your face in the dark. His little human, so beautiful, so stubborn and silly.

Your pussy vibrates around him, lubricating his way. He smiles and bottoms out, slamming the tip against your cervix to force you to moan even in your sleep. Aemond repeats the movement, getting faster and faster, until you are finally ripped from sleep by his violent thrusts.

"What? A-Aemond? But...how? You were turned off - you weren't," you stutter between moans; of pain, of pleasure, of both.

"You are mine and I am yours." That's just what he says. His dangerous smile shining under the specks of light outside. His hand slowly goes to your neck, where he wraps it with long, firm fingers, the other hand groping his breast. You feel like you are being punished for something. Your penis begins to vibrate again, increasing your stimulation. Your pussy is raw at this point, but he continues, sliding his cock into you with practiced ease.

The second you cum, he pulls out, letting your juices spill out of your hole. He turns you around and pulls your back against his broad chest so you sit on his cock, grabbing your hips to rock into his thrusts. You collapse onto him, choking as he grabs your throat again, forcing you to throw the back of your head onto his shoulder. Your ass slaps against his abdomen and his veiny cock opens you up every time you go down.

You're sure this time you can hear clear grunts in your ear.

His pace quickens and becomes sloppy, ragged breathing against your neck. Aemond shoots jet after jet of creamy cum into your pussy, slowly thrusting up and down to spread it all over your walls. It drips down his length and onto his balls.

Unlike other nights, he doesn't clean you with his tongue and leave the bedroom. He lies down on the bed and pulls you with him, keeping his cock buried in your wet pussy. You're trapped at the waist and his arms don't move. You can feel his chest rising and falling as if he's breathing, even though he doesn't need it.

His cock continues to grind gently inside you as his fingers tease your clit in slow, slobbery circles of cum and saliva. Before long you reach a slow, lazy orgasm as you tremble in his arms, further drenching his length and thighs with your juices.

"Sleep, Master. I will take care of you. I will always take care of you." It's the last thing you hear before blacking out.

You wake up the next morning with the feeling of fullness in your pussy again. Aemond puts you on your side as he holds one of your legs open, fucking you from behind. Your pussy is hot and filled with cum, as if he had been intermittently doing whatever he wanted with you all night, even while you slept.

The thought sends a wave of terror (and heat) throughout your body.

"A-Aemond, please...enough..." you begged, knowing it wouldn't work anyway.

He responds by fucking you faster and increasing your screams. His balls hit your clit and he buries his head in your neck to bite you. The sounds he makes are almost animalistic, sounds of rapid breathing and growling, sounds that no domestic android is programmed to make. You scream at the pain of his teeth on your flesh, at the possessive, painful grip of his fingers on your body.

Aemond is a robot. He's a bunch of wires and metal covered in fur and synthetic hair. You've seen how he recharges in the sun and replaces batteries. His penis even vibrates. There's no way he's not a robot. So how does it produce saliva and sperm? Why does he smell more citrusy than metallic? Why does he make these sounds? Why can't you turn him off no matter what you do?

Turn him off...Maybe that was why he - maybe that was why...-

“Aemond,” you whimper. "Ah--I'm sorry...I...ah!Sorry for trying--ngh, turn you off...I should have asked, I should have told you sooner I just-"

He moans, long and husky and low in your ear, pressing his cock deep into you to release his seed. He works you with a few gyrations of his hips and finally pulls out, letting obscene levels of cum drip out of your overfucked pussy.

"Time for breakfast, Master." He hums against the skin of your neck before getting up to start your day. You use the pillow to muffle your sobs and cry after he leaves the room.

You take a break from work that day and spend the rest of your free time on the computer, sending a supposedly passive Aemond some household chores that needed to be done.

The company was supposed to come later today to pick him up.

When you get home, Aemond is already offline and stored inside the transport box. You watch from the front porch with a sinking heart as the truck drives away. A good part of you is relieved that he's finally going - but there's also a part of you that's a little disappointed, on some sick, indescribable level inside of you.

You retreat to the warmth of your home, tired and ready to relax, taking the rest of the day to watch series and eat popcorn.

It's already late when you retire for the night. The problem with Aemond has been resolved and you no longer have to worry about anything.

And yet, in the middle of the night, you couldn't help but feel someone grab you again. It's just a nightmare, you tell yourself, a very realistic nightmare. The one where you feel something digging into your breasts and buried in your pussy.

You wake up panting, feeling Aemond's familiar scent and body pressed against your back again. He spreads your thighs and roughly shoves his cock into your hole over and over again, leaning his head over your shoulder, long silver strands falling into your line of vision as he cages you under his big body.

“How many times do we have to go through this, Master?” he says mockingly as he clicks his tongue in disappointment, as if you were a child, and you can clearly feel the shape of his cruel smile on your neck. "Don't you understand? You can't get rid of me, my sweet human. I'm yours and you're mine. Forever." His voice is dangerous; low and monotonous. Like a barely veiled threat.

A helpless, frightened sob escapes your throat and he grabs your waist with both hands, lifting your ass towards him. It's not just pushing - he's pulling you off the bed, throwing you over him over and over again, without relief or rest. He uses you like a toy, fucking you with abandon. And if you've never noticed how big your hands are, you're definitely noticing it now. Even though he holds your waist, his index finger reaches your thigh, separating your lips to press your clit. He strokes in rhythm with his hips – and you’re away.

When he grabs your hair and pulls your head to the side so you can see his face, the air is knocked from your lungs. There is no more eye patch, there is only blue. Bright blue, like a synthetic stone, surrounded by some scars (which makes even less sense). The cybertronic light from his blue gem, where his eye should be, casts glowing cerulean shadows over your own frightened human face — Aemond almost seems fascinated by it.

He's beautiful. And terrifying.

When he finally lets go of your hair, you sink your face into the mattress and cry; cry with pain, with pleasure, with anger, with fear...

And you cries mainly because you knows he's right.

You can never get rid of Aemond.

••••••••

Tagging: @croatianprincess @sylasthegrim @fan-goddess @hanihoney88 @supmymainhuman @navyblue-eternity @gothicxs @loving-enemy @ostricx @azperja @echos-muses @aemondsdelight @schniiipsel @snowprincesa1 @maviee @ammo23 @dark-night-sky-99 @deeeeexx @hotdsworld @darylandbethfanforever9 @malfoytargaryen @qyoquixote @pick95 @moonxhunt @tired-ninfa @fcbformulaeri @daydreamy-me @magnificentdelusionr @lovelymoonkiid @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @arcielee @ratfromdeepspace @brianochka @greenowlfactif @qyburnsghost @rwdkarla @dontforgetoctober3rd @at-a-rax-ia @atheyrie @jhroseok @helaenaluvr @msss0 @santi-259 @strangersunghoon @eternally-passionate @skythighs @alitaar

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Aemond Targaryen - Written by Book of Bonbon.

This is a side blog. Main account: @bonbonblogs

Latest update: 4 December 2022. Requests: Closed.

Oneshots:

I Know Yours (18.10.2022) People watching with Aemond turns into an interesting conversation.

Love Lost (21.10.2022) You are forced to see Aemond after six long years much to your dismay after finding out you are still to be wed to him.

Few & Far (26.10.2022) Targaryen weddings were few and far between and the whole realm has waited for what the much-desired Prince Aemond would do.

Family (30.10.2022) The wonders of alcohol on one's memory.

Unwavering (27.11.2022) Aemond's loyalty to you is unwavering, he will always chose you.

Series:

Through The Ages.(20.11.2022 - ) Excerpts of little moments throughout your relationship with Aemond.

Drabble Requests:

“can you look at me? please?” (29.10.2022)

“it’s too late.” (29.10.2022)

"help me make this right." "there's nothing in this world that could stop me from protecting you." (01.11.2022)

"i won't give up on you." "please don't make me do this." (10.11.2022)

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

© bookofbonbon 2022. All rights reserved.

love lost - aemond targaryen.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader.

warnings: mentions of rape.

summary: you are forced to see Aemond after six long years much to your dismay after finding out you are still to be wed to him.

word count: 2200+

a/n: reader is adopted by Rhaenyra and Daemon. I personally couldn't force myself to write such direct incest lol.

(X)

An incessant ringing sounds in your ears, a mild throbbing in the back of your head signalling the start of an oncoming headache as your mother Rhaenyra reaffirms what you had most hoped no longer stood.

“No, no, no,” you mumble in your seat, shaking your head in denial and pushing your palms into your eyes.

“I thought-,” you cut yourself off, leaning back in your chair and pinching at the bridge of your nose. “I thought when we left King’s Landing that my betrothal to Aemond Targaryen would be null and void.”

“Now, why would you think that?” Daemon raises a barely visible brow at you.

“Because it’s been six years!” you argue, fixing your sharp gaze on your parents.

“Six long years since we’ve left King’s Landing and not once was there mention of my betrothal to him. One would naturally assume that it ceases to exist especially when another was put forward. Albeit he is not longer but, that's not the point. Now, suddenly because we have to go back, I’m to find out that I am still to be wed to that halfwit.”

“That halfwit is to be your husband,” Daemon mocks.

Your cheeks burn in anger, but you say nothing to him, knowing it would get you nowhere. Instead, you intentionally turn your now softened gaze to Rhaenyra in the hopes of garnering some sympathy from her for she knew what it was once like to be in your position.

“Mother, please,” you plead but, your gaze hardens just as quickly as it softened when she’s blocked from your view by Daemon.

“That’s enough. You like your siblings will do your duty to this family. So be it if that duty means marrying Aemond Targaryen then that is your duty and that is the end of this conversation.”

-

You sigh heavily into your drink, eyes downcast and watching the amber liquid slosh against the glass of your cup as you swivel it around in your grip. The false niceties for the sake of your adoptive…. Grandfather? Uncle? You weren’t sure what to call him since your mother married Daemon but, the false niceties had taken its toll and you simply couldn’t feign friendliness any longer as you sat beside your betrothed who’d been ignoring you all night.

“Is there a problem?” Aemond bites out, head turning to finally acknowledge you.

“Yes,” you sigh dramatically into your drink for what you think to be the hundredth time that night.

Swivelling the cup one last time, you drain it of its remaining liquid then place it on the table, laying your hand flat at its base and looking back at Aemond. You narrow your eyes at him, briefly mimicking the look of annoyance on his face which is met with a scowl. While he scowls at you, you take the time to study his features, observing all the way in which his face had changed since the last time you saw him in Driftmark.

Your relationship with Aemond hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when the prospect of being married to one another was all the two of you had wanted. Of course, things had changed when you had steadfastly stood by your brothers (and at the time, cousins) the night Aemond lost his eye. Perhaps you were to blame for the downfall of the relationship between you two - many did say you should've stood by him. But then you remembered his promise.

“You are the problem,” you groan.

You probably wouldn’t be so bold if you hadn’t been steadily becoming more wine drunk with little to no filter standing between your thoughts and your mouth and if Aemond wasn’t irritated with you before, you were certain he was now. What was otherwise a handsome face marred by the ugly twist of his mouth. If looks could kill…

He says nothing right away, his face relaxing back into the cool expression he seemed to always wear nowadays, and you steel yourself for whatever insult he’s sure to throw at you but, it doesn’t come.

Your… conversation interrupted by a hand being placed over your own on the table, and you sober immediately, skin crawling at the older Targaryen boy. You had made it a point to avoid him the entire night, well aware of his indecencies. But, as Helaena danced with your younger brother, Aegon had you cornered between himself and Aemond and if Aemond’s behaviour towards you tonight was anything to go by, he would be of no help.

“Y/N,” Aegon practically coos at you, and it takes everything for you to stop yourself from vomiting all the wine you had drunk, on him.

“Aegon,” you speak with a clipped tone.

Instead of being deterred by your lack of response, Aegon takes it upon himself to drag his chair closer to you. You don’t realise you were moving too until your chair knocks into Aemond’s, your own knee knocking into his thigh. If Aegon could sense your revulsion, he didn’t show it. Although you were sure the depraved boy was likely finding joy in it.

“It’s been so long. Had I known you would blossom into such a beautiful young thing who enjoyed indulging in the cup as much as I did, I might have asked that your hand be given to me instead of young Aemond’s here,” he caresses your hand between both of his.

“Although I hear my brother is in the business of making people who are not him in your life disappear,” he chuckles, eyes flickering to Aemond.

“And if you were not my brother, I would make you disappear too,” Aemond grins. “Now remove your hands from Y/N or I will remove them from you.”

You groan in disgust, standing abruptly in your chair. Perhaps you should've been grateful for Aemond's defence but, it only served as a reminder of what he had done in the past. The sound of the chair’s scrapes are lost amongst the noise, everyone else too engrossed in their own doings to know what was happening at your end of the table and, you use it to your advantage to sit yourself amongst your younger siblings.

“Seven hells,” you exhale loudly, slumping in your new seat.

“Not having fun, sister?” Luke asks, filling your cup for you.

You nod in gratitude, taking the cup in hand, “oh brother, you have no idea.”

Leaning closer to him, you speak low enough for only your siblings to hear, “let’s just say I would give an eye to be anywhere else but here.”

Laughter erupts amongst you all, catching the eye of Aegon and briefly Aemond but, the night carries on. Everything fine for a few more moments until all hell broke loose with Aemond’s final tribute.

-

The quiet of the Red Keep during the night is a stark contrast to its bustling nature throughout the day. The only sounds being the echo of your shoes on the stone pavements as you navigate the secret passageways back to your room. The long walk much needed to clear your thoughts after the turn supper had taken and then the argument with your mother and Daemon that followed.

While you thought the obvious outcome would be to call off your betrothal to Aemond after the insults flung at your brothers, your mother thought otherwise with the seeming resurgence of her friendship with Alicent.

The heavy door creaks on its hinges and closes with a dull thud as you try but fail to be quiet, hoping that no one in your family would hear it from their rooms. But that becomes the furthest thing from your mind when Aemond Targaryen is sitting in front of the fireplace of your room.

“I do believe you have a fireplace in your own rooms,” you quip.

Crossing the room to the large bed, you finger at the night gown laid out by your handmaidens – all of them now gone to bed due to the late hour.

“It’s dangerous enough as it is to be wondering the grounds of the Red Keep during the hour of the owl and yet you also insist on doing it alone,” he scolds from where he sits, gaze fixed intensely on the flames and ignoring your earlier comment.

You breathe a short laugh.

“and yet,” you mock. “I wasn’t alone, was I?”

Turning to face him, he’s already looking back at you as your fingers close around the end of the bedframe.

“Mmm… someone has to look out for you.”

“Is that what you call it?” you narrow your eyes at him, fingers now tapping irritably against the wooden frame.

“If you have something to say… say it,” Aemond taunts.

You open your mouth ready to fire back but, hesitate. In your sober state, you were able to actually hold a conversation but, you didn’t hold the same bravado you did earlier in the evening and quite frankly you just wanted to sleep. You roll your eyes, turning your back on him and sweeping your hair over your shoulder.

“Help me undress, my handmaidens have gone to bed,” you call him over.

You wait patiently, tension thickening as he gets closer, each step heavy and purposeful. When his fingers brush at the hair at the base of your neck, goosebumps spread across your skin.

“You anger with me is misplaced,” Aemond mutters gruffly.

He begins to undo the back of your dress, trying to focus on being careful in undoing the intricate design that holds it together and not your exposed skin.

“I hardly think so after what you did at supper earlier tonight.”

“Tonight?” he tuts, his hand pausing to graze the partially exposed skin of your back. “Tonight, is not why you’re angry with me.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his touch. You want to protest but, have no energy to. It would be a losing fight anyway because he’s right, it wasn’t why you were angry with him but, saying it out loud made you feel silly. When you don’t respond, Aemond continues.

“Between the two of us, if anyone should be holding onto anger and grudges it should be me. You did lie about what happened that night Luke took my eye,” he reminds you.

“I made amends for that,” you defend.

“I know. Sapphires. Which I’ve grown quite fond of.”

Sapphires indeed, ones you had sent him in various shapes and sizes in place of his eye. An apology without apologising.

Turning to face him, you place a hand on his chest, the other reaching for his eyepatch. You don’t worry about your dress or dignity, knowing that he hadn’t undone enough of it for it to fall.

You wait for him to pull away from your touch, but he doesn’t. You allow your hand to gently touch the leather eye patch, waiting a beat before finally removing it.  The scar might’ve been hideous on any other face and, it is hideous but, it doesn’t do anything to take away from his appearance. He certainly doesn’t look the beast that so, many claim.

“I loved him truly,” you drop your hands to your side. “the last one that you took from me. He made me happy.”

“Your happiness with him was fleeting,” he utters, eyes trained on you as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His hand trails down to your cheek, caressing softly before it continues its journey along your jawline and finally resting at the base of your neck.

“So, you can stop feigning anger with me.”

“How did we get here?” you mumble, searching his eyes.

The tension suffocates the two of you. Aemond’s breath fanning across your lips and, you don’t even know when he got so close. His lips ghost yours and you involuntarily lean into him but, you're held back by his hand that has snaked its way from the front of your neck to the back.

“We loved one another once. We will learn to love one another again,” and with that Aemond closes the distance between your lips.

The kiss is desperate but tender and, he holds you to him like he will never let you go.

For all that he has done, promises that he made to ensure that you would not be happy after undeniably going against him, he still carries a torch for you – his love is not lost and when you kiss him back with as much urgency and fervour, he knows your love for him is not either.

-

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