Description: Aegon spies on his sister (Y/N) through the window. Aemond catches him.
Pairing: Non consensual Aegon x sister!reader, kind of Aemond x sister!reader? (you can decide if he’s protective out of brotherly obligation or romance)
Warnings: Reader is being watched against her will, so obviously non-consensual. Voyeurism. Incest. Aegon being creepy. Masturbation. Typical stuff we don’t endorse in real life, but hey, in the confines of fiction, who doesn’t love incest?
Word count: 500ish
The sound of rustling fabrics were met with an itch. The gentle lift of the skirt. A fastener released and the pool of material dropped to the ground. The petticoats would be next. Then she’d slip out of the silken garb. Stockings would cover smooth legs, garters fastened in place.
She could keep those.
The satin curtains hid her from his view, but Aegon sat with his back directly beneath her window. Her bedroom view, had her draperies been open, would have been a tangle of rose bushes and freshly budding flowers. She adored the bloom. She’d look out at them before looking down and noticing Aegon so close.
But if she did look down, what would she think?
He could hear her light footsteps. One hand rested in position, waiting with baited breath for her next move. The torture she unwittingly bestowed upon him was almost unbearable. His fingers drummed impatiently, but still he waited.
A godly breeze rustled the curtains and they split. Bending his neck backwards, he could see the most delicious slit, revealing a smooth, white body in a white slip. Silver hair cascaded down a slender back. She turned, seemingly unaware that she was on display, and moved to her vanity. The thin fabric of the slip was cut in such a way that when she turned, the snowy breast was teased.
Bearing it no longer, Aegon angrily began moving his hand up and down. Mother would be so angry if she found him like this. Y/N could not know he was doing this. But…if she found out… he would threaten her, keep her from talking to Mother. He’d hold it over her head. The vision caused him to nearly lose himself until–
Wack!
Aegon crumpled over, and before he could register what was happening, he was being dragged through the dirt by one of his boots.
“Get off!” Aegon hissed.
Just as he reached to grab his brother by the throat and quite possibly strangle him, the curtain did open, this time deliberately. Their sister, Y/N, sweet Y/N, had pulled her robe on haphazardly and was looking out the window.
“Is anyone out there?” She called out. She didn’t seem to notice her two brothers just outside her window. After a moment she retreated back inside, shutting the curtains.
“You–” Aegon began, but Aemond whacked him on the head once more. “Stop it! Or I’ll have you gelded!”
“I’d like to see you try, brother,” Aemond said lazily. “Perhaps you should worry about yourself being gelded, though.” Aegon glanced toward the spot where Aemond’s eyes landed.
“Fuck,” Aegon mumbled. He fumbled with his pants.
“Why do you stalk our sister like that?” Aemond asked unsympathetically. “You’re to marry Helaena.”
“I don’t want Helaena,” spat Aegon.
“You and Helaena have been promised since she was born,” Aemond reminded him. “Show your queen some respect.” He paused thoughtfully. “I would.”
Aegon rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “To have a queen, you’d have to be a king.” He sneered and trudged off.
Description: Your brother Aemond prepares you for your wedding ceremony to another man.
Pairing: Aemond x Targaryen/Sister-Reader Insert (this was originally written with an actual OC in mind, but it was vague enough to change to a reader insert. If parts come off as wonky, that’s probably why)
Warnings: Incest. I’ll say smut to be safe, but it’s pretty safe for what you can find on this hell site. Possessive/jealous Aemond?
He was staring at you. You did not see him, but you were aware of his presence. Whenever Aemond was in your vicinity, you could tell. It was the way your hairs stood on end and the pace at which your heartbeat quickened, its rhythm soothing and frightening all at once. You spotted the silk gown hanging in front of you and could not bring herself to look back at your brother.
Aemond remained in his spot, watching the proceedings play out. Your handmaidens had prepared the bath for you. A line of soaps, lotions, and shampoos were arranged. You didn’t think your maids knew that Aemond was watching because they weren’t afraid.
“The bath is ready, princess,” your handmaiden informed you.
Your other handmaiden was suddenly behind you, just beginning to slip your robe from your shoulders. Then you all heard:
“That will be enough. Your presence is no longer needed.”
You couldn’t have ordered the girls to stay even if you’d wanted to. At the sound of Aemond’s command, they scattered, muttering apologies and hushed: “my prince!” before scurrying out the door. You whipped around to see Aemond behind you. How he’d slinked inside with no one noticing was beyond your understanding. He could move like a shadow.
“Aemond,” you began, the pounding in your chest quickening. “I have to get ready now. It wasn’t your place to dismiss my handmaidens.”
“Aye, sister, I know,” Aemond drawled. “But I just had to see you before you were given away to that louse.”
Your cheeks grew hot. “This marriage will strengthen our family and the future of House Targaryen. It is my duty to–”
He cut you off with a wave of his hand. Then he cupped the back of your neck, forcing you to look into his face. His violet eye glittered with possessiveness and malice. You shivered but could not deny the knot that formed in the pit of your stomach, nor the ache below.
“Always the obedient one, Y/N,” he jested. “Always the dutiful one. I suppose it is best for our position, as you said, but I won’t take back my words. He is a louse.” He offered a sneer. “We can’t shame our house, can we?”
You watched him but did not affirm his statement. After a moment you reminded him: “I was getting ready for my wedding. You interrupted us, Aemond.” The words burned as they came out. His grip on the back of your neck tightened. You prayed the pain would not stop, because it was proof that he was there; he was touching you.
“We can’t shame our house, can we?” he repeated. “He’ll expect you, walking with your head held high, the blood of the dragon coursing through your veins.” As he said this, he leaned in, and you could feel this blood he spoke of racing through your body. “The beauty of old Valyria, the majesty of the House of the Dragon… We shan’t disappoint.”
“N-no, we couldn’t do that…” His gaze was captivating, holding you more hostage than any chain or rope would be capable. You sighed. “Which is why I must prepare for the ceremony.”
He ran his fingers through your white hair, breathing in deeply and shutting his eyes. He released your neck only to cup your face in his hands. Calloused hands, hands that had held a blade daily in his training with Ser Cristen, hands that had commanded a dragon, brushed over your soft skin. So soft that his touch left marks.
“Your handmaidens simply can’t comprehend your nobility,” he breathed, a smirk playing at his mouth. “They’ll wash you, shampoo your hair, and wrap you in a gown. In the end, they are incapable of appreciating you for what you are.”
You chewed her lip until Aemond brushed a finger down to stop you. “Are you capable of appreciating me for what I am?”
The invitation was so subtle, but Aemond seized it in an instant. You stumbled backward as he planted a hard kiss to your mouth. Hungry, impatient, and possessive, but somehow with all the reverence of a man praying to a goddess. You tangled her fingers in his hair, then his shoulders, gripping the leather. Aemond let out an insane laugh as you pressed yourself into the kiss hard enough you could bruise him.
“Take off your clothes, Y/N,” he commanded in a whisper.
“Aemond,” you moaned. “I can’t…we can’t…”
“I’m going to bathe you and I’m going to dress you,” he breathed. “We can’t shame our house, can we?” He paused in order to cover your throat with quick, burning kisses. “I will present you to your fool of a lord husband. Only those with Valyrian blood can bring forth the flame of a dragon. Only I can bring forth your radiance.”
With trembling hands you pulled the robe from your shoulders. You could physically feel him watching you. The garment fell in a crumpled heap at your feet. Aemond swept your hair back, placing a strong hand to your back. Then he guided you to the tub, allowing you to sink into the hot waves. His touch was the hottest of all. Somehow hands that were suited for swordplay were also suited for applying scented creams to your neck, shoulders, back, and chest. He gathered some of the water and trickled it over your hair. Upon applying the shampoo, he sighed appreciatively.
The ache was growing, his touch both tantalizing and tortuous all at once. Aemond rinsed your hair, taking extra care to smooth it out himself. He pulled back and instantly you swiveled to understand why he’d stopped. He smirked at your desperation. It was the same smirk he wore when he had an opponent on his back.
“Your hair is beautiful,” he assured you. “Let’s clean the rest of you.”
Your breath caught as he shrugged out of his coat and tunic. Even halfway clothed, he climbed into the bath with you, pulling you toward him. He mounted your backside between his legs. His arms snaked around and he began rubbing lotion into your stomach and thighs. As he sped up, you were forced to grip the edges of the tub. When his fingers became even more explorative, you responded by reaching up with one arm and pulling his face down. A whimper escaped you as you lifted your jaw to meet him in a breathless kiss. Steam clouded every mirror in the chamber.
You were dried and clothed with care, Aemond clearly appreciating every part of you. When he was finished with his work, he admired you for a moment.
“We can’t shame our house,” he reminded you once more. Then he sighed. “But your betrothed is still a louse.”
Dungeon Module THR: The Plague of Pentapolis - Thank you for considering The Plague of Pentapolis. We are pleased to present it to the community and are quite happy w
Hey guys, not GOT related, but here’s a D&D adventure my brother, a friend, and I have been working on for a while. No pressure to go out and buy it. I am just putting it here so people know it’s out there in case they are interested :)
Her face, Brienne thought. Her face was so strong and handsome, her skin so smooth and soft. “Lady Catelyn?” Tears filled her eyes. “They said . . . they said that you were dead.”
Sansa’s needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so.
We first see Sansa through Arya’s PoV. Arya is jealous of her sister, who has no difficulties performing the femininity that Arya finds constraining and unfulfilling (not helped by Septa Mordane loudly praising Sansa and disparaging Arya). Sansa through Arya’s PoV is…not the most immediately appealing of characters.
Sansa through Sansa’s PoV is also not the most appealing of characters, at least initially. There are definitely debates about how well GRRM handed his first truly unreliable narrator. In any case, an analysis of Sansa that does not account for how she grows up over the course of the novels is incomplete to the point of uselessness. She doesn’t start out so immediately sympathetic, hell, she doesn’t start out immediately and consistently kind, but as her situation becomes worse, Sansa herself becomes better.
The rule was hers; Cersei did not mean to give it up until Tommen came of age. I waited, so can he. I waited half my life. She had played the dutiful daughter, the blushing bride, the pliant wife. She had suffered Robert’s drunken groping, Jaime’s jealousy, Renly’s mockery, Varys with his titters, Stannis endlessly grinding his teeth. She had contended with Jon Arryn, Ned Stark, and her vile, treacherous, murderous dwarf brother, all the while promising herself that one day it would be her turn. If Margaery Tyrell thinks to cheat me of my hour in the sun, she had bloody well think again.– A Feast For Crows
