[18+ nsfw/dark | mdni] what scientists commonly refer to as a "writer" • resident demon: Alyra ♡ find my work on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitieslace/profile
𐙚⋆┇❝𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀❞: ormund hightower x f.reader (wc: 1.4k)
𐙚⋆┇❝𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀❞: after your husband dies in his service, lord hightower offers you a place in his home to provide for you and your young son. but little do you know he's got very big plans for you, and all of them involve you being the perfect mother to his children...
𐙚⋆┇❝𝘁𝘄❞: 18+ MDNI, DARK, DUBCON, abuse (ormund slaps reader once), controlling/possessive behavior, ROUGH SEX, ORMUND HAS A MASSIVE BREEDING KINK!!, a little bit of lactation, sexist/misogynistic views/themes (ormund refers to reader as "bitch" internally a few times, sorry yall but i kinda like the idea of him calling me that ummm yes i have issues 🤕), creampie, this is so fucked up tbh 😭
╰┈➤୭˚. ᵎᵎ❝𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀❞: heyy guys 🫣 i imagined this to take place after a major battle where ormund survives instead of dying so not exactly canon but whatev. so this idea actually came somewhat out of nowhere lmao. but yeah i had some absolutely disgusting thoughts about ormund breeding me and decided to write them sooo here we go and this is sooo filthy as a result. anyways i hope everyone is well and i hope u guys enjoy. love u and thanks for the support! - A<3
disclaimer: i obviously do not condone this, this is fiction meant for adults. if it's not for you that's totally ok, pls take care of yourself 🩷
++ gingham divider by @/chateaubarnes, support banner by @/lobster-graphics!
ormund who finds himself absolutely infatuated with jon roxton’s pretty wife. jon was his most loyal knight, his most fierce comrade and friend. so doesn't it make all the more sense that, after jon gives his life in battle for ormund’s, that ormund makes sure his friend’s dear wife is taken care of?
especially given your circumstances. a new mother of a babe only three months old. it’d be unthinkable to just leave you on your own when your husband died in his service. so he moves you into his household, to, in his words, “keep an eye on you.” it's what any outstanding man of the faith would do.
it helps that you're so sweet and soft-spoken. always taking care not to leave any messes. cooking for ormund despite him insisting such a thing is not necessary—but deep down he enjoys it nonetheless.
there are a lot of things he enjoys about you.
your voice. your hair, the smell of it when he drifts by you—luscious and floral, from the various soaps and oils he gifts you. your laugh. the light in your eyes, unspoiled and full of hope, despite everything that had befallen you. your intellect—for jon had always bragged about you knowing more than he did and ormund always thought he was exaggerating. but you knew a surprising amount for a woman, enough to keep engaging conversation with. and there's something else he enjoys, too, something so subtle that he suspects you're not even aware of it yourself.
it's how you still carry that vibrant glow—that radiance—from when you were with child.
it makes him want to breed you so fucking hard your legs don't work. until his seed starts leaking out of you with nowhere else to go. until that pretty belly of yours is swollen with his babe—his heir.
he can see it now—you with that radiant smile, breasts all warm and heavy with milk, your hands constantly on your round, swollen belly. he'd have you with child practically every year if he could. you'd give him a little army of strong sons and sweet daughters, he's sure of it. little heirs for the future of oldtown, of house hightower. what more could a man ask for?
to him, there's never a time you shouldn't be like that, and it's a role you're clearly so happy with, so well suited for. he's seen you with your son—how caring you are, how kind, how devoted. the smile on your face when you rock him, singing him to sleep tells ormund everything he needs to know. you’re the perfect mother.
he'd just prefer if you'd mother his children instead.
so one day a few months later, he decides to make his move. the first step, really.
it was just after dinner when you and he were alone in the dining hall, him having convinced you to let one of the nursemaids look after your son for a while so you could get some much needed reprieve.
there you were, so close to him, so available. like a dream come true.
he kissed you.
it was a chaste kiss, of course. nothing untoward. quick.
but you froze. and then flinched backward, lips parted and eyes widened in not just shock—but a tinge of something…
something like fear.
and then you stuttered out, “m-my lord, i-i'm afraid i'm not really rea-ready to pursue such…such things. i'm still—" you gulped, "i'm still... grieving,”
still grieving, you said. wonderful. is that why you always smiled at him so? why you always laughed at his jests, beaming when he was around? and why had you suddenly called him “my lord” when before you had always called him ormund?
he had to stop himself from calling you an empty-headed, teasing bitch. from bending you over the table right there and pounding that cunt of yours until you cried, pumping you full of his seed and getting you pregnant right then and there.
but—
fine. he couldn't blame you completely. it was your nature, after all. you were a woman. simple-minded. sensitive. squeamish. it probably made you feel guilty, getting involved with ormund so soon after your husband's death.
so he'd give you a little more time, that's all.
in fact, it only made his desire to have you even stronger. if such an honorable man such as he had those thoughts about you, then he could only imagine what dark horrors the vile men of this world would do to you. especially since you were clearly more naive than even most women. this is exactly why you needed him and his protection—a soft-hearted, ignorant, vulnerable woman like you could never be trusted to survive on your own.
so he waited. content with the knowledge that, at least, he had identified the problem.
until one day you pulled him aside to tell him that you were “leaving” and going to lannisport so you could “start anew” and “focus on the baby.”
then ormund did something he knew he'd have to beg the gods forgiveness for.
he slapped you.
a hard slap, but not too hard—the back of his hand landed against your soft cheek with an audible smack!
the seven would abhor it, he knew. but the problem had not been just simple-mindedness as he had thought—but stubbornness too. and sometimes stubborn women like you needed something sharp to knock you back to reality.
your lips trembled as you stepped back, unable to speak as tears slid down your face.
“you,” he said as he stepped closer, gently wiping a glossy tear from your cheek with his thumb. “are not going anywhere,” he declared finally, caressing your hair before lightly gripping the back of your neck. “do you understand?”
you sniffled, frantic, watery eyes taking him in. he could see it, the fight draining from them as the wheels turned in your head and you finally accepted the best outcome—the only outcome for you. “yes,” you whispered, nodding.
he hated it, seeing you so hurt. so…afraid. but it was necessary. you needed guidance. protection from your own ignorance and stupidity, your own helplessness. you were supposed to stay here, happy, with him. that was always the way things were supposed to be. how else could he fulfill the debt he owed to jon, than by making sure you were safe by keeping you here for himself?
he smiled, brought his hand to your face, tilted it up, and suddenly his lips met yours once again, except this time they were…hungrier.
fingers entangled in your hair, he held the back of your head in place with one hand while the other grabbed your ass and pulled you flush against him, making your lips part in a whimper.
you didn't refuse his kisses this time.
nor did you refuse when he pulled down the top of your dress, massaging your breasts with his large, firm hand, squeezing until drops of warm milk trickled onto his hand.
he smirked and sat you on a nearby table, lifting up your skirts and parting your legs while you were still letting him guide you, your lips overwhelmed but still trying to keep up with his own. so obedient, he couldn't help but think, though your tears hadn't completely stopped, the brine of them mingling with the sweetness of your lips on his tongue.
and the second he grabbed hold of your legs and sank his throbbing, hard cock into the sopping, molten heat of your cunt, he knew instantly that everything that he'd done had been justified. the months of patience— which you tested constantly. the slap. the tears.
gods forsake him, he’d do it all again in a heartbeat if he had to.
it was all worth it for this.
you underneath him, panting, crying out his name in filthy, delirious need like he was your destruction and your salvation all at the same time. clutching onto his shoulders while he drove himself into you, fucking the obstinacy right out of that pretty head of yours. you were just as he imagined, whining and whimpering like a dumb bitch in heat. the way you hugged his cock, gripping him like a fucking whore, your cunt was just begging for his release, begging for him to fill you up and return you to your proper state.
he didn't stop until his seed was spilling out of you, warm and thick as he pulled out and kissed your forehead, telling you that soon you'd have a little hightower heir to look after.
Fem Reader is Gwayne bastard daughter, She is older than Aemond and the green kids by almost 9 years was a very sibling like relationship with them all but Aemond when a teen starts making his move on her she very weirded out by the incest leaves back for oldtown, Aemond didn't see her for years until after Rooks rest when she was brought on for a political marriage to a black traitor who offered for turned for her hand in response Aemond burned the lords land and house to the ground and demands she be married to him
hi my love 💗, this sounds like a wonderful idea but i generally do not write incest—plus technically "requests" aren't open for me at the moment. i only wrote for the last ask bc it was something i was already kind of toying with and could make some quick tweaks to (i hope that didn't confuse people, i'm sorry 😭).
but again this is a really cool idea, and i'm sure there are many lovely and talented creators who could fulfill this. thank you so much for thinking about me though 🩵🥲🥹
Reader who seduces Aemond out of Alys grip so he lives never fought daemon and became King taking her as his queen and she has him wrapped completely around her finger
anon!! this is so crazy bc i was already thinking about something along these lines, but i lovvvvee your idea 👀 so buzzy. with a few tweaks to canon i can def see it happening,, i really love writing manipulative!reader haha
seductress
tw: 18+ MDNI, future hotd/dance spoilers from fire and blood
it starts off small.
little things whispered into the prince's ear when the two of you are together.
"stay with me," you'd plead, pressing kisses up his neck while you roll over until you're on top of him in bed, pressing your cunt right against his half-hard cock. he already fucked you and alys the night before, but you just need his cock some more. so as soon as alys gets up to see about breakfast, you're grinding against him and guiding his hands all over you, whispering, "need you, my prince," and smiling when he pulls you closer.
over time you got more and more bold. "we don't need her," you'd say, "she's too controlling," "she's always busy with her magic and prophecies, never you," "i only aim to please you, my prince," until pretty soon he's fucking you wherever and whenever, even right next to her in the bed when she's asleep.
he's so gone by the time daemon issues his challenge, it's so easy for you to steer him in the right direction.
"you cannot do this. it is folly!" you insist.
"alys has forseen it," aemond replies, grinding his teeth. "my victory,"
"alys seeks to control you," you snap.
"she's saved my life—"
"because you are useful to her! she saves you only to keep you in her debt. she wants you to be reliant on her. to need her, for as long as she wants and then discard you. it is purely a selfish pursuit," you rebut.
you step closer, loop your arms around his neck, your voice hushed. "if you want to be king, there is another way to achieve your desires," you whisper. "and if it were just the two of us on the throne, you would be beholden to no one,"
of course, once you tell him your idea, the prince listens, and together you start planning. and you can only gasp in delight when, a few weeks later, he declares to you, "i would make you my queen."
now, for a little fire and blood style lol: "with the Queen Rhaenyra having ordered Prince Daemon's capture for his failure to kill Aemond One-Eye and his treason in allowing the escape of the girl Nettles, he and his dragon were slain in the storming of the dragonpit, the Queen being driven from the city herself.
King Aegon, the histories write, quickly captured his half sister, and after feeding her to his dragon sought out his daughter princess Jaehaera and fled to Essos, abdicating the throne for his younger brother Prince Aemond to seize the crown.
The coronation of King Aemond, first of his name, was by all means an extravagant event. No expense was spared at the behest of his Queen and Lady-Wife, who was fashioned in all manner of opulence and wore a crown of sapphires. Oddly enough, it was not the witch Alys Rivers who the king had married as some would have believed. But the Queen herself had no lack of cunning. for it was she, some said, who led to her husband's ascension, and greatly influenced his reign thereafter, for with just a word purred into the King's ear, she could sway his opinion on any matter."
18+ MDNI, pairings: aemond targaryen x f.reader x alys rivers
thinking...aemond who just can't keep his eye off the young village woman he and alys hired to help care for the horses.
your employers scared you half to death on your first day when they said if you ever revealed to anyone that the prince was alive or that he was at harrenhal, they'd gut you like a fish. and judging by their demeanors and reputation you did not want to test if that was true or not. so you swore yourself to secrecy.
but that wasn't even the strangest part of the job. no—then came the watching.
it wasn't even subtle, really, the way the prince would visit the yard, coming up with various excuses to “check” on the horses but really to check on you. at first you thought that perhaps the two of them were skeptical of the quality of your work, but when you asked him directly if your work was sufficient, all he said was, blankly, “your work is…adequate. see that you continue.”
then you thought that perhaps they were watching for signs of guilt. that you'd spoken of his presence somehow in exchange for rhaenyra’s bounty. or maybe they were trying to scare you out of not doing that. but you hadn't spoken a word and didn't intend on it besides—you didn't think you'd ever live to collect such a bounty.
and anyway, there was something much more in the prince’s gaze… the way you could feel it linger on you when you bent over to clean out the stalls. or how you'd oft notice him when you caught a drink, your dress clinging to your body with sweat after a long day’s work, his eye glued to your chest as you loosened the laces of your bodice, chest heaving, fanning yourself from the heat.
the lady alys watched you too. especially when you started dressing…lighter. walking around the castle grounds in short, thin, almost see-through things—more under garments than proper dresses, but they were the only thing you could withstand in the heat. you hoped she didn't get the wrong idea—that you were somehow trying to seduce the prince—but you probably should've taken the hint and changed.
you didn't, though. not just because the heat made such a thing nigh impossible—but because how would it be your fault if the prince was looking at you? after all, it's just looking, isn't it?
until one day the prince corners you in the back of the stables, takes your wrist in his hand and kisses you with such passion it makes your head spin. your lips part with a sigh of satisfaction as you kiss back, tilting your head up to meet him.
but you pull back quickly, the fear laced in your voice. “b-but my-my prince,” you gulp, “won’t the lady alys be upset if she finds out?”
his hand trails down to yours, squeezing. “let me deal with alys,” he says.
and so he leads you back to the castle, to the main bed chamber...where none other than the lady alys herself is waiting.
he guides you over and somehow you plop onto her lap, straddling her, your cunt pressed right over hers through your thin dress, while lady alys smiles at your confusion.
“are you skittish, dear?” she asks softly, taking you in with her eyes as she guides your hands to pull down the top of your dress. “you shouldn't be,” she whispers, leaning into you as the prince's hands find their way under the thin fabric,“we've been dying to take you for a ride.”
sorry to be so #horny but there's something about alys saying there's no more wood and aemond immediately going to chop some more...like ugh that's such a MAN thing to do, he's such a man. she probably doesn't have to lift a finger while he's around 😵💫😵💫
Ormund had his sweet wife pinned in a ruthless mating press, her thighs folded back against her chest, knees nearly to her shoulders. His weight settled heavy over her, hips driving forward in hard, deliberate thrusts that forced every inch of him deep into her yielding cunt. Each impact punched a wet, muffled sound from between them as he bottomed out, grinding against her cervix before dragging back only to slam home again.
She was sweet and simple beneath him—pliant, wide-eyed, body soft and open in a way that made his cock throb. No clever words, no sharp glances, just quiet gasps and the occasional soft, broken moan as he used her. He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of her ear while his hips kept up their brutal rhythm, the slap of skin loud in the quiet chamber.
“The Seven blessed me the day I took you,” he whispered, voice rough, each word timed to another deep, punishing thrust. “They knew I needed something pure to come home to. Something that doesn’t think. Just takes it. Just opens up and lets me bury myself to the hilt whenever I please.”
He punctuated the last words with a particularly hard snap of his hips, holding himself locked inside her, grinding in slow circles so she could feel every thick inch stretching her. Her soft walls fluttered around him, helpless and wet, and Ormund’s breath hitched against her ear as he murmured again, almost fond,
ᢉ𐭩 .ᐟ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: ormund hightower x wife!reader (wc: 650)
ᢉ𐭩 .ᐟ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 + 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 18+ MDNI, p in v sex, a little bit of overstim, slightly dark, hints to a toxic relationship, canon typical sexist views/themes
— ᨳଓ . 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: heyyy guys!! yall know i had to write for this man 🙂↕️ even tho he's crazy as fuck. i hope everyone is doing well. ily guys, stay safe and please enjoy 🥰 — A <3
ᢉ𐭩 .ᐟ flower divider by @/strangergraphics
ormund’s wife!reader who everyone says is so good for him.
everyone had hoped that a respectable marriage would “calm” the volatile lord hightower, would settle his violent temper and fiery moods into something softer, something more…balanced.
and well—
it did.
lords and ladies alike couldn't help but sing their praises of her, because she'd managed to do something long thought impossible: turn lord hightower into a somewhat decent, pleasant man.
“his lady wife,” they’d say, “it's like night and day when she's around,"
“he's so composed. a picture of honor and duty,”
“look how sweet he is to her,” they'd profess, “it is her heart that keeps him,”
you were a guiding presence, they said. a tempering voice. an embodiment of the maiden herself sent by the gods to settle the lord hightower, to keep him from his worst impulses. to stay his hand when nothing else could.
“so kind,” they'd say in awe at your husband's newfound temperance. “so dutiful. so gentle,”
except…he was anything but gentle with you.
in fact, when you were alone, your lord husband was insatiable.
“hus-husband please—” you whined, your nails curving into the firm muscle of your husband's arms, your legs wrapped around his waist. “it's too much,” you winced, the sheer pressure of his cock within you rendering the words to near gibberish.
“oh, it’s too much?” he taunted with a smirk as pressed himself upon you even harder, forcing a gasp from your lips as his cock hit the very depth of you. his voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned down. “i think it's just enough,”
you could only whimper in return as he pulled back and sunk himself into you harder and harder, your body going limp. you were like a ragdoll beneath him, barely able to catch your breath in between urgent, helpless moans, completely under his control. just how he liked it. how you both did. but—
it was so, so much. “ormund—” you squeaked, nearly in tears, your lips and limbs trembling. your back arched with every brutal thrust, your tits on further display for him.
he leaned in again, his lips dangerously close and yet so far out of reach to your own. “shh shh shh,” he consoled you, sweat soaked skin against sweat soaked skin. “i know it's too much. but you'll take it won't you? you'll take it like a good wife,” he bragged.
you nodded, barely able to speak or keep focus but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to face him directly. “i said won't you?”
“yes, yes, i’ll take it, i’ll take it!” you cried out, nodding eagerly this time, the slick sounds of him using your aching pussy continuing as he kept his pace, every inch of you buzzing, feverish. the tension in your stomach was getting hotter and hotter, on the verge of explosion. “like—like a good wife,”
he let out an amused huff, his voice rough, throaty. “that’s right. just like a good wife,” he breathed, grinding his hips against yours. “that's what good women do,” he grunted. “they take whatever their husbands give them,”
and so you took it. you took it all. his cock or his anger, or both at the same time. and when he was done you were usually left to smoothing out your dress, hiding your limp as he dragged you to meet whatever new lords or ladies he'd invited over, with a grip on your waist that was always just a bit too tight.
no matter how sore you were. how tired. you always had a smile on your face.
he was a man renewed, they'd always say. they'd never seen him in such good spirits.
and to that, your husband would just smile and pull you closer as he replied,
We need more writing on dex,cuz I'm obsessed with the ones u wrote on him 😩😩😩
ahh omg thank you so much anon! that's so sweet of you!! ☺️💖 ive been buzzing to write for dex more but i'm gonna be so so busy this month. i do have a few fic ideas in the works for him tho. funnily enough u actually reminded me to write down an idea i was going to write but forgot about before i could lol! so i hope you enjoy...but this is very dark guys pls be aware! -A <3
sullied.
⌖ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: benjamin poindexter x f.reader (wc: 800)
⌖ 𝖙𝖜: 18+ MDNI, DARK, cumplay, foodplay (honeyyyy 🍯), spitplay (basically, dex just loves seeing reader covered in fluids lmao), BLOODPLAY, hair pulling, tit sucking,rough/degrading sex, reference to bruises/bondage, CORRUPTION KINK, dex and reader are both depraved, serial killer!dex (implied)
⌖ red lace divider by @/cursed-carmine, honey divider by @/asiatic-apple
⌖ disclaimer: i obviously do not condone this, this is fiction meant for adults. if it's not for you that's totally ok, pls take care of yourself 🩷
dex who just loves, loves to sully you.
who loves to feel your warm breath in his face, moaning into his mouth while he rubs into your sopping wet pussy with his fingers. the warmth of it, the soaking heat of you, drenched and pulsing against his skin. the way you press against him, your juices sliding down his fingers. the way your mouth just won't stay closed—can’t—not when he's touching you like this. the way every little sound that comes from those soft pretty lips is just for him.
well, it's enough to kill a man.
and…
it's disgusting, he knows.
but he just can't help it—he loves to see you just…covered.
he loves to shoot his seed all over you, to see you sprawled out on the bed covered in his fucking cum from head to toe, your ass up and your tongue out. the way your skin catches the light—that obscene glossy white sheen, thick, sticky droplets sliding down your back, your thighs, your tits, your face.
or the way you lie still as he covers you in thick honey, the scent of it warm and sweet in the air as he dips his fingers in a bowl and drips it over your cunt and your stomach, lightly grazing your skin before he licks and sucks it off your tits, swirling his tongue around your nipples.
spit too—oh, you both love that. the way you get down on your knees like a whore, begging for him to spit on your face, smiling while he yanks your hair with one hand and smears it all over your forehead and nose and cheeks with the other, some of it getting in your hair or your eyelashes.
the way you suck his fingers clean after, desperate eyes looking up at him, begging, pleading for more just to drink his spit like the dirty slut you are.
but he likes to see you covered in other things, too.
god.
like bruises. deep red to purple littering your skin, remains from his touch. bite marks. nail marks on your ass and hips from his grip. rope indents on your wrists. he loves to see you marked. tainted. every single one a reminder that he was there. that you let him be there. that you were his. he was the driven painter, and you the perfect, willing canvas.
it’s disgusting, the things dex wants to do to you.
awful.
sick.
and the best part?
you wanted it. craved it, actually.
you were such a sweet, innocent thing when the two of you met. never been with a man before.
oh, but he changed that.
he changed that entirely.
dex was all man when he was with you—rough, greedy hands claiming every inch of you, toned arms pinning you down or holding you still, his raspy voice hot against your ear as he asked you “whose pussy is this, baby?”
“yours, dex—” you'd reply, in between sharp, wanton gasps, “yours,”
yours, dex.
yours.
it sounded so fucking good, tumbling from your lips. he'd changed you. shaped you. molded you into the perfect depraved little toy. you were such a good, good girl.
now you were a good girl for him.
he’d sullied every inch of you, even your brain, until you were just as sick as he was.
still, though—he figured you probably still had some limits.
so when he brought you to an abandoned warehouse and you saw what was on the floor, he told you it was fake.
because there was something else he loved seeing you covered in: blood.
the way it stained your skin, your nails, stuck to your hair in dark clumps.
and even more than he loved seeing you in it, he loved fucking you in it. so you'd pretend, he said. roleplay. pretend it was a crime scene. that dex was a killer who just got done with a murder. what better way to set the mood, right?
but his heart nearly stopped when, in the middle of him fucking you on the floor near a puddle of blood, your crimson-streaked legs wrapped around his waist, his cock buried balls deep in your tight wet pussy, you whispered.
“wish it was real, dex,” you said, blood on your face, eyes glazed over as you locked eyes with him. “say you'd kill for this pussy,”
he smiled. “you know i’d kill for you, baby,”
you grinned, laughing softly as you leaned back onto the wet floor, pulling him right back on top of you as he thrust into you again, your nails digging into his back.
but it was your laugh though—the way you giggled, that crazed look in your eye. that's how he knew he'd corrupted you fully.
