No words can describe how it felt to read the JaimeCersei chapters in AFFC and realize that They Do Not Like Each Other. Both of them, going on and on about how they're each other's half and two bodies one and soul and they have their first conversation, and it's so obvious they don't like each other. They never have any idea what the other is talking about, don't trust the other, they don't even laugh at the same things.
It's like they're both teenagers in their first ever relationship, it's not really built on familiarity, mutual respect, and love, but proximity, attraction, and romantic ideals. And you go out with your highschool boyfriend and you have fun because it's fun to have a boyfriend and you cry when he breaks up with you but by the time you're in college you forget what his last name was, the classes you shared with him and that's fine.
But Jaime and Cersei don't do that. Their bodies grow up, but they don't. And they stay in a juvenile relationship that was never meant to exist, and wonder why they're so unhappy all the time.
halaena's way better than bc if aemond asked me w watery eyes, with a hand on my arm, in that soft voice to come w him to harrenhal i would be riding that dragon asap and i'm not talking about dreamfyre
I like Sharako Lohar because I, too, would be all over Tyland Lannister in an instant. I would make him serenade me with sea shanties and make all my men clap for him. I would make him feel appreciated for being my special princess while simultaneously humiliating him for being a pampered, rich, white boy.
Considering the Alicent they created for the show, I definetly find it believable that she went to see Rhaenyra and tried to convinve her to run away. Also, it's funny asf. Just two medieval gays starting war only to meet up in secret and make "fuck me" eyes at each other.
summary: With his ego inflated after Rook’s Rest, Aemond makes another move against the blacks — taking you.
pairing: Aemond x Niece!Reader
word count: 1.8k+
warnings: Explicit smut, dark!Aemond, incest, oral sex (f recieving), p in v sex, heavy dubcon, loss of virginity, mention of blood, knife play, angst!!! 18+ MDNI
Destiny was a fickle thing but Aemond Targaryen knew three things for certain: he was destined to lose an eye, destined to claim the largest dragon of the known world and destined to be with you.
For as long as Aemond could remember, he wanted you, dreamed of you. The mere thought of you made his cock ache at any moment.
It was not as if Aemond had no other options. There were plenty of Lord’s willing to send their daughters to King’s Landing to be married off to a prince.
As lovely as those girls might have been, they all shared the same detrimental flaw: they simply were not you. You were a member of House Targaryen — bastard born or not, the blood of Old Valyria ran deep within your veins. You were a skilled dragon rider, you carried yourself with grace, held a quick wit, spoke your mother tongue. Above all else, you had been there for Aemond when no one else was. You were perfect.
Aemond had no interest in being betrothed to a Baratheon or a Lannister, nor an Arryn or a Stark; even the most beautiful girl the Tyrell’s had to offer would simply never compare. After a denied proposal for a betrothal and you being taken away to Dragonstone Aemond felt powerless — until now.
Your entire body aches as you make out your surroundings. You had been taken in the middle of the night, forced onto dragon back with your hands and feet tied.
“Listen to me,” your uncle says as he crouches in front of you, “if you scream the guards will come and you’ll be thrown in the dungeons. You have no friends here except me. Do you understand?”
You nod your head in agreement, desperate to be free of the makeshift gag he had made for you.
“Aemond, this is treason,” you state plainly.
“Treason, would be betraying the crown, sweet niece,” he responds, “I am the crown.”
“Fuck you!” you grumble at him.
“Iksos bona skoros ao jaelagon?” Is that what you want?
Against your better judgment, you spit right in his face, observing him nervously as he wipes it away.
“Fiesty little thing you are.”
“What do you want with me, Aemond? Will you force me to kneel before you? Carve out my eye? Perhaps I’ll suffer the same fate as my brother?”
Ah, Lucerys. He was waiting for you to bring that up.
“While I’m sure that seeing you on your knees is a glorious sight, I have other plans for you.”
“I have no desire to bed you, Aemond. I am betrothed.”
The smirk on his face slightly drops at that. Betrothed.
“And where is Lord Stark now?” He questions casually.
“Preparing his army for war.”
“I wonder how it must feel?” he goes on, “to be whored out? Practically sold like a broodmare so that your pretender of a mother can build herself an army?”
“Better to be his whore than your war prize.”
The mask of cruelty on Aemond's face fades for a moment, and for a second, he almost looks hurt at your words.
“Is that what you think? That you’re merely a ‘prize’? You wound me, dear niece. Do you not remember that I love you?”
Ice fills your veins at his confession and your heart drops into your stomach. Things could’ve been different, they should’ve been.
“I don’t understand why things had to escalate in this way, Aemond,” you say as you start to cry, “you could’ve —“ you choke back a sob, “you could’ve had me.”
Aemond takes your chin in his hands as he lets out a laugh.
“I do have you, baby.”
Fear courses through you at his words. Aemond unsheathes a knife from his jacket pocket and holds it to your chest for a brief moment before pulling away.
“Hold still,” he demands as he cuts the rope that holds your ankles together.
You wince as Aemond forcefully spreads your legs apart, violently cutting a hole into your undergarments, exposing your cunt to him.
“Tell me, has Stark fucked this pretty little pussy yet?”
He knows he hasn’t, he knows you and Cregan still have yet to meet. He wants to hear you say it.
“N-no,” you stutter as you continue to cry. Gods, you look so pretty when you cry, Aemond thinks to himself. He only smirks in response.
“You are still a maiden, right, sweet one? You haven’t let little Lord Strong defile you, have you?”
“Gods, Aemond. No.”
“Hm,” Aemond frowns, “a shame for him, really. Now he’ll never have the chance being that you will never see him again.”
“They’ll come for you,” you tell him.
“If they wish to keep me away from you and your perfect cunt they’ll have to kill you,” he muses, “But even then…”
A darkness takes over your uncles face and you soon realize the Aemond you once knew is gone. You are dealing with a whole new monster. He is an animal, a beast — and you are merely prey.
“Do you touch yourself?” he asks, pulling you from your thoughts.
“S-sometimes,” you whisper, feeling ashamed, but finding it difficult to lie to him.
“What do you think about when you do?”
“Not you,” you retort.
He runs two fingers through your soft folds, causing you to gasp, before bringing his fingers up to the light.
“Liar,” he states as his fingers glisten, coated in your slick. “You know you don’t have to lie to me, baby. I think about you, too…”
You can’t help but notice the evident bulge in your uncle's pants, his cock strains against the delicate fabric. You can tell how big he is. You try your best to divert your gaze elsewhere.
“Now, I’m going to untie your wrists. Might I remind you of what I said earlier: You are far better off in here, with me, than out there,” he says, pointing to the door with his dagger.
You’re not sure if you believe him. At this point, you might prefer to be thrown in the dungeon with the rats, left to starve. Instead of arguing, you simply nod your head as Aemond cuts you free.
You feel wobbly as you stand on your feet, Aemond holds your hands as you gain your composure. Your ankles and wrists feel sore, but Aemond rubs his thumb against your wrist soothingly.
Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as that familiar ache between your legs begins to grow. You know you shouldn't be aroused by this behavior, but your body is betraying you.
Aemond picks you up swiftly and places you onto his bed. There was a time where you dreamed of this. If only your younger self could see you now.
Your thoughts are interrupted once again as Aemond’s large hand wraps around your throat. He squeezes lightly, trying to keep you in your place. You make a feeble attempt to push him away, but he is too strong and you can’t break free.
“Please, don’t be afraid of me,” he pleads, “I need you,” the timbre of his voice is so low that you aren’t sure if he meant for you to hear. His free hand moves to your breast, massaging it roughly through your chemise.
"You are so beautiful," he says, leaning over you. You feel him press himself against you, his cock rubbing against your leg, pre-cum leaks out of the tip and smears onto your thigh.
He pushes back and nestles himself comfortably between your thighs. His dexterous fingers part your folds ever so gently, exposing you to him completely.
“Gods, you’re perfect. The most perfect girl in the entire realm,” he groans before his face is buried between your thighs. His plump lips suck at your clit as he prods at it with his tongue before moving up and down your slit. You feel yourself getting wetter, arousal leaks from your core and Aemond laps it up eagerly. On instinct, you spread your legs even further apart, your body betraying you once again.
Aemond licks harder, and you feel the soft muscle of his tongue slip inside you. A loud moan erupts from your chest as a tight knot forms in the pit of your stomach. Your hand shoots down to to tug at Aemond’s silver tresses.
You’re so close, you’ve never been touched like this before and one final glide of his tongue pushes you over the edge. You cry out loudly as you cum, your vision going blurry as your cunt contracts around him.
Aemond pulls himself from your core and stands up, grabbing your hips. He harshly pulls you to the edge of the bed and you feel his cock pressing against you. You eagerly push towards him this time. There is no point in fighting him. You gasp as he enters you fully, filling you completely. The stretch is overwhelming, a tight burning sensation. The fullness begins to feel good as your silky walls flutter around him.
“Just relax,” he coos, “I know you want me.”
You feel his cock twitch inside you slightly as he groans, leaning down to bite your shoulder.
“Fuuuck,” he drawls, “you’re so tight and wet, baby, so perfect; just like I dreamed you would be.”
Your cheeks bloom crimson at his praise and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as he fucks into you. The sharp pain soon fades into pleasure. The fat tip of his cock relentlessly bullies that sweet spot inside you that you were never able to reach on your own.
Aemond reaches up to paw at your breast, pinching at your nipple roughly, and a wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your spine tingles and your toes curl, causing you to moan in response.
"You think Stark could fuck you like this? Make you feel the way I do? That anyone could?" He rasps as his thrusts become relentless. He slaps your face when you fail to give him an answer. A shameful whimper escapes you.
"Answer. Me." he demands between thrusts, his teeth gritted together, his thumb swiping over the rosy, delicate flesh where he hit you.
“N-no, Aemond! Only you, just you! I'm sorry!” you all but choke out to him.
“That’s right, my sweet. You were fuckin’ made for me,” he grunts before pausing his thrusts, his hips stuttering before he pulls his cock out of you almost entirely. Making note of the blood that coats his shaft, hoping you don’t notice.
“You know it, I know it, your mother knows it,” he grits out, “you’re mine.”
“Yes, Aemond, I’m — fuck! I’m yours,” you mewl.
“Do you love me?" he asks, your mind is hazy, and stars blur your vision as he continues to drill into you. Even while he is taking control, his insecurity still has a way of shining through his cruel demeanor.
You loved him once, long ago. Maybe you could love him again? You know the answer he is looking for is not ‘maybe.’
"Kessa, Avy jorrāelan." Yes, I love you.
Aemond grins at this, impressed with your knowledge of your shared mother tongue.
He slams his cock into you full force, stilling as he presses hard against your cervix, making you cry out again. His hand tangles in your hair as he places his forehead against yours.
“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he tells you.
You grip at his hips, pulling him into you.
“C-cum inside me,” you moan through bated breaths, “claim me as your own, once and for all.”
“You’ve always been mine,” he says as he complies, pushing into you deeply as he shoots his hot cum inside of you, warmth blooming in your chest as he does so; before collapsing on top of you.
“What happens now?” you ask, as he gently pulls himself out of your heat, allowing his seed to seep onto the bed sheets.
You find youself betrothed and married to Prince Aegon, whose rotten reputation well precedes him. A glimpse of his tender side on your wedding night was not one you had expected.
Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen × Dornish!Reader
Tags:
No smut. Slight fluff. Idk how to tag the rest but if Aegon is your babygirl too, you'll like this. Kinda wanna write an entire fic for this.
[Don't repost, copy or translate. Likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!♡]
You had come to court at sixteen with your family. Yours was an ambitious house from the East of Dorne, eager to alliance itself with the Westerosi crown. And as such, your father quickly found a way to install you as one of the Princess' Lady-in- Waiting. Life at court was quite serene at first. The days were mostly spent in company of the princess and her Septa, learning and gossiping, finding adventures in the regulated mundanes. She taught you about insects, and you told her about the many monstrous species that nested within the sands of Dorne. She marvelled at your tales with fascination. The Queen was delighted at the effect you had had on the Princess, providing Helaena with a girlhood as normal as one of royal birth could ever afford.
The younger Prince often visited his sister, and though at first you were only courteous and distant, it soon became impossible to not find youself tangled in a friendship with him as well. He was dutiful and valued his sister's regards, made her laugh and cared for her well-being. As her constant companion, you found that endearing about the one-eyed boy. The same could not be said for the eldest Prince.
Tales of his many unbecoming habits soon caught your wind, and you found yourself coming to despise the man. He was only an year older than you at seventeen, yet even the older maids grew taut at the sight of him. You would watch him sometimes as he grouped them at countless feasts, drowning as he did so in his most favoured cup of Arbour Red, and you often found youself wondering what it was that had birthed this useless monster of a man. Perhaps it was the dismissive air that haunted the Queen, or the King, rotting and ever ignorant of his younger children. Or perhaps an access to anything and everything at such an age allowed for the heart's corruption. You could not know for sure, but a secure guess was a mixture of all three. But then again, what was it to you?
The high of the life at court came crashing down as far as it had ridden when you were bethrothed to the very Prince in question. Aegon Targaryen, the firstborn son of King Viserys I and his second wife, Queen Alicent. Besides that, nothing more that was known of him was of any use to your father. The vile tales of his Flea Bottom revels, his infamous affections for wine and gluttony, or the ever-growing line of bastards that he was said to have sired upon whores and noble-women alike. The day you learnt of it, you had wept in the secrecy of Helaena's chambers, her gentle fingers tracing the back of your head. She had not betrayed you with false words of reassurance as your mother and aunts had, neither had she shielded you from the harsh truth. "I would not be proud to call him husband, I believe mother would agree." She had admitted, and you were glad for it. He had never spoken to you, if he had ever looked your way, you weren't aware of it. You were the most beautiful girl at court, Aemond had once proclaimed, yet your husband who lusted over anything that breathed, had never so much as looked your way. The wedding gown was your sole sense of inspiration towards the marriage.
The wedding ceremony was held at the Royal Sept, where all of Westeros had gathered to witness their Prince become bound in holy matrimony. You wore a gown of blush and gold, the colours of your house, as your father lead you down the ailse and gave your hand away to the Prince. No one had beamed like your father that day, and you wondered for the millionth time if the portrait of his happiness could only ever hang upon the nails of your misery. But none of it seemed to matter when the Prince's eyes met yours, perhaps for the first time in... ever.
His eyes were a soft violet, his hand calloused to the touch and in his eyes, the same look of searching as yours. You looked for proof of every rumouf that haunted his shadow, for humanity in those eyes of a creature closer to God than men. The eyes see true, they said, but what his had been searching for, you could not tell.
The marriage vows were the first words you had ever spoken to him: "Father Smith Warrior, Mother Maiden Crone, Stranger, I am his and he is mine, from this day till the end of my days." And thus, from the first instant of your meeting, you had belonged to him. There were no introductions, as if your names did not matter in the realm of Gods, only the binding of souls. A cruel joke indeed, you reflected, for names were all that mattered in the realm of men.
And so, you were bound to one another for eternity.
At the feast that afternoon, he asked your hand for the first dance. "You look like Sunfyre," he whispered between twirls.
"Pardon, my Prince?"
"Sunfyre, my dragon." He said, crushing all your confidence beneath the weight of his words. The dancing never stopped.
"You think I look like like a reptilian beast?"
"Oh no I–" His eyes widened at the implication, "Forgive me, that is not what I had meant. I only meant that your dress is of the same colours as him. Rouge and Gold. I'll have you know he's quite beautiful, as are you."
You did not have a chance to thank him as the music came to a hault and the old King rose to a toast. The prince stood by your side, watching along with the rest as your eyes ran across the dias. The Greens and the Blacks stood apart from the rest, glaring at the other unison. By blood they may be dragonlords, superior to the common man. Yet a broken family was as normal as one could get to 'common'.
Your own family was up there beside them for the first time, and your father looked the happiest he had ever been. "He's the bloody Prince, there couldn't be a better match for you in all of Westeros!" His words from earlier that morning rung in your ears. You looked to the man at your right, the Prince in question. He was handsome, with kind eyes and a tender touch. A thin ringlet of rubies circled his forehead, glittering beneath the lights. You desperately let yourself hope your father was right. Just for once, just for a night. As you took your own seat beside the Prince, he sank into his cup some more. You were afraid he might flirt with servants, or worse, and insult you before the entire realm before the marriage had even begun. But the Maiden had granted your prayers, and his eyes remained hesitant as he glanced between you and his platter. You did not speak again, and you grew afraid once more that you were not to his liking.
There was no bedding ceremony, one privilege of becoming a royal at last. You were led into his chambers by his own hand. He was drunk, stumbling ever so often in his steps. Once you were alone, he kissed you. It was different from the kiss at the Sept. That was curt. But now he kissed you with more passion, cradling your cheeks between his hands as he did so. It sent a shrill of disgust rippling across your body as you wondered how many had tasted those same wine-stained lips as you did now. Your cousins always complained you were too prudish for a dornish woman, but the culture of Kind's Landing was nowhere near beyond your grasp. It was only the Prince, and the new founded sense of entitled jealousy that illicited a quiet rage within you. You backed away from the kiss.
"You do not love me," He muttered.
The prince looked as if he had been betrayed, eyes red and teary from too many cups of Arbour Red. Then, with a sudden kick upon a leg of the bed, threw himself againt the mattress. Ringed fingers hid his face as he muttered something against himself once more.
"Pardon, my Prince?"
"I said, you don't fucking love me!"
You were lost. For a second, you contemplated lying and uttering some false words of flattery to please the man. But that wouldn't do. You had promised yourself that once you had escaped the clutches of you father, lies would no longer be your bread. That day had come at last. "I do not," You told him loud and clear, "for I do not know you."
"You've known me for the past year!" He argued, sitting up on the bed to look at you with bewildered eyes laced in tears. Confusion became you, the two of had never even spoken. You were unaware of the affections he had held towards you for quite a while now, all of which threatened to unarm itself in a drunken haze.
You walked over to him, hesitantly reaching to tuck away a disheveled lock of pale blond. Your fingers lingered upon his cheek afterwards, making him lean into your touch. It gave you some courage.
"I would like to come to know you first, Aegon. The man that you lies beneath."
He had a feminine beauty, you noticed, with round eyes and plump rosy lips. Something inside of you grew eagar to place a kiss upon his temple, and so you did. And as you pulled away, he nuzzled into your chest, firmly gripping your waist to hold you back from peeling away.
"Im afraid you'd only despise me like the rest." He spoke against your breasts, hiding.
"At the Sept this morning, I vowed to become one with you, did I not? One cannot truly despise one's own self."
As the words fell from your lips, you knew you did believe them. After all, you were desperate to be loved back just the same. But suddenly you grew afraid, of everything, as you melted into him as well. You were afraid of failure, of betrayal, of heartbreak, and the eternity for which you were bound to him. You thought you knew what to expect of a marriage from the man before you, but that perception had now been crumpled away. Despite it all, you smiled at him.
"I do," He said, referring to your prior statement.
The answer to that was simple.
"Then you can be the hateful half, and I shall see to the rest."
The hint of a dejected smile played at his lips before he pulled you against himself once more, letting you both fall to his bed. The bed that was to become yours as well.
He did not take your maidenhead that night, only another kiss before slumber claimed him like a serene shroud.
jbbartram-illu
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