marthawrites - Tumblr blog

marthawrites · 1 day

Text

LYN!!!!

OH MY GOOD FLIPPIN LORD WOMAN!!!

This was an absolute DELIGHT. I am singing and kicking my feet and running around the block AHHHH!

I LOVE this! This might be my new fave of yours for real! This lives forever in my brain now and I will be returning to re-read again and again ♥♥♥

(I am so glad you reposted this!!! Attaching my original silly reblog comment because YES I love this fic THAT much! And now I can re-read it again hehehehehe)

Lady, Wife, Whore, Woman Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen x Female Oneshot

Summary: The story of a young married lady's dilemma when the Prince Regent makes it clear he wants her for himself.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, SMUT, Power Imbalance, Infidelity, Orgasm Denial, medieval-canon sexism, and profanity.

Word Count: 7104

Writer's Notes: The name Lady Stokeworth was used to weave some canon elements into the fic. She is female, but no physical description is given. This got a little long and her story sort of took over, but there's Aemond and smut. Enjoy!!

Personal Favorite 💖

Masterlist

The realm is at war because a family wars with itself, making the days darker for all who reside in Westeros, especially in the Red Keep, where each day is fraught with suspicion and danger.

When King Viserys dies, your husband becomes one of many lords imprisoned for loyalty to Princess Rhaenyra, the king's named heir, while you are locked in your chambers. One by one, the captives are brought before the king’s justice and given a last chance to swear fealty to Aegon. Some, including your husband, bend the knee to the green king. Those who do not, including Lords Hayford, Merryweather, and Harte, as well as Lady Fell, lose their heads that day.

Despite his oath of allegiance to King Aegon, you know your husband’s loyalty, and therefore your own, is still questioned. Simply asking to send a message by raven to your family can be viewed as treachery, for you are inexperienced in the conspiracy and duplicity that have spread throughout the court, and that is distressing enough.

But you, the new Lady Stokeworth, have another unwanted worry from which you cannot escape. You have no idea what you did to attract his interest, but from the moment of your first introduction months ago, the gaze of his eye has followed you.

“We should not be late. Are you ready?” Your husband’s question brings your thoughts back to the here and now.

Looking up at him, you force a smile. Though you have no wish to leave your chambers, you know attendance at this dinner is required. Smoothing your skirts as you get up, you only reply, “Yes, I’m ready.”

Placing your hand on your husband’s arm and trying to maintain a neutral expression on your face, you walk through the keep, keeping your eyes downcast in an attempt to stay oblivious to your surroundings. But you can still feel the eyes of the court following you, and you think the sounds of their whispers are louder today, making the halls of the Red Keep feel as if they are closing in on you.

The dinner is a somewhat subdued affair, not unexpected given the state of war and the horrors that even the royal family has not been spared. Musicians play, trying to keep spirits light and impress an illusion of normalcy upon the Targaryen court. The only members of the royal family present are the Prince Regent and his mother, the Dowager Queen, which is not surprising given the gravely injured King Aegon's bedridden state and the rumored madness of Queen Helaena following her son's murder.

You have little appetite; you only pick at your food. You can feel his eye on you; you don’t need to look to know he openly stares at you. Any attempts at discretion have long since ceased. Thinking back, you came to the Red Keep as the new bride of Lord Stokeworth, having only been wed a few weeks, but determined to adapt to married life as the wife of a lord from a house larger than your family’s modest one.

Upon meeting the prince, you immediately feel shy in his presence. While his appearance is striking in a handsome and dashing way, it is his unusual combination of aloofness and intensity that unsettles you. You believed there would be little contact with him, as you were only the wife of a lord. Initially, you dismiss the subtle glances or the accidental closeness he always managed to achieve, but with time, you begin to suspect that he is paying more attention to you than he should.

You and your husband are due to leave the Red Keep and return home to Castle Stokeworth, but the King’s death changes everything and forces your stay in the Red Keep. The coming days became a whirlwind of uncertainty and fear. After the coronation of Aegon II and the escape of Princess Rhaenys, hope fades that the Targaryens can peacefully resolve their differences.

The news of Prince Aemond striking the first blow by killing his nephew Lucerys, thereby ensuring open warfare between the factions of House Targaryen, shocks everyone, but it seems to bring about a change in the Prince himself. If he feels any remorse for killing his nephew, he hides it well, but he does not hide his more imposing and aggressive nature. He now basks in the admiration of many green supporters and savors the fear of others as the rider of the deadly Vhagar.

Before long, Prince Aemond takes over as ruler, becoming Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm. With the weight of the war on his shoulders and the power of a king in his hands, he feels no need to be discreet.

For you, that means his hints of interest in you, which were once subtle enough to be dismissed, are now too bold to be mistaken. Quick glances have now become long gazes at your full lips or the swell of your breasts. When he kisses your hand, his curved lips linger on your skin, and his long fingers hold onto you for too long.

Lords and ladies who have linked their fates and the fate of their houses to the Greens worry with every piece of bad news and every sign of the mercurial Prince Regent’s displeasure. With his desire for you, like now an open book for anyone to read, some even suggest that if having the little wife of Lord Stokeworth in his bed will help him rule, then let him have her. Whispers become hints, and soon you begin to feel pressure from the court to give in to him. Though many are surprised that he hasn’t taken what he clearly wants already, some think that he enjoys toying with the pretty lady and humiliating her husband, while others worry that the young ruler has no time for games while at war.

The thought of dishonoring you and your new husband by being the subject of such a scandal horrifies you. You were raised to be a loyal and dutiful wife; it is not in your nature to seek out this kind of attention. You can only hope that if you remain steadfast and true to your marriage, the prince will soon tire of your resistance.

“The more you resist him, the more determined he is to have you." A feminine voice beside you utters conspiratorially.

Startled, you turn to see that Lady Rosby has taken the seat next to you. Having finished their meal, most are milling about in small groups of conversation, with a few pairings taking to the dance floor in an attempt to maintain an air of unconcerned nobility. You stay seated, hoping to remain unnoticed.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Rosby,” you stammer, the discomfort of having to discuss your situation only making you feel worse.

“You have made it clear that you did not seek out the prince’s attention, but you have his attention nonetheless,” the older lady continues, pausing to take a sip of her wine. “A wise woman would consider giving him what he wants, willingly, rather than continuing to vex the dragon.”

Aghast, you can only stare open-mouthed at Lady Rosby, who is the first to blatantly suggest to your face that you dishonor yourself, your husband, and your family by willingly submitting to his lustful desires.

Lady Rosby’s face does not soften at the sight of tears forming in your eyes. “I’m telling you this for your own good. I can see that you are naive, but the harsh truth is that noble ladies have had to spread their legs for worse men than him to serve the realm.” Seeing you begin to shake your head in despair, she grabs hold of your hand. “Give him what he wants before he loses patience and decides to take it by force. Learn how to make him happy.”

Fighting to hold back your tears, you tear your hand out of her grasp, standing abruptly, needing to get away from this woman and leave this crowded hall. A now-too-familiar voice from behind you halts your progress as you quickly make your way around the end of the long table, looking for your husband.

“Hmm, leaving so soon, Lady Stokeworth, and without even gracing me with your beautiful smile or a kind word?”

You take a moment to try and compose yourself before turning to face the Prince Regent. Standing several feet from you, dressed all in black, his long leather doublet is adorned with a gold chain draped across the front, a belt around his trim waist, and the Conqueror's crown atop his silvery head. While the eye patch covers his missing eye, the other's lustful stare is enough to convey his intentions. With an ever-present smirk on his lips, he beckons you towards him with an extended hand.

Taking a deep breath as you approach, you place your smaller hand in his, feeling the roughened skin of his fingers grasp your soft skin. Somehow, despite your shaking legs, you manage to gracefully give him a deep curtsey. Finally meeting his eye, you find your voice to say, “Your Grace.”

Never taking his lilac gaze from you, he leans down, placing a kiss on your hand, letting his lips linger far longer than is proper. He straightens to his full height and tilts his head, never releasing your hand. “You seem upset, my lady,” he comments, his voice low.

His larger hand completely envelops yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your smooth skin as he draws you even closer to him. “Tis nothing, your grace. I was just going to look for my husband.”

“Then I will keep the most beautiful lady in the realm company until your dear husband is found,” he insists, while resting his other hand at your waist.

If you close your eyes, the velvety smooth tone of his voice would be soothing, but the way he looks at you—the sharp gleam in his eye and the covetous smile on his pointed lips—is anything but calming. He reminds you of a cunning predator stalking prey, and you are his prey. Knowing you must tread carefully with him, you offer no resistance; even when he leans so close, you can smell the wine on his breath.

“My sweet lady, you’re trembling, and you look like a frightened doe ready to run to safety,” his voice murmured in your ear. “I can assure you, there is no safer place for you than with me.”

Trying to steady your breathing, you can only plead, “Please your grace; this is most improper, and people will get the wrong impression.”

A sharp intake of breath from him hints at his annoyance. “People already know, and I don’t give a shit what they think.” His fingers dig into the flesh of your hip as he hisses, "You distract me to no end; at a time, I cannot afford to be distracted."

Although you are in a room filled with people, you have never felt more alone. You know no one will come to your aid, no matter how obvious your distress is, with the Prince Regent at your side. “If I am such a distraction, perhaps it would be best if I were to be allowed to return to Castle Stokeworth…”

“I forbid it!” his voice angrily raises, loud enough to draw looks from those nearby. Aemond now looms over you, making no effort to hide his ire. “I have been more than patient with you. You will come to me,” he insists, before turning on his heel and stalking off, motioning for the Hand of the King to follow him.

He leaves you standing alone, shaking. Glancing around, you can see everyone staring at you. Lady Rosby looks at you with disappointment on her face. You see your husband off to the side of the room, his brow furrowed and his lips drawn in a thin line, but his expression is unreadable to you. Gathering your skirts, you hastily flee the room, heedless of the people you brush past, needing to be away from the Targaryen court's stares.

By the time you reach your chambers, you are out of breath with tears streaming down your cheeks. Allowing yourself to fall onto your bed, you lay there weeping inconsolably, only rising after a short time when your maid requests entry. Though she is soft-spoken and kind, you don’t feel comfortable showing the depths of your despair around the servants.

After wiping your eyes and trying to put on a brave face, you let her help you out of your dress and into a thin nightdress to help keep you cool on these warm nights. She removes your jewelry and wipes your skin with a damp cloth. The nightly ritual helps to calm you somewhat.

Since you left the dinner early, it is not late at all. You dismiss your maid, letting her have the rest of the evening to herself since you plan to remain in your chambers, perhaps writing a letter to your older sister. She is married herself and now a mother. The two of you have always been close, and maybe confiding in her will help you. You miss your sister and your family dearly. Your family may be a small, minor house, but the faith of the Seven and a steadfastness to always act honorably have been ingrained in you since you were a little girl. Your upbringing was strict and proper for a lady, but other than clinging to your values, you have no idea how to deal with the situation you now find yourself in.

Your marriage was arranged and could hardly be called a love match, but you have no reason to complain. You are not mistreated, and Lord Stokeworth already has children from his first lady wife, who sadly died of an illness. Indeed, little is demanded of you by your husband. You do not share much closeness, and there still remains a formality to your marriage. You make every effort to engage your husband in conversation, asking about his interests, but he is a quiet man who seems content with you being more of an occasional companion than a friend or partner.

You are still deciding if you want to write a letter or try to read when the chamber door opens and your husband enters the room. The stern expression on his face worries you. He, like you, had hoped that the Prince Regent would turn his attention elsewhere.

“I’m sorry. I wanted him to see reason…” You begin before he waves you off with his hand.

Nervously twisting your fingers while you watch your husband pour himself a generous cup of wine, waiting for him to speak. The two of you have surprisingly talked little about the Prince Regent, mostly your repeated promises that you have no intention to dishonor your marriage by giving in to his desires.

“I just spoke with the Prince Regent and his Hand,” he begins after taking a deep drink before forcefully setting the cup down. He remains standing by the table, resting his hands on the surface.

Despite months of marriage, you still find it difficult to read your husband. You can tell he is clearly distressed, but with Prince Regent Aemond or with you, you cannot tell.

“In four days, I am to personally lead my men to join the garrison at Rook’s Rest. The Hand believes that Lord Mooton of Maidenpool will lead a force to try and retake it,” he informs you, his voice hard and bitter. “It will be my responsibility to hold the settlement for the greens.”

Your mind races trying to understand the implications of this. Your husband is not a warrior; his strength lies in administering his lands and supplying food to King’s Landing. It does not take long for the true meaning of this to dawn on you.

“He will send you into battle. Because of me.“ Your heart sinks as you utter those words.

Your husband taps his fingers on the tabletop. “He also said that you could persuade him to change his mind.”

Your mouth gapes open in shock, and a knot of dread forms in the pit of your stomach. "He resorts to this to force me into his bed," you mutter quietly, as a flicker of anger lights within you. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you begin to pace. “There must be a way we can leave King’s Landing.”

Your husband’s head snaps up. “Don’t be ridiculous. There is nowhere we could go where he could not find us, and he would seize my holdings, Castle Stokeworth, and leave me with nothing!” Glaring at you, he continues, “My head would end up on a pike.”

Once again, tears begin to fill your eyes. The thought of your husband being forced to fight and possibly being killed in battle because you choose to honor your marriage vows and remain true to your husband fills you with despair.

“There is only one way to deal with this, and you must do it.”

Now it is your head that snaps up to stare at your husband. “What are you saying?”

Draining his cup of wine before refilling it, he looks at you pointedly and says, “You will go to the Prince Regent, and you will yield to his wishes.”

His words are like a slap to your face, so stunned you are. Feeling tremors throughout your body, you struggle to speak. “You would send me to another man’s bed?” you ask incredulously. “I am your wife, and you tell me to become his whore?”

Sighing, as if exasperated by the subject, he responds sullenly, “I do not care for it either, but I cannot risk my holdings, and I have no wish to die on a battlefield.” Your husband begins unfastening his doublet, walking away from you and towards the door of your chambers. Pausing to turn to you, your husband says, “There is a kingsguard waiting outside the door. It would be best not to keep the Prince Regent waiting; he is expecting you.” The tone of his voice makes it clear that he wishes for no further discussion on the subject.

Your tears are burning your eyes; you can only stammer, “Now? Like this?"

“Serving the realm sometimes means making sacrifices we do not wish to make. I see no other choice in the matter,’ he says resolutely as he opens the door and motions for the kingsguard to enter, instructing, “Please escort Lady Stokeworth to the Prince Regent.”

Shame and panic at being escorted through the Red Keep in your nightdress to be delivered to the Prince Regent threaten to overwhelm you. Anger and dismay that your own husband refuses to stand up for your honor in any way after you have spent weeks and months agonizing over Prince Aemond's advances leave you shaking. Only the lifelong teaching of obedience and your pride prevent you from falling apart completely.

Glancing at the guard, who is managing to keep his expression impassive, you allow yourself a moment to rally your composure. “One moment, please, Ser.” You walk over to a wardrobe that holds many of your clothes, searching until you find a light cloak. After you place it around your shoulders and fasten the clasp at your throat, you turn to follow the guard without another look towards your husband. Your anger is prompting your actions as you refuse to be paraded through the Keep to the Prince Regent in your nightdress for all to see.

The guard leads you part way down the corridor as you once again try to ignore your surroundings by keeping your head down. You are surprised when the guard stops and opens a door that you had never noticed before, so well concealed as part of the wall.

When he senses your hesitation, the guard quietly says, “A private passageway. We will encounter no others along the way, my lady.”

Giving him a nod, you follow him, grateful that at least half of the Keep will not see your shame at being led to the Prince Regent’s chambers. Your stomach is in knots, but strangely, you are not afraid. Your anger at your husband’s surrendering your honor and placing everything else he has above you is steeling you in an odd way. Before long, you exit the passageway, only to find yourself in an empty hallway. The kingsguard knocks on the nearest door, waiting for permission to enter. When you hear the Prince Regent’s voice bidding entry, you take a deep breath and follow him into the chambers.

“Lady Stokeworth, your grace,” announces the guard, turning to leave the room when Prince Aemond nods his head.

Still dressed from dinner, the Prince Regent sits in a chair with his long legs crossed. Though he looks relaxed, he never takes his eye off you and does not speak.

Walking a few paces closer, you give him a small nod, only greeting him with a soft “Your grace,” trying to keep your voice steady and your eyes downcast to avoid his stare.

“You’ve been crying,” he observes, noticing your red-rimmed eyes.

Standing before him, still wearing your cloak to cover your nightdress, you press your lips together before replying, “Yes, it has been a very upsetting evening.”

“It seems as though you have not changed your mind about me, yet here you are.”

Fighting the urge to tear at your fingernails, you ball your hands into fists. “It was decided that there was no choice but to come to you.”

“Decided by you or your husband?” he asks as he uncrosses his legs.

You bite your lip, unable to speak the words; your expression and silence are your answers.

Finally rising from his seat, Prince Aemond slowly comes to stand before you, reaching out to gently brush the back of his slim finger against your cheek as you try not to flinch away from his touch. “Your husband is weak. "If you were mine, I would fight to the death before I let another man have you," he promises, his voice sounding oddly soft and gentle to you. “I would kill any man who even dared to think of touching you. I would protect you.”

You cannot hold back a slight huff. “Protect me? You have done nothing but torment me.” You try to keep still while Aemond slowly circles around you, staying far too close and resting his large hand on your shoulder. “Why me? I’ve never done anything to give you the impression that I want this.”

Aemond leans in to inhale the scents of the oils you use in your hair and bath, trying to identify the fragrances he finds alluring. “You have tormented my thoughts and dreams since I first saw you, a dazzling jewel that outshines all of the dull rabble that makes up this court.” He continues as he slides his hand over your cloak's clasp at the base of your throat. “Over are the days where I silently watch lesser men being given the things I deserve, things that I desire.”

With those words, he unfastens the clasp of your cloak, letting it fall from your shoulders to puddle around your slippered feet. You feel his body press against your back; his long, slim fingers gently wrap around your throat, forcing your head back to rest against his shoulder. When his arm snakes around your waist, you suck in your breath, and you feel his mouth brush against your ear, finding the spot where he can feel the beating of your heart beneath his lips.

Until you hear his whisper, “Breathe, my sweet,” you don’t realize you have been holding your breath.

“I have imagined this moment so many times and in so many different ways,” he murmurs against your skin. “When I was angry at your resistance, I wanted you on your knees, begging me to fuck you.” He pauses to suck and nips your neck hard enough to be sure it will mark you as his, before soothing the tender spot with flicks of his tongue. “When my impatience threatened to get the better of me, I thought of tearing the clothes from your body, holding you down, and fucking you hard until you screamed.”

You gasp at hearing his vulgar descriptions of what he could do to you and what he has thought about doing to you. His grip on your throat tightens slightly, and you feel his large palm roaming over the curves of your body, with only the thin silken fabric of your nightdress as a barrier to his touch.

But his touch is having an effect on you, despite your wish to remain unmoved by him.

Your head instinctively turns toward Aemond’s face, and he seizes the opportunity to kiss your lips. His kiss is not soft; it is hungry and demanding, with his tongue pushing past your teeth and exploring your mouth. You do not resist, letting him have his way as your hand moves to grip his leather-sleeved arm to steady yourself.

Barely pausing for breath, he maneuvers you so that you are now facing him, wrapping his sinewy arms around you, holding you tightly as he grinds himself against you, while his lips never cease kissing you, only pausing to quickly murmur, “My cock aches for you.”

You can only manage a whispered "Your grace..." before he smothers your words with his lips against yours, then softly growls, "No, use my name."

Your arms have wrapped around his shoulders, your fingers tangling in his long silken hair. Shock that he is stirring feelings inside you that you have never felt before pierces through the haze of your mind. A flash of shame that your body is coming alive with pleasure that you have never felt from your husband’s touch is quickly brushed aside. When you utter his name and begin to return his kisses with equal fervor, he takes it as your accedence to his desires.

Part of your loose gown slips down your arm, exposing more skin for his lips to taste as he trails hot, wet kisses along the contours of your shoulder while allowing him to slip his hand inside, marveling at how your breast fills his large hand.

A soft moan escapes your mouth as he rubs his thumb over your nipple, causing it to stiffen into a firm peak. Your small hand grasps the back of his neck, squeezing the way his hand held your throat. You barely notice when he pushes your gown further down until it slides off your body to join your discarded cloak because he has lowered his lips to your bosom, sucking and teasing your nipple with his mouth while his hand kneads your other breast, rolling your hard, sensitive peak between his long fingers.

"Perfect tits, so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin before flicking his tongue over your nipple. Wonderful sensations spread throughout your body, and warmth pools between your legs as you watch him toy with your breasts.

As thin fingers prod your folds and uncover the moisture that seeps from your cunt, you softly whimper. Your head leans against his chest when he slides two long fingers knuckle deep inside you and teases little circles around your pearl with the calloused pad of his thumb.

"Gods, you're fucking soaked," he grunts in your ear, over the sloppy wet sounds coming from between your legs. “Tell me you want my cock. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

You bite your lip to keep yourself from answering, not willing to shame yourself by uttering the words he wants to hear, but you cannot bring yourself to tell him to stop either. Only your arm around his shoulders and your weight against him hold you up.

With a curse, he abruptly stops, withdraws his hand, and scoops you up in his arms, carrying you over to his bed and dropping you down on top of the covers.

The realization that you are completely naked to his gaze pushes through the fog of your mind, but the sight of him ripping the buckles of his doublet open and tossing it to the floor before he continues to strip himself as naked as you, save his eye patch, keeps you in place. You can’t help but stare at his lithe, muscled body, decorated with patches of fine, pale hair in the center of his chest and between his lean legs, where his hard cock juts out.

"I want to taste your cunt," he said, his voice sounding like a low, strained growl as strong hands yank you closer to him.

Your eyes go wide when he pushes your legs wide apart so he can kneel between them. When you feel his tongue start licking your most private parts, you can’t hold back the soft shriek you make. You're not sure whether it's the sensation or the shock of what he is doing.

Aemond looks up at your face curiously for a second before asking, “Your husband has never done this to you, has he?”

The slight shake of your head with your lips parted in surprise puts a smirk on his face, knowing that he will be the first to taste your dripping cunt. He keeps his eye on you as he places a kiss on your sensitive bud before he starts swirling his tongue around your cunt, loving the expressions on your face.

You try to maintain eye contact, but soon the intensifying sensations have you throwing your head back and biting your lip to keep from moaning out loud. Before long, his alternating licking and sucking have your thighs quivering as a winding tightness deep inside you threatens to snap.

Just as your body is about to experience your release, he takes his mouth from your folds, resting his chin on your thigh. He watches you whimper as tears of frustration threaten to spill from your eyes.

“My dear Lady Stokeworth,” he purrs against your skin. “I wonder, how does your husband fuck you? "Does he just have you lie there with your nightdress pulled up while he ruts into you?"

You feel the burn of his words' accuracy on your skin, but you will not acknowledge them. Forcing yourself up to rest on your elbows to look at him as tears roll from your eyes, you know he sees the truth all over your face.

Between wet kisses on the flesh of your thigh, he murmurs, “Tell me you want me, and I will give you your release and so much more.”

Choking back a sob and looking away from him, you barely whisper a yes, accepting that you want to feel more of the pleasure he can give you—pleasure that your husband does not.

“Look at me,” he demands. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you."

As you struggle with yourself, you feel a long finger slide inside you as a teasing reminder of the pleasure you seek, your need compelling you to give in to his wishes. “Don’t stop…please.”

He inflames your arousal further by flicking your stimulated pearl with his tongue. “You will have to do better than that, my lady. You know what I want to hear; now say it." His voice was a low growl.

As you moan your capitulation, the last shreds of your resistance shatters, leaving you with one last spark of rebellion. "Yes, Aemond. I will be your whore. Please don’t torment me any longer, just fuck me,” your voice trailing into a needy whine as tears flow freely now.

Knowing that he finally has your complete submission, Aemond can't resist one last dig: "Tonight, you finally learn how a real man fucks."

With an arm wrapped around your hip to hold you in place, his mouth descends upon your cunt while pumping two long fingers in and out of your tight walls. Fastening his lips to your bud, he relentlessly licks and sucks like a starving man finally allowed to feast.

Your back arches from the bolts of pleasure taking over your body as you fist the blanket you lay on. It does not take long for him to bring you back to the edge of delirium, and this time you do not resist, allowing yourself to be swept away when the warm tightness deep inside you snaps. Your peak leaves you whimpering and shuddering, moreso because he does not cease swirling his tongue through your folds, lapping up the sweet juices that flow from you throughout your release.

Panting, you begin to beg, ”Please, too much.” Your hand goes to the top of his silvery head, weakly trying to push him back.

Surprisingly, he does pull back and rise to his feet before joining you on the bed. “I could spend hours tasting you, but I have waited long enough. My cock aches to be inside you.”

When he moves your body as if you were a doll, you compliantly let him. When you manage to open your eyes, he is kneeling between your legs, stroking his long, hard cock as he takes in the vision of you sprawled wantonly on his bed.

Your breath catches at the sight of him now that your tears have stopped. His sharp features, sculpted limbs, and pale skin capture your attention before he presses the reddish weeping tip of his length against your soaking cunt, coating himself in your wetness.

He does not hesitate when he lines his cock with your entrance, thrusting deeply and sheathing himself fully within you with a soft grunt. Pausing for a few seconds to revel in the warm tightness surrounding his cock, his eye stares down, enjoying the sight of your now joined bodies. He slowly withdraws before plunging back in to the hilt, just to savor the image his eye sees.

His size makes you gasp—not from pain, but from a wondrous, stretching fullness that you've never felt before. Instinctively, you spread your legs wider, bend your knees for his slim hips, and arch up to fully receive him.

“Gods, woman, you’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs as he gazes at your body, now completely open to him. With a muffled growl, he takes hold of your arms, allowing one of his strong hands to pin your slender wrists above your head.

As his hard thrusts find a steady rhythm, you feel the palm of his hand moving down your body, pausing to fondle a breast as they bounce from the force of his hips rocking into yours, his heavy stones slapping against your flesh every time he buries himself in you. His cock moves over the bundle of nerves in your walls, pulling soft whimpers from your lips.

He is not fucking you gently; he has waited too long to be gentle. The bed creaks from his forceful thrusts, which fill you again and again. You can see him looming over you, with long strands of hair flowing over his shoulders and sweat glistening on his skin. As he relentlessly fucks you, his curved lips pull back, baring his teeth as his eye roams over your face and body as if trying to commit the sight to memory.

"Ahh, you're taking my cock so well," he murmurs, breathing hard with his own exertion and building pleasure. ‘Fuck, you feel too good.”

You find his praise strangely thrilling, and you strain against his hand gripping your wrists, wanting to cling to him as the nerves inside your walls blaze with each powerful stroke of his cock, but you are only able to writhe helplessly, pinned as you are beneath him as your body rocks with each hard thrust.

The tightening coil of pressure is building deep within you, and when you bite your lip to keep from moaning loudly, he admonishes gruffly, “No, I want to hear you. I want everyone to know that you are mine.”

Finally letting go of your wrists so he can move his hand between your bodies, he finds your swollen bud and starts rubbing with the roughened pads of his fingers, making it impossible to stay quiet.

A strangled cry escapes you as a burst of euphoria races through your body, every nerve coming alive at once, causing you to dig your nails into his fair skin as you cling to him as waves of bliss carry you.

As your own peak washes over you, your walls clench around his cock. His thrusts become more erratic as his own release follows quickly. Giving one final deep stroke, his body shudders as his cock twitches and spurts his seed deep inside you.

Both of you lay together, with more of his weight pressing down on you, hearts pounding and bodies trembling and entwined. His breath is hot against your skin as he nuzzles his nose along your neck while your bodies try to calm.

After a few moments, he rolls to lay beside you, his arm bringing you with him to almost reverse positions, with you now resting on his chest as he holds you tightly. Being so close to him, you begin to notice little details. There is something exotic about the way he smells: masculine scents of smoke and leather, faint hints of sweat mixed with sandalwood and musk. You think it strange that your mind chooses to mull over what he smells like at a time like this, after what you have just done.

“You are not leaving; you will stay with me tonight,” he tells you, his voice soft but making it clear that he will have no argument from you.

He gets his way after both of you rise briefly to clean yourselves. You return to find him standing by his bed, the blankets now turned down, waiting to ensure your return. You discover that he has no qualms about walking about his chambers naked, and he discourages you from retrieving your nightdress from the floor.

Neither of you speak much; both of you seem lost in your thoughts. You have no idea what to say; your mind is filled with conflicting feelings. Your night is spent in his large bed with his warm body stretched out behind you, his arm over your waist, holding you close. Soon, the room is silent, with only the sounds of Aemond’s steady breathing coming from behind you. Because your mind cannot rest, sleep does not come as quickly for you.

You are not upset with the prospect of spending the night in the prince’s bed, for you have no wish to be with your husband right now. Your anger and disappointment are too fresh, but you realize you should not be surprised. You’ve experienced more in a few short hours than in the past months of your marriage. Aemond made you feel wanted and gave you pleasure that you did not know existed—his ardor and prowess are something you do not think your husband is even capable of.

Even this, simply laying together and being held, is new to you. Normally, once your marital relations are finished, you return to your separate beds. Here you feel a warm body against yours, the hairs on his legs against your smooth skin as your limbs entwine.

As his warmth lulls you to sleep, you think that though you may be called the Prince Regent’s whore by the court, you could grow to like being in these chambers.

“Are you ready? We should not keep your husband waiting.” Aemond comes to stand next to you, taking your hand in his. The conqueror’s crown already sits atop his head, and his kingsguard stands by the door.

Returning his smile with one of your own as he places your hand on his arm, you begin your walk to see the men off to battle, including your husband, Lord Stokeworth, leading his compliment of men. You have not seen your husband since you were escorted to the prince’s chambers. The next morning, Aemond ordered your belongings moved to his royal chambers and asked you to remain there.

Since then, the two of you have spent every possible moment together. Aemond has not neglected his duties, but he has returned to you as quickly as he can. You’ve had supper together in his chambers every evening and spent the nights exploring each other’s bodies in his bed and a few other places as well. Since Aemond insisted on showering you with gifts, you've spent your days with dressmakers and jewelers.

You can see the stares and hear the gasps as people part to make way for the Prince Regent, as he escorts you on his arm through the Keep as if you were his queen. No longer will you try to ignore the stares by keeping your eyes downcast, for the man who wears the conqueror’s crown and rides the largest dragon has promised you will be treated with the utmost respect as his lady. Along the way, Lady Rosby catches your eye with a sly smile and nods her head.

This is the first time you have been seen publicly with Aemond since being sent to his bed by your own dear husband. For months, the prince’s attention filled you with shame, and you thought submitting to his desires would devastate you; instead, the opposite happened. Your night with Aemond showed you how a man could make you feel, as well as how cold and empty your marriage was.

Your husband may have sent you to Aemond's bed, but you will gladly stay there by choice and enjoy it for as long as it lasts.

Stepping out of the Keep and into the hazy sunlight, you see a small crowd has gathered, not to wish farewell to men possibly heading off to their deaths in battle but to see the Prince Regent send the husband of his long-sought-after bedmate off to his possible death.

After a short speech from the Hand of the King with words of duty, honor, and glory in battle, the men begin to ride past to start their journey. To your Lord Stokeworth’s credit, he does not even glance at you as he rides past.

You know he believed that by sending you to Aemond, the order sending him to battle would be rescinded, allowing him to continue to serve here in the safety of the Red Keep. He trusted that you would beg Aemond to spare him; you could have, but you didn't.

#other peoples writing #aemond targaryen #I LOVE THIS SO FLIPPIN MUCH #lyn blessing us with this stunning story

87 notes · View notes

marthawrites · 1 day

Text

can you believe that we have fanfiction. that we have websites dedicated to fanfiction. that there is a place that you can go and read tens, hundreds, thousands and thousands of pieces of writing that strangers have made. people who are not "writers". people who come home at the end of the day and have feelings and say, i am going to put that into words. i am going to share those words. short, long, sweet, sad, horny, funny, wonderful words. we are all just human and we all love to make and remake and share that with others. can you believe that.

#it's a beautiful time to be alive #truly #so much love and respect to fic writers #<3

33K notes · View notes

marthawrites · 1 day

Text

RHAENYRA + GRIEF.

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #:'(

633 notes · View notes

marthawrites · 1 day

Text

Get to know Olivia Cooke in 60 seconds via The Sunday Times Style on Instagram

#olivia cooke #facts #<3 #30s have been the best so far because of this #embracing my teenage “cringe” and having FUN #life is too short

1K notes · View notes

marthawrites · 1 day

Text

there ARE nsfw blogs. there are workarounds. you dont have to reblog "fuck your mutual from behind friday" to your main. though i guess i can't stop you

#its all on main in this house

41K notes · View notes

marthawrites · 2 days

Text

The way this chapter has had me EMOTIONAL 😭🥺😭 The sun and moon being made from the final silver leaf and golden fruit from the trees of Valinor!!! And still the splendor of the sun and moon pales in comparison to the trees!!! Which now only exists in the silmarils!!!! AHHHHHH!! (and if you're wondering, no!, I'm not okay!)

#jrr tolkien #the silmarillion #i screamed about this on fb and only my husband reacted #buncha losers #im already screaming about this book to him in the evenings #need to yell about this here too for anyone who might see!!!#ANYWAY IM NOT OKAY

7 notes · View notes

marthawrites · 2 days

Text

Wooowowowow!!! 🤯 This was such an angsty treat! I really loved the descriptions of the political side of the war, and the effects it's had on Aemond. The hint at what might happen at Dragonstone was super painful and felt more than realistic for this setting and overall story (not just this fic, but F&B in general).

The smut was emotional. And intense! Considering the circumstances, it was written great! The dragonesque descriptions of Aemond were 👌👌👌 And his sapphire briefly glowing? Ahhh so good!

Loved everything about this, Ez!

Atone From a Lone Prayer

Pairing • Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Tags • toxic relationship, slapping, name calling, choking, rough sex, consensual sex

Wordcount • 2,765 words

This work contains domestic abuse. Both Aemond and his wife are abusive toward one another, they are physically violent and verbally abusive toward each other.

This lust is a burden that we both share; two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer. Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt.

—David Kushner, Daylight

On that night a storm was wracking the great, crimson frame of the Red Keep. An air of sickness and decay had polluted the hallways and corrupted the minds of many—King Aegon was dying from his wounds, a slow death that kept everyone suspended to his every breath, starting with your husband Aemond.

For months now the whole court hung to the King’s every gasps and heaves, hoping for a sane word, for a sign that his health was improving.

But as lost as he was to the milk of the poppy the Maester supplied him lest he wailed in agony, his thoughts didn’t seem to stay on the right path and wandered to unstable lands. Aegon was utterly lost, and would never be able to rule again.

Instead the crown had passed to his younger brother Aemond, and even if at first he took on the burden with gratefulness and eagerness, he only grew weary as time went by.

You started to think that the Conqueror’s crown had some sort of dark magic associated with it, that it corrupted all it touched and leeched the spirits of the man who wore it.

You had convinced Aemond not to wear it for a fortnight, and for some foolish reason that had to do with his devotion to you, he had accepted. However it had borne no fruit, and Aemond still grew more sullen and quicker to anger.

You came to realize it wasn’t the crown, but the station—the realm was still at war, with no clear victor. The troops were exhausted as winter advanced, and some sort of stalemate had been reached when it came to political advantages and alliances.

Something had to give, somewhere, or they would remain stuck in this neverending conflict for years to come, and the weight of that responsibility fell on your husband’s shoulders.

As the storm was picking up speed and force outside, wreaking havoc on the dilapidated gardens, the windows of the small council room shook.

Late-night meetings were not a rare occurrence, but you hardly ever sat in them anymore. It was not that the subtleties of politics were lost on you, simply that you had grown weary of the men’s ease to resort to senseless violence, and the blindness it caused.

“We need to take Dragonstone if we are to succeed, your grace,” Lord Tyland offered, ever so certain of the validity of his own opinion. “If we cannot cut the monster’s head for now, we can at least crush its eggs.”

Aemond seemed to consider the proposal for a moment, and your stomach turned to stone. Feebly, you spoke up. “Surely you are not suggesting we assassinate Daemon and Rhaenyra’s young sons?”

“It might be our only way to gain advantage,” Aemond replied in a smooth, even tone. “No matter how distasteful it is.”

“Distasteful?” you gasped. “There is no strong enough word coming to my mind to describe the horror of what you are considering.”

“If you are not here to support his grace, perhaps you should retire to your chambers, my queen,” Tyland continued, and the insult felt like a slap to the face. You turned to Aemond, expecting him to come to your defense, but his next words crucified you to the spot instead.

“If those talks are too difficult for you, my wife, then it is best you retire,” Aemond said in what you could have considered tenderness once—now you only perceived it as a cold dismissal. “I will join you shortly.”

A heavy silence fell over the room as you swallowed your protest and your mounting tears, instead retreating with your head high. As you walked back to the chambers you shared with Aemond, which was uncommon for a royal husband and wife, hot tears stained your face and nausea curled your stomach.

You had only begun to settle your nerves again when the heavy doors to your chambers creaked loudly and Aemond entered, and the gentle slam of the door as it closed resonated in the silent rooms. Your back was to him but you refused to turn, frightened of what you would see on his noble features.

“Did you reach a conclusion?” you asked bitterly. “Did you order the murder of innocent children?”

“I did what I had to do,” Aemond replied placidly, and as you turned to look him in the eye, he witnessed the struggle of your heart. Time seemed to move differently across your face, as in a split second he saw your features contort into utter surprise, then confusion, only to settle on sorrow.

"Who are you," you whispered through your teeth as though you were seeing a ghost. "I don't recognize you anymore."

"Oh don't be ridiculous," he spat out in answer, his temper flaring quickly. He was exhausted and dreamed only of resting his weary head on your chest and finding comfort in your sweet embrace.

He hated how you had a flair for the dramatic, your emotions always spilling out—he had loved that quality about you in the first months of your marriage, as he had never seen anyone so joyful and passionate as you.

However war had tarnished you, as it had tarnished many other things he loved. Little by little your joy had faded into frustration rather than sorrow, and nothing he could do seemed to please you anymore.

"Oh but it is true," you thundered, your voice rising in the air as you clutched the sides of your dress, ready to pull your skirts up and flee his company. You could hardly seem to look at him these days, even less stand to breathe the same air as him. “I don’t recognize the man you’ve become.”

“Can we not leave the troubles of the realm outside, for once?” he asked, desperate for a moment of respite.

"How dare you. Night after night you come here, bearing nothing but your bitterness and I have to be silent and take it!" you shouted.

Aemond recoiled, a ragged breath leaving his mouth, strangely akin to a dragon's groan. When he had vowed to cherish and protect you before the Gods, you had in return vowed to love and obey him and never before had you put those vows into question. You had been the steel in his back all these months as he bore the heavy weight of the crown, and your resentment of him felt like the cruelest of betrayals.

"Well I have had enough of it!" you wailed as he failed to answer.

The sorrow of the last months escaped through a sob, but when the breath returned to your lungs there was nothing else to it but a pain that burned your stomach. Your insides twisted as it mounted in you and a strange sort of pleasure curled around your heart as you released your venom.

"You thought you could do it, couldn't you? And easily so," you sneered, a twisted smile tugging at your lips. "You thought that given the opportunity you could easily replace your brother on the throne but the truth is you are not cut out for it either!"

Aemond marched to you, determined to silence you and to have your submission but you were relentless. You rushed around the dinner table, still holding your skirts as though you could lift yourself up with them, floating above him as he was powerless to take the brunt of your anger.

"You were born a second son because you are not made to be the heir, to be the king!" you almost spat in his face as he rounded the table and came to tower over you.

"Enough of your insults!" he roared as you stepped back, your elbow colliding with the back of the chairs until you had circled the dining area completely and retreated into the reading nook of your chambers.

Aemond's handsome face was contorted in fury and you knew your words had cut him deeper than he would ever admit. You felt both sick to your stomach and utterly triumphant, a storm of contradicting emotions swaying you from left to right.

"Did you really think you could throw your insults and I would take them without answer? Did you really think you could anger the dragon and not get burned?" he thundered as you stumbled back, catching yourself on a nearby bookshelf. "Answer me, wife!"

Your answer came swiftly, but not in words—his cheek stung as you struck him across the face with the flat of your hand.

"You will pay for that," he growled, his sharp features twisting in utter fury.

You felt the scales tip and your advantage failed you. You knew Aemond's anger to be formidable, and you were distantly aware that his carefully composed demeanor hid a cruel sense of righteousness. What he deemed to be his he took mercilessly, and held a taste of revenge close to his heart.

In your sudden fear you raised your hand again, only crying out as he caught your wrist in his vice-like grip. "Release me at once!" you wailed.

"Not until you have paid for your offense," he declared.

"The only offense here is your weakness, your impotence," you taunted, but it was pure folly. “Your resort to senseless cruelty because it is the only weapon you possess!”

Your own trap had closed around you and you were now throwing yourself fully into it—you had fallen into the dragonpit, knowing full-well you could not climb out, and instead of curling into a corner you decided to face the dreaded fire.

Aemond fell for the bait as you knew he would, but instead of an answering slap to the face he pulled you by the wrists and spun you. Your breath was knocked out of your chest as your back collided with the writing desk, Aemond lifting you until you were lying flat atop it, your wrists pinned above your head.

“You have never witnessed senseless cruelty from me,” he rasped, his face coming closer to yours. In the dark of the stormy night his violet iris seemed pitch black. “But if that is all you think me capable of, then I shall not disappoint you.”

Before you could comprehend his words or reconstruct his line of thought, Aemond had grabbed a nearby letter opener and slid it under the laces at the front of your dress, effectively cutting through them and opening your corset. “Aemond, no!” you cried out, but even with only one hand he was strong enough to hold both your wrists.

He ignored you, the shadow of a grin pulling at his mouth as he threw the letter opener away and pushed one of your knees up, breathing through your attempted kicks like you were a mere feather struggling in his grip. You cried as he pushed your legs apart, and finding his way on your body with practiced ease, teased what he was about to do with a swipe of his thumb.

It had been weeks since he had shown any interest in touching you, and his gesture angered you rather than frightened you.

“Am I so cruel now,” his voice rumbled against your chest as he dipped his head, licking a trail across your exposed breast.

His hand retreated from your body and fiddled somewhere else between your splayed knees—you heard the sound of a belt coming undone, metal buckles clinking.

“Damn you! Damn you to the Seven Hells you pathetic—”

You cried out as he pushed into you in one, smooth thrust. He groaned aloud as he sheathed himself fully—you were tight, almost unbearably so, and he laughed as you struggled, bitter tears stinging the corner of your eyes.

"It hurts," you whined, and he pressed his victorious grin to your pleading mouth. "You are hurting me."

"No more than you hurt me," he hissed, his hand coming to grip your face viciously. He looked more gaunt in that moment than ever before; outside the storm was raging and as lightning struck, his sapphire seemed to glow for a split-second, startling you into submission.

Aemond pressed on the delicate column of your neck and you complied, parting your lips to catch some air. Instead his mouth descended on yours and you sighed as his cock dragged against the rough spot that made your core clench despite yourself, despite the burn of the sudden stretch. Burning pleasure swirled along with the stinging pain and you swallowed your moan, refusing it to him.

"Am I still so weak and impotent?" he asked as he thrusted into you relentlessly, making the desk rattle against the wall loudly.

"Yes," you replied through gritted teeth.

Finally, you freed your hands from his grip, suspecting he had let you go, curious of what you would do. To your own surprise you reached up and gripped his hair at the back of his head, forcing him to look at you—you knew how he hated to show his face when he was in the throes of pleasure, how conscious he was of the marks in his skin.

His protest came in the form of a rougher thrust that made you cry out in pain, and his grip tightened on your neck. You pulled his hair roughly and he snarled, his white teeth flashing as he choked the breath from your throat.

“You are weak and pathetic, and if you think I will take pleasure from your cruelty then you are wrong,” you sobbed with the last breath he allowed you before pressing forward again, making you heave.

“You love me,” he hissed. “You love me when I am tender, you love me when I am cruel.”

Tears stung your eyes once again and you tried to shake your head, to refuse him once again, but the heat of his embrace was the only comfort you had found in him in weeks, if not months. The familiar pull of his body was indeed a cruelty, as it was taunting you with your own ruin.

He stilled, buried in the cradle of your hips and buried in your soul, and you couldn’t find it in your heart to send him away. He breathed in rhythm with you, two mouths panting into the humid air of the evening, and you realized with startling clarity that he was waiting—for a refusal, for an insult, for proof that he was still the man you loved.

He trembled as you gasped, and his voice was as shattered crystal when he spoke again. “Would you truly refuse me now that you see me for what I am?”

His palm found the curve of your thigh and propped your leg up on his hip, his other hand letting go of your throat to seek more of your skin. His fingers trailed the curves and lines of your body, as though by mapping you he could find his way to himself again. War had bent him out of shape until he didn’t recognize himself, and he hoped an image still remained in your memory, in your heart—an image of the young man he’d been.

In that instant you were reminded of your vows, of your pledge to remain devoted to your husband through sickness, through trials and tragedies. In the way he was looking at you, fighting against your grip that pulled his face away from yours and back into your line of sight, you found an answer.

“Even in your greatest cruelty, you are still the man I married,” you murmured, and he swallowed your next words with greed and hunger. “I would rather love a monster than fear my own husband.”

Your fingers intertwined and you surrendered, dropping your head back onto the desk—as you looked up to the ceiling, a curtain of white fell around you as Aemond pressed himself up, crowding you. You wrapped your legs around his slim waist, your nails digging into this scalp, closing your eyes as you fell prey to the relentless rhythm of his passion.

“I shall love you, no matter how monstrous this war makes you,” you vowed, and your pledge was sealed as your back bowed and your neck extended, pleasure wracking you to the core.

In his cruelty hid his greatest tragedy—that of needing to find his purpose in fear, as love was harder to give and to keep, but fear came easily to the heart. He would never be a loved king, only ever a feared regent, but in this brief taste of power he would find his perdition, you knew, and you would fall along with him.

Dividers by @saradika

Thank you to my lovelies @thenameswinter99 and @whitedarkmoonflower for helping me with this fic. I appreciate you so very much ♥️

Taglist 1: @darkenchantress @bellameshipper @itscatlien-blog @yentroucnagol @castellomargot @cardi-bre91 @avengingangelfanfic @malfoytargaryen @mari0302 @iamfandomnerd @diosademuerte @hb8301 @serrhaewinn @mariannnavao @svtansdaddyx @its-sam-allgood @amarillys92 @namgification

#other peoples writing #aemond targaryen #mind the tags!#love love love!!!

569 notes · View notes

marthawrites · 2 days

Text

SO AEGON AND AEMOND CODED!

#house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #tom glynn carney #THEY ARE SO FUNNY #i had no idea they were so funny!!!#GENUINELY #they both had me giggling and cracking up #:')

567 notes · View notes

marthawrites · 2 days

Text

youtube

GUYS

#house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #tom glynn carney #THE WAY IM GIGGLING AND SQUEAKING AND GIDDY #AHHHHH #blessed friday friends #let us feast

169 notes · View notes

marthawrites · 2 days

Text

BLACK SAILS 1.07 "VII."

#black sails #captain flint #i might rant and rave about other shows #but black sails is PERFECTION #and nothing has compared since it ended in 2017 #stunning heartbreaking beautiful lovely sad horrible wonderful awful #and then at the end...#happy #:')

4K notes · View notes

marthawrites · 2 days

Text

"There's millions of Tumblr users" to you. To me There's only about 12 and we all reblog the same five posts from each other

#<3

69K notes · View notes

marthawrites · 2 days

Text

I love how in the movies feyds harpies are never said to be his concubines, it’s just

Yeah that’s the Na-Baron and his hotbitch cannibal emotional support girl squad

#dune part two #theyre so creepy i loooveveve them #:>

200 notes · View notes

marthawrites · 2 days

Text

When I read a fanfic I like, the author becomes a mini celebrity to me. So when an author with a work I like kudos’ or comments on my own fanfic I just-

#everytime #:')

15K notes · View notes

marthawrites · 3 days

Text

all my advice about using real athletes to learn drawing bodies beyond hard abs, and my particular pref being wrestlers, also applies to women btw. you can draw women who r strong and not an hourglass shape. fucking do it.

kris statlander, rhea ripley (look at her SHAPE), willow nightingale, ruby soho, these r just four off the top of my head that have obvious musculature and different body types. skye blue and julia hart have more slim cheerleader style bodies as well, i REALLY wanted to put emi sakura who is fucking STOUT (adoring) in this post but i couldn't find a good demonstrative pic, the list goes on

DRAW DIFFERENT BODIESSSSSSSS

#WOMEN #!!!!!!#this is what i mean when i talk about being ANNOYED at women in media #all look the same #or have the same like 3 bodies #movies cartoons shows games etc etc #and art #a lot of art in general #SHOW WOMEN WITH DIFFERENT BODIES #SCREEEE #dont even get me started on plus sized women who all have have big boobs and big butt #not all women who are plus sized have big boobs and big butt #do we see that in media???#NOPE

69K notes · View notes

marthawrites · 3 days

Text

HOLY BANANAS, JESS 🥵🥵🥵

This has me feeling a mess! I love the way this entire story is set up! Also I really enjoyed the two different sides of Aemond here. The softer side with Floris, and then the rougher side he showed to the maid. Wheeeeew - his dialogue with her had me feeling THINGS 🫠🥴🫠

Prized Possession

Dark Aemond X (Maid Reader)

Warnings after the cut

Canon Aemond Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners by @arcielee

Based on THIS request

Warnings:: Cheating, Smut, Dub-con, Slight choking, a little bit of roughness.

It is a sad day at storms end. Your lady, the lady you serve, the sweet, caring, and gentle lady Floris Baratheon was to be wed in a few weeks' time.

This would normally be a cause for celebration, yet the sad look forever etched onto the face of your sweet lady made it clear that this is not the case.

She is to marry Prince Aemond Targaryen. A betrothal that brings her house closer to the crown. Yet Aemond is known for his cruelty, Lady Floris being the sweet and gentle lady she is, has been regretful for weeks wishing beyond all hope that somehow, she would be freed from his harshness, his cruelty, and the emotionless expression that sits upon his face every time he has visited storms end since the betrothal.

Lady Floris constantly wracked with fear clings closely to you, her personal chamber maid. You are but 2 years older than your lady. Assigned to work with her since childhood, the same way your elder sister was assigned to work with Lady Cassandra.

This was for the comfort of the Baratheon ladies, of course. Having a chamber maid that would grow up with them, to give them a source of comfort, someone to trust.

So, when Lady Floris requested that you accompany her to Kings Landing, you were not surprised. Ever since the announcement of the betrothal, you knew you would end up in kings landing, helping your Lady care for the little princes and princesses she would no doubt bear for her husband.

So, when the time came to leave, you packed your few belongings and hugged your sister tight and followed Lady Floris into her carriage with a heavy heart. Although you served Lady Floris, you also cared for her deeply. You knew her fears, her desires, and her dreams.

The trip was somber, but you did your best to keep her spirits up. Playing little games with strings tied around your fingers that you have played since you were girls.

When you arrived at Kings Landing, poor Lady Floris was a ball of nerves. She wanted nothing more than to run. You stood close by her as she requested her feeling safer with you by her side.

As she is once again introduced to her betrothed and the dowager Queen, you do a quick curtsy and stand behind her head down as is your place.

While they talk and exchange their pleasantries you feel as if someone is watching you. Staring into you, so harshly the hair stands up on the back of your neck. You know this isn't possible. Who would be watching you?

The rest of the night goes just as it should. You accompany Lady Floris as she walks about the grounds until it is time to return to her chambers to get her ready for her evening meal with the royal family. You assist her with her hair and dress, softly cooing to her all the while attempting to make her feel at ease.

You see her off as she takes her father's hand so he can escort her. You close the door to her chambers and continue to unpack her things. You have worked with her for so long you know exactly how she likes her things and want to make this new space as comforting to her as possible.

She has only been gone mere moments before there is a knock on the door. You chuckle to yourself thinking your Lady forgot something. When you open the door, you come face to face with her betrothed. Prince Aemond Targaryen stands before you his regality seeps from his every pore. head held high; chin pushed forward he looks down at you.

You quickly fall into a curtsy. "I-I'm sorry my prince. Your betrothed has already left, Lord Baratheon has already escorted her."

"Of that I am aware" He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. "I have actually come to see you."

"Me?" you hardly squeak out the word. Why in all of Westeros would he be there to see you?

"That scar" he gestures toward your left eye.

The thing you hate most about yourself is that horrid scar, running around with your sister and the Ladies you both serve falling, nearly gouging your own eye out, the aftermath leaving you with a jagged scar from your eyebrow to just underneath your eye. It is your most unpleasant memory.

"Childhood injury" You attempt to angle your face, so the scar is less visible.

"No need to hide it from me" He steps up close to you taking your chin in his hand and turning your head, inspecting the scar. He runs a cold course finger down the raised flesh. You cringe at the sensation.

He lowers his head to your eyebrow and places a soft kiss on the mark there, then, without a word, backs away from you and quickly exits the room.

The next few days you stay glued to Lady Floris' side. She and Aemond take walks daily trying to get to know each other. Since they are betrothed, they are not to be left alone. Thus, you are forced to accompany them on these forays around the castle.

The worst part being Prince Aemonds's ever lingering eye. He feigns interest while he allows Lady Floris to babble incessantly while almost always keeping that one cold, violent eye locked on you, and each day as Lady Floris becomes more and more besotted with the prince, you fall deeper and deeper into despair.

A week before the wedding you are walking behind Aemond and Lady Floris as Floris chatters on about her love for music when you are suddenly interrupted by a guard who was sent to collect Lady Floris and bring her to her Lord father.

When you go to follow her, the guard stops you. "He wishes to speak with her privately"

Floris turns to you and asks you to wait for her in her chambers, to which you quickly agree. You are left standing with Aemond as you watch her walk away.

Silence falls between you until you curtsy and go to take your leave. You can feel him walking behind you, and you make your way through the castle. The light tapping of his feet echoing yours.

You wait to hear his feet trail off in a different direction the closer you get to your lady's chambers, but they don't. Aemond continues to quietly follow behind you even as you arrive at your destination.

You attempt to pretend he isn't there and enter the chambers swiftly, attempting to close the door behind you. He chuckles to himself and holds the door open with his hand entering behind you.

You act shocked, "my prince! umm, did you need my assistance with something?"

Aemond says nothing just stalks closer to you until his chest is pressed up against you. You attempt to back up, but he wraps his arm around your back, pulling you tightly against him. He leans down and nibbles at your neck, sending a wave of pleasure across your delicate skin. Your eyes flutter closed as you enjoy the feeling, his hand travels down your back, pushing you tighter to his body.

When he begins to pull up the skirts of your dress, your eyelids fly open, and you push him back.

"My price," you hesitate. "You are to marry Lady Floris. This is most inappropriate. I serve her and must remain loyal to her"

You turn your head away, just briefly, but it is enough to draw his ire.

"You may be her chamber maid. You may serve her, but make no mistake, she is to be my wife, and when that happens, everything that is hers becomes mine"

You hold your breath, with your eyes downcast. As he walks toward the door to exit the room, he stops beside you and places his hand on your shoulder.

"That includes you"

He exits the room swiftly, slamming the door behind him, leaving your head reeling. There is nothing left to wonder, he has made his intentions abundantly clear, and you are torn between the loyalty and love you have for Lady Floris and the physical reaction of your body to his touch.

You do your best to avoid him over the coming week. It isn't too difficult to do since Floris has been very busy preparing for the wedding, and you have been stuck to her side.

The wedding proceeds, and you stand in the crowd proudly. Your lady looks so beautiful, so poised. The ceremony is beautiful. The feast goes well. She goes off with her new husband. He hadn't spared a glance your way the entire day. Oddly, this left you with a mix of emotions. Relief that he may have come to his senses, as well as grief that he may have come to his senses.

As wrong as you knew, it was you longed to feel his callous fingertips graze your skin. His teeth pulling at your neck. You push these thoughts out of your mind. He is with his wife, Lady Floris, whom you love and respect.

The next morning, while brushing Lady Floris' hair you inwardly cringe as she describes the events of the night before. How her new husband was so gentle with her and so sweet. How he gave her space to recover and collect her thoughts afterward.

You found this difficult to reconcile. Gentle? Sweet? Caring about the needs of others? This is not characterization that populated in your head after your encounters with the prince.

The rest of this day is exhausting Floris flouncing about excitedly telling other ladies how her husband is so misunderstood and is truly charming and loving.

You had never been so excited for a day to end. After helping Floris out of her day clothing and into her night clothing, you wish her a good night and make your way back to your chambers close by that you share with two other maids.

You couldn't have been sitting more than a minute before you are summoned to the private chambers of Prince Aemond.

You sigh and rub your eyes in frustration. The entire walk to his chambers, your thoughts are spiraling. What does he want? He is a married man! A gentle caring one, apparently! Could he be apologizing? Swearing me to secrecy?

As you knock on his door, your stomach is doing somersaults. When you hear his voice beckoning you to enter, you quickly open the door and step inside, closing the door behind you.

You slowly make your way into the room to see him sitting by the hearth rubbing the tips of his fingers against the wooden armrest of the chair in which he is sitting.

"You summoned me, my prince?" You clasp your hands together in front of you delicately on your stomach while pacing your breathing. One -two breathe one-two breathe.

He stands from the chair without a word quickly makes his way to you and grabs the back of your neck before harshly pressing his lips down on yours. You melt into the kiss for a moment before your logic prevails.

" My prince! We can not!" You stagger back slightly but he immediately advances upon you.

"You are a servant are you not?" He barks

You nod

"You belong to my wife, and my wife belongs to me." he closes the gap between you, bringing his fingers up to the side of your cheek.

"Her things are now my things." he runs his thumb across your pouty bottom lip and brings his mouth right next to your ear,

"even her most prized possession"

He starts to unlace the strings on your dress as you stand there and watch, eyes opened wide with shock.

"That makes you my servant" he pulls the dress off pushing it harshly to the floor.

"Now serve"

He pushes you back gently. You follow his lead and continue to walk back until your calfs hit the hard wooden surface of his bed frame.

He grabs you by the thighs, lifting you up and tossing you onto the bed before he quickly climbs over you like a lion stalking its prey.

"I have to give her children, a title, and a gentle husband. Everything else I give to you."

You silently stare up at him as he leans back to pull the white linen shirt he is wearing off, exposing his pale firm chest.

He leans back down, biting your neck and pushing himself up against you.

"You get the real me." As he says this, he grabs your throat and holds it tight.

He looks at you with a devilish smile as he slowly squeezes tighter and tighter. You can feel your face growing hot as you find it harder and harder to breathe before he finally releases you.

He unlaces his breeches, pulling them off hastily, and you breathe in hard, trying to regain air in your lungs.

He pushes your shift up and tears your underclothes off before bringing his hand between your legs.

He chuckles as his fingers meet the wetness there.

"You like the animal in me, don't you, sweet girl?" You don't say anything but moan softly as he moves his hand in a circular motion.

He brings his other hand back up to your throat and holds it tight. He doesn't cut off your air this time but holds you in place as he dips his long, bony middle finger inside of you. You jump a little at the feeling and he pushes back against your neck.

"So warm, so soft." he growls, and his eye locks on his hand as he moves it in and out of your body with building quickness.

You can't help but arch your back as he finds a spot inside of you that forces your body to react.

"You serve so well. You will do fine, sweet girl" he continues to move his hand while rubbing at your clit with his thumb holding you in place by the throat the whole time.

The pleasure in your lower body builds and builds with you powerless to escape it until it takes over your entire being, sending shockwaves up and down the entire length of your body.

He quickly removes his hand and replaces it with the tip of his cock dragging it along your entrance just barely tapping your clit making you twitch.

He uses one hand to guide himself into you while the other one keeps to its rightful place around your throat.

He enters you quickly, it hurts, and he knows it, and when you look at his face, you know he enjoys that fact.

He pushes himself into you repeatedly, always keeping his eye on the spot where your bodies connect, watching himself slide in and out a look of satisfaction on his face.

You whimper quietly, your body, feeling a mix of pleasure, pain, and adrenaline.

"Do you feel that sweet girl?" He coos

You nod and whimper as he increases his pace.

"That's me.....tearing you apart." he brings his mouth to your cheek and licks the tear rolling down.

He rubs your pearl with his thumb and squeezes your neck tighter again cutting off your air supply.

"Fall apart for me" he grunts while slamming into you harder.

You gasp for air as that feeling of pleasure builds back up in your lower body.

"I need you to break." he slams into you even harder, biting his bottom lip and groaning loudly.

He rubs furiously at your pearl, and for a second time, you feel your entire body shatter as you continue to attempt to breath.

He closes his eyes, enjoying the sensation of you gripping around him, then quickly pulls out, pumping himself to completion onto your stomach.

He lays back on the bed, and neither of you move for a few minutes just trying to regain your thoughts. After a bit, you get up to find something to clean yourself with. You end up just using your underclothes too afraid to use something of his.

As you pick up your clothes and start to redress yourself he stops you.

"Where are you going?" He asks, not even sitting up on the bed to look at you.

"Back to my quarters" you start to slide your dress over your body.

He finally sits up and looks at you. He grips his cock in his hand starting to pump himself again.

"Not yet, I still have need for my servant"

To be added to tag list click here

#other peoples writing #aemond targaryen #LOVE THIS #!!!!!

341 notes · View notes