#ewan mitchell headcanons

[female-hysterics]

https://www.tumblr.com/female-hysterics/756038982429753344/aegon-ii-and-aemond-are-both-the?source=share

YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THAT AND LEAVE 👁️👁️

Let me try and explain my reasoning from this post a little bit. (Won't go into to much detail unless otherwise asked)

Warnings: Dub-con/Non-Con; Aegon is his own warning tbh

Aegon, the little shit, would say and do anything to get underneath your dress. Anything. And he's arrogant enough to ignore your cries of outrage when you feel him slipping more and more inside you. Would blatantly ignore you, holding you down if he must, and tell you how much you both want it and that you feel too good to stop. That a King doesn't take orders. By then it's too late and he's buried to the hilt and grinning down at you with a charming smile

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Aemond on the other hand would whisper sweet nothing's in your ear that would actually be true, hold you even closer as you feel him ease deeper inside you as he gets lost in the feel of you, and gently shush you as you whimper and try to pull away. Of course he wouldn't like that and would tighten his grip on your hips. Would bury his face in the crook of your neck and whisper absolute filth until he's ball's deep and your helpless underneath him.

"There we go, pet. Feels much better like this"

[averagewriter-inthedark]

The Muse 🖌️| Ameond Tagaryen Headcanon

GOT/HOTD Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen marrying a noble who sketches/paints would look like:

To no surprise, your union to Aemond was a political alliance between your houses. Therefore you put on a brave face, accepted your duty, and courted the Prince for a short time before the wedding. In that time you learned a few things about Aemond, as he was rather reserved in the beginning, and you were the same. Civilized conversations, setting boundaries and expectations of the marriage, and promising not to cross the others line. 

Having fell in love with art at a young age, you were always sketching in your notebook when alone--as your father discouraged your hobbies and expected you act like the rest of the people in court. So, hidden behind the walls of your chambers or in an empty courtyard with a quill or charcoal in hand, you sketched the beauties around you. The Godswood, the Blackwater Bay. The Septa Baelor and the Red Keep. Committing the image of the Iron Throne to memory, you inked a page with the mighty chair. 

Beneath your bed you kept a trunk filled with oil paints, brushes, canvases, and other supplies you'd manage to accumulate by sneaking out to Flea Bottom with the one maid you trusted. (Not to mention you paid her a descent coin to keep your secret). All you sketched in your notebook soon took claim to a canvas. Capturing the beautiful scenery of King's Landing, you painted ships sailing in with a dragon flying in the background. Standing for hours from your bedchamber balcony, taking days or even weeks to finish the masterpiece. 

With each finished portrait, you yearned for the next. Spending all your coin and pawning off materialist things given on namedays to rather buy supplies. Soon the only person besides your maid who knew of your secret hobby/talent was Helaena. You'd often spend time with the Princess and her children that one day, when asked about things that made you happy, you told her about your art. She instantly became intrigued, requesting to see the sketches/paintings and after thinking about it you eventually did show her. 

Helaena was in awe of your work. "I've seen many paintings in the castle, and none have captured the King's Landing the way you do. You have an eye for beauty---I think you'd paint the family portraits better than the man they always hire." Soon your meetings evolved to you sitting by the windowsill sketching while Helaena focused on her embroidery while the children played. As a surprise nameday present for the Princess, you gifted her a portrait of her and the twins flying upon Dreamfyre. "This is the most thoughtful gift I've ever received. I shall cherish it forever and pass it on to my daughter when she's older." 

Around this time, you and Aemond's relationship progressed. You two went on walks, talked more and more with each day, and accompanied him to tourneys and banquets. Your admirations for him grew, turning into genuine love roughly four moons into your marriage. Long hours in the library, watching him train, and waiting for the other to arrive at the table before diving into your meal. Quality time became the thing you both valued in your relationship. Growing to compliments and light kisses to the cheek. 

Aemond had no idea of your talent. Yet he did often wonder where you'd disappear to for hours. He'd see the ink on your hands and assume you were writing letters back home. Then he noticed charcoal stains and oils on your clothes. Since your chambers were still separate, he had no knowledge of your supplies hidden under your bed or how there was an easel on the balcony where you often painted. 

It wasn't until he caught sight of the painting in the nursery that Aemond discovered your knack for the arts. Helaena had been embroidering while the children played, and you were having tea with the Queen, when Aemond asked his sister where she got the painting commissioned. Not realizing you hadn't told her brother, Helaena responded with, "Your spouse surprised me with it on my nameday. They painted it themself---Isn't it lovely?" To say he was stunned was an understatement. Aemond's jaw had dropped, scanning over the canvas with intensity, muttering so low Helaena barely heard him, "It is...exceptional."

On a mission to find you, Aemond hurried the halls with haste, now aware why you always had stains on your clothes and ink on your hands. Why you spent hours in the gardens and looked tired at breakfast. When he did eventually find you, Aemond simply said, "Why did you never tell me you liked to draw and paint?" Of course you were caught off guard, becoming nervous and shrunk under his gaze, "I did not think it was important. I was always told arts and music was not for someone of noble rank like us. I feared you'd be disappointed with me." 

Aemond was a little hurt you kept your love for art hidden but understood. And from then on he made it his goal to learn everything he could about the subject. Trading gifts of jewelry for oils, charcoals, and inks. Making sure you had enough parchment and canvases. Aemond never pressured you to show him your work, knowing how personal it is for an artist, and instead asked about your progress. Beaming at the way you instantly light up and spoke with pride. 

He had a feeling you sketched him in your notebook. Catching you glancing up at him multiple times when he reads in the library, your hand scattering across the page with ease. Aemond would purposefully maintain his position even when he's finished the book, as to not move and make you mess up. Smiling at the charcoal staining your fingers and silently hoping one day you'd allow him to see what inked your parchment. 

Completely unaware he became your source of inspiration. Your muse. You not only sketched Aemond reading, but him training in the yard. Him speaking to his mother, his brother. Aemond with the twins. Aemond watching Vhagar patrol the skies and feeding his horse. You were mesmerized with everything about him. The Prince who conquered obstacles that made you feel like you were the only person on the planet. Aemond was your heart and soul. He was your muse. 

And so on your 1-year anniversary, you surprised your husband with a gift he never would've expected. A painting of him and Vhagar. The one-eyed prince, known for his stoic nature, was nearly reduced to tears by the emotion consuming his entire being. His finger trailing over the scales of his dragon, the details of his riding gear and scar. How you managed to make it look like they were flying in the sky. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, "One day, if you allow me, I would love to have you sit for me for a portrait." 

And when that time came, Aemond sitting in his pristine clothes, bearing his sapphire eye to you as a proclamation of his love and trust for you, you brought out your finest oils and brushes. Painting the man you loved the way you saw him, a beauty in the eyes of the beholder. A muse to an artist. 

[rhaenyra-storms]

ewan saying in an interview that aemond needs to be fixed and he just wanted someone to love him… i can’t do this anymore

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

Hello :)

I saw you're writing for actress reader.

Could you maybe write a story where reader as actress has to film a very intimate scene with Aemond, and the actor Ewan is very shy about it because he is trying to be respectful towards her and he also likes her. But she is the one who is calm and profesional and guides him through it. Something like 'just look at my eyes, all is good.' while she is riding him. So this is an idea. Thank you.

Ewan was nervous about the scene, there is no doubt about it. The help and guidance from the intimacy coordinator also didn't help him. He knew he has to talk to you about it or else he might ruin the scene.

Imagine Ewan comes knocking at your trailer door right before you were about to head back to your hotel. He was a little shy and nervous as he told you his problem.

You are a professional and this is not your first intimate scene of your career. Ewan knows it's actually you who would be able to help him and not look down on him.

You were more than willing to help him and admired his dedication. For more than two hours you two practiced the scenes, guiding Ewan and telling him what to do and how to do it. You don't understand why he needs help. He is a natural. Maybe it's the self doubt.

The next day you two got ready to shoot the scene. Ewan was in full Aemond costume and you in a simple yet beautiful night dress. "Just look at me and do whatever feels natural to you," You whispered to him so no one else can hear. Ewan gave a slight nod.

The scene starts with you gently kissing him, your husband, and taking off his eye patch. Aemond finding comfort in your touch and the stress of war washing away. The scene is all about you taking care of your husband, showing him respect and love. Aemond was welcoming his wife's affection but Ewan was only seeing the girl he very much likes undressing him and herself. He doesn't want to make a fool out of himself while doing the scene, luckily you are more than willing to guide him.

"Just be my Aemond," You whispered into his ears as you mount him, and he knew exactly what to do. His hands touching you just like Aemond would have. You riding him and kissing him. You can feel Ewan actually getting hard.

Imagine Ewan pinning you against the bed, carrying on the scene. "My lovely wife, always there for him," He gives you a passionate kiss. His body completely covering yours. You thought it was all part of the scene but actually Ewan didn't want anyone to see you topless anymore, not after he decided that he will make a move on you.

The scene turned out great. And an appreciation for helping Ewan offered to take you out to dinner. How can you say no to him?

[peterparkersnose]

Spoil

pairing: Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen x reader

word count: 3.6k

warnings: lowkey dark!aemond, alys river type themed, reader’s family gets killed, reader is a plaything, sexual themes and descriptions (not a smut), fluff at the end :)

a/n THAT GIF OML uuhhh this came to me in a fever dream apologies.

summary She’s his spoil of war, and his new found confidant.

masterlist

join the tag list

read time: 13 mins 26 seconds

A spoil of war. 

Is the one thing you had been demeaned down to. From a visiting Lady to Harrenhal, a betrothed to one of the Strong sons, and now to nothing. A spoil of war. 

The first time you ever saw him was weeks after the fateful night that your life collapsed. You still remember the cool breeze in your nightgown and the loose hair around your shoulders. How the moon shone so brightly, but only in the early evening before the fight began. Smoke then filled the air as your new home was captured. 

And then they were gone. 

The Blacks had just packed up everything and… left? The castle you once knew to be lively, despite its cracks, was suddenly sullen and empty. Few staff remained from the ones who fled. You clung to your betrothed along with the rest of his family. Life felt like a ticking time bomb. 

It was midday when you heard the roar of the great dragon, Vhagar. A strange time to invade, but there wasn’t much to do. A glimmer of hope, you thought. A glimmer of hope. 

Hope is only something a fool would believe in now, you truly believed. 

The Strong family was rounded up by the one-eyed Prince. You had heard of him before and knew what the people whispered about him. Kinslayer. Evil. Egotistical. Irrational. 

A plea for help, you thought. How foolish you feel now. The Kinslayer swiftly went one by one, killing every single last Strong, down to the grandchildren. All you could do was scream. Your betrothed was gone, and so was his family. The women and the children were all gone. And all that was left was you. 

The worst death of all, you supposed. It was certain now, you were the last one on your knees pleading for your life. Perhaps in another lifetime, you deserved this. Watching your new family die one by one, knowing of your fate. As the Kinslayer approached you, his sword bloodied in his hand, blood splattered all over his armor, and his face, his white hair matted with the blood of your betrothed. His facial expression was unreadable as you stared him dead in the eyes. A soft prayer came from your lips as he looked at you like you were the most disgusting thing he had ever seen now, as a scowl moved to his lips.

His hatred for the Strong family was inconceivable. Why did such a man hate a family that much? 

He stared you down, taking in every single inch of you. An evil snarl approached his lips as he grunted. “Mmm…”

“She’ll do.” he called out to a man in armor, an older one than the Prince and with Dornish features. 

She’ll do? What in the Seven Hells is that supposed to mean?

The Dornish Knight took you by the shoulders and forced you off your feet and whispered into your ear softly as he was escorting you to horseback, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Just be quiet and listen. Pledge your allegiance to King Aegon. Then you’ll be fine.” His words were far from comforting as he intended them to be. Your betrothed blood was still fresh on your hands. 

A war camp was your new home. One of the dirtiest places on earth, not for a Lady such as yourself. Men were constantly poking and prodding at you, calling and shouting at you all sorts of terrible names. When you first arrived, you were brought into a quiet tent away from the evil eyes of the soldiers. The Dornish man sat with you and spoke softly. He seemed as if he didn’t want to scare you, but he still did nonetheless. You pledged your allegiance to King Aegon and kept quiet, listening to the first piece of advice he gave you. He introduced himself to you as Ser Criston Cole. You feared for your life, and the only thing seemingly keeping it here was this Ser Criston Cole. 

After a while, Ser Criston left you alone. And for a while, you sat confused as so many things were running through your head. Your cries continued as well did the trembles in your hands, the hands you couldn’t pull your eyes from as they were covered with your love's blood. 

A maid who was silent the whole time came in with a tub and began to bathe you after you were alone for a while. Why? You had no clue. A bath did seem nice though, you wished to be rid of the horrors that painted your body. You cried as the maid washed you, traumatized by the events of that day. The clear water turned a murky brown as your old life was washed away. A new dress was gifted to you. One of a deep green and a sinch in the middle, tied with golden strings. It was long-sleeved and floor length, keeping you warm in the harsh, cold, rainy environment where the camp was located. And along was an optional green coat of fur, embroidered with beautiful designs. Something you would never normally choose, but there wasn’t really a choice. The dress was soft and felt a bit snug around your body, but you didn’t feel like complaining would be a good idea at the moment. 

Your hair was combed by this maid as her quick hands moved through your locks. It reminded you of your old life and your old Lady maid. Who you thought must be dead by now. The soothing words of your old Lady maid calmed you for a bit, as you closed your eyes and pretended you were simply not there. 

The maid dressed you and quickly left. You didn’t know the Dornish man was guarding this tent until the maid left, and you saw a glimpse of his armor from the flap of the tent that was exposed when she left. 

Ser Criston returned and looked you up and down. It was not in a perverse way though, more of an inspection. Like you were some… some item being prepared. He sighed. 

“He’ll be happy.” Ser Criston stated, crossing his arms. 

“Who, may I ask?” you finally spoke. 

“Prince Aemond.” Ser Criston replied, giving you one last look up and down. “He spared you for a reason, my Lady. You should be eternally grateful for him and his grace when it came to you.” 

Prince Aemond? Having grace? 

Ser Criston escorted you to another tent. The men whistled and whooped as you walked by, looking like a fresh piece of meat to the soldiers who hadn’t felt the touch of their ladies for weeks. Heat rose to your cheeks as you looked at your boots, praying this nightmare would end. But oh, it had just begun. 

Prince Aemond sat in his tent. It was identical to every single one each soldier had on the outside, but on the inside, it was quite different. The delicately carved chairs and a large bed of hay with many pelts over it caught your eye before the Prince did. You didn’t even notice Criston leaving your side until you turned to speak to him, and he was gone. 

He was sitting in front of the fire. His armor was gone, and his hair was cleaned. His stockings were hung by the fire as they seemed to be drying as he sat in a chair, not looking in your direction. You stood still, fear wracked your body as you tried to think of something to do. Should you speak? Just stand there? Wait for him to approach you? 

“Come,” he said commandingly as he flicked a few of his fingers towards you, beckoning you over to his side. The Prince didn’t even look your way. His voice was much calmer than it was at Harrenhal. You listened, approaching him with hesitance. 

He looked up at you, taking in your features with the same blank look as he did at Harrenhal.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked harshly as you stood next to his chair awkwardly. You nodded. “Mmm…” he hummed once again, moving his hand in a way to ask you to sit in the opposite chair. The chair creaked a bit as you sat, giving an unexpected chill down your spine. 

“When I speak to you, you respond to me in words. No nods. Understood?” he scolded you, his tone of voice making you twitch. 

“Yes.” you squeaked out, almost silently. 

“Yes, what…?” Prince Aemond asked you, testing you to see your limits. “Yes, my Prince.” 

“Good girl. You learn quickly.” he purred, standing up from his chair to approach you. You froze as he did, not wanting to mess up. This was your only chance at survival. The Prince circled you, almost as a lion did to its prey not once, not twice, but three times. You couldn’t meet his gaze. 

“What is your name…?” he asked, now standing in front of you. You answered him swiftly with your name and your house. 

“Your father bent the knee to the Princess Rhaenyra, is that correct?”

Your heart skipped a beat. He had? You genuinely had no clue, as you were already living in Harrenhal with your betrothed as the war broke out. 

“M-my father, your grace, I have not seen him in many moons.” you quivered, your eyes fixated on the brick of the fireplace. 

“But yet you are his kin…” Aemond sighed, picking up a lock of your hair in his hands. “Such a shame. Ironic, isn’t it? He had pledged his allegiance to Rhaenyra, and yet you are mine.” he chuckled. His laugh sent chills down your spine. You stayed silent.

“How old are you?” he asked, dropping your piece of hair and looking down at you menacingly. 

“Twenty, your grace.” you replied hastily, afraid of his presence. “And I suspect you were betrothed to a Strong boy, is that it…?” 

You nodded.

“Use your words,” he said demeaningly, his long lanky fingers meeting your chin as he pulled your sad eyes up to meet his gaze. “Yes, my Prince.” “Good girl.”

His words went straight between your thighs. “I think I’ll like you,” he says, letting go of your chin. Tears brimmed your eyes. “Do not worry. I will not touch you tonight.” he says somewhat softer, as he grabs your hand. You didn’t even realize they were shaking. “Touch me?” you asked, looking up at him. 

“Oh yes. Don’t you understand what this is…?” he asked, making her feel like an idiot. The way he spoke was so demeaning, making her feel like she was the stupidest person alive. How had she not figured out what this was yet? “No.” she whispered. It was all making sense now. 

“You are mine. Mine to do with what I please. My spoil, as some say. You will do as I say, won’t you?” he asked, letting go of your shaking hand. You felt like your tongue was numb as he spoke. No emotion was shown on your face as you felt him kneel down in front of you. He placed a hand on your thigh. 

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked after a while. You met his gaze as he looked up to you, he seemed like an evil spirit had possessed him. His face was different, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. You were speechless again. Aemond was getting obviously annoyed by your lack of response. “You should be,” he said, his grip on your thigh tightening as your breath quickened. “Tell me, my Lady. Are you going to be a good girl and listen to me? Be my plaything, my lover, my company… or would you rather join the Silent Sisters? I cannot kill such a beauty as yourself.” 

His other hand moved to caress your cheek. He awaited your answer. 

“I-I…” you stuttered. The Prince grew impatient. “Answer me, now!” he yelled at you. You finally cracked.

“Yes, yes, I’ll listen, I'm sorry.” you cried, cringing at the sudden raising of his voice. His cruel smile only widened. “Good girl.”

-

He was gentle to you at first, but every time after grew harsher and harsher. He often prided himself on seeing you at his mercy, his hand on your stomach as he fucked you slowly. He liked the way you muttered his name as he held you in his arms as you were about to reach your peak. He enjoyed watching you leak his seed out on your thighs as you rested in bed after a long night of pleasure. 

Even if he was rough, he never treated you as his whore. He would often put your own pleasure above his, which was quite unexpected. In many senses around the camp, you were seen as his Queen. Even if that was far from the truth. 

He never liked it much when you spoke. He had no desire to know about your life, your dislikes, and interests, or anything remotely personal about you. He used you. He took and took and gave nothing in return, besides a mutual pleasure for each other. He took your company, as you would sleep next to him in his bed every night. He never held you or whispered sweet nothings to you as you fell asleep. He took your time, as you waited around for him all day. You had grown quite lazy and bored, with close to nothing to do. He took your worth. Yes, he didn’t treat you as his whore. But he would call you names that made you feel like one. You figured it made him feel better about himself, making you beg for his cock and calling you a slut afterward. Aemond would often tell you mid fucking about how beautiful you would look bearing his bastards. Or how good you looked with him buried inside of you. 

Aemond had returned for the night. You had gotten used to the angry footsteps and the sudden whooshing open of the tent door flap when he would return from his days. You hadn’t seen him for five days. You heard of his return to the camp by a few passing soldiers and expected his presence in your chambers tonight. But tonight seemed different. It was eerie how quiet he was. He was usually eager to get his armor off and to fuck you, but tonight was more solemn. He angrily threw his eyepatch on the floor and kicked his armor. It startled you a bit as you watched him seemingly throw a tantrum. Mentally preparing yourself for a night of torture, you began your routine as you had in the past few weeks and began undressing.

“No,” he said, emotionless, not facing to look at you. You stopped. This had never happened. He took off his armor and set it aside, and made his way slowly to the bed in his underclothes. You sat on the bed, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t look at you. Aemond could sense your confusion and your uncertainty. 

“Not tonight.” he said, his voice sounding weaker and weaker with each syllable. “Oh.” you said quietly, adjusting your nightgown back on comfortably. You sat in bed next to him. 

He reached up a hand and took a lock of your hair in it and twirled it in his fingers. He hummed. You just looked down at what he was doing and watched his fingers, then looked into his gaze. He seemed to have revealed an emotion, for the first time in weeks. Sadness. 

You wanted to ask what was wrong but decided to keep your mouth shut. He didn’t like when you talked. 

He waited a long time before he spoke. He sat there, not moving, and seemingly staring into space. Groups of soldiers marched by, the only sound breaking the deafening silence between the two of you. You knew better than to speak. 

“How has Hilda been treating you?” he asks quietly, still not meeting your gaze. 

“Hilda?” you asked, confused. “Your maid.” he said annoyed that you didn’t know what he was talking about. His tongue had a sharp, defensive tone to it. 

“Oh,” you replied, confused as to why he was making conversation. He never usually did. “She’s been kind.” 

Aemond nodded. He was trying. So hard. He just didn’t know how to approach you with what he really needed tonight. Kindness was something he had not equipped in a while. 

“Come,” he said, placing a hand on your back suddenly. You were hesitant. “I won’t hurt you.”

You listened to him and scooted over in the bed, lying next to Aemond as he wrapped his arms around you in a sudden movement. Your stomach was filled with butterflies and fear as he did, he pulled you closer to him. You had so many questions, questions you wished to ask and knew you couldn’t. And you stood still as touched you, confused as to what he wanted from you.

“Do you want me to embrace you?” you asked softly. He nodded, burying his head near your chest and the crook of your neck. You could feel his warm breath on your neck.

What the fuck was this…?

One of your hands wrapped around his head and cradled it as the other moved to his back and gave him some small circles with your fingers. He let out a long sigh. 

He looked up at you as he rested in your arms. His eyes were wet and his face was one you had never seen before. Aemond seemed like a complete stranger at that moment. “Do you love me?” he asked her with a tired voice.

She most certainly did not. But that was not the answer he was currently seeking.

“I do,” she said, caressing the side of his face and moving stray strands of hair out of the way. He just held her tighter and placed his head back on your chest, his breathing becoming shallow as he tried to hold in the tears. You were so utterly confused. He knew she truly didn’t love him. But he needed to know if she was obedient enough to lie for him. To hold his secrets, to be an extension of just his thing to toy with. He needed somebody desperately right now, and the only thing he craved was touch. Touch and your attention. He didn’t love you and you didn’t love him. But it hurt nobody to just play the part they were supposed to that night. He was in need.

“I-I went to Rook’s Rest,” Aemond began to speak. His tone was different from his usual commands, he sounded scared. You had never seen this side of him before. She nodded, stroking his hair as he spoke. “My brother, Aegon, and I…” 

You had never heard him speak of the King so informally. 

“We fought our cousin Rhaenys and her dragon… and we won but-” his voice hitched. He was… he was shaking? “It’s okay.” you said softly, daring to speak as your lover shook in your grasp. 

You knew tears were now falling down his cheeks but didn’t dare to say a single thing about it. You knew deep down, he was just a scared little boy. Aemond was only twenty as you were. His big persona of being a ruthless kinslayer was peeling back and he was revealing himself to you. It was something he never did, only in the solemn private moments with his mother years ago. 

He had broken at the sight of what he was about to tell her.

“Aegon got hurt. Really bad.”

He was telling you confidential information about the King. He was trusting you. “I-I’m sorry.” you replied sincerely. His hands moved around your ribcage and the other snaked around your back. He felt the fabric of your dress and played with it between his fingers as he tried to calm himself. “H-he can’t walk and he’s burned terribly and he’s barely conscious, and his dragon is injured, and... You-you mustn't tell anyone.” he whimpered, his tone stiffening at the last sentence as his ramblings came to an end. “Never,” you whispered, combing through his hair with your fingers to try and calm him. 

“I’m- they made me… they made me Prince Regent.” Aemond confessed as the words left his lips with a sour taste. You could tell he was terrified. 

Oh shit.

Aemond in a sense, was King. She finally understood how dire King Aegon’s condition was and understood why Aemond had been acting so strangely that night. 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” you asked him softly, trying to look to the positive side. If the positive side even existed in this situation. 

“No!” he seemingly barked at you suddenly, making you tense a bit. “I’m sorry…” he whispered, running his hand over the side of your ribcage and down to your hips. You had never heard this man once apologize for anything. He looked up to you with his red eyes as he craved your touch. You cupped his cheek, clearing the tears from his right cheek with your thumb. You knew he was afraid. Shocked. Terrified. And he was asking for you. 

“I will pray for the King’s recovery, your grace.”

“Aemond…” he said softly. You were confused and he read it on your face. “When-when we’re like this. Don’t bother with the titles. I am just Aemond.” 

You nodded. 

“I will pray for the King’s recovery, Aemond.” you corrected yourself. “And that your reign may be successful.” 

She kissed the top of his head. He held her close. 

“Everything will be okay.”

He held you like that for the rest of the night. No violence. No sex. No words. Just you and him, in a moment where he could have his last bit of clarity before he had to put the mask back on and perform for everyone else in his life. He was quite thankful for you that night. Aemond wept quietly as you held the most powerful man in Westeros all throughout that night. 

-

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @mandoloriancookie @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25 @nyotamalfoy @milly-louise @mxtokko

[humanpurposes]

So thrilled you’re taking requests! I love winter themed fics this time of year. I’m requesting modern Aemond (if not allowed then Michael Gavey) + stuck in this cabin until the storm passes/come sit by the fireplace. As much smut as you’d like with maybe a teeny bit of angst?

Thank you for taking requests, I know they will all be lovely

A/n: Took the liberty of making this a Michael Gavey request 😈 Also this gif is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!! Shoutout @barbieaemond and all the other amazing gif makers on here. These guys are such an integral part of fandom and they deserve all our love, appreciation and credit ❤️✨

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: 18+, slight angst, handjob, thigh riding (ish), Michael Gavey being awkard, but not quite a virgin

Main Masterlist

“Fucking skiing holiday. Should have fucking known this would be a fucking disaster.” 

Michael’s foul mouth hardly phases you anymore. When you first met him you thought he’d be a shy type of guy, with his baby blue shirts, cargos and wire frame glasses he kept pushing up with his middle finger.

You’d quickly found that he wasn’t at all like you expected. He can be abrasive, often judgemental and vulgar, not so unlike your other friends but with Michael it seems to come from a place of unashamed honesty. You sort of admire him for it.

He’s pacing the small living room and kitchen of the cabin, furiously fiddling with his mobile. You’re kneeling by the wood burning stove, hovering a lighter by the kindling in the hopes that you can light a proper fire.

You’re surprised he agreed to go on this trip at all. 

You have a few friends who do Maths, and at the start of second year they started inviting Michael to the pub on the weekends. You recognised him from your trips to the library, where he’d usually sit alone after his friend ditched him for Felix Catton.

They’d been all talking about a skiing trip between Christmas and New Year, to this little Italian village in the Alps. You didn’t— and still don’t— actually know how to ski, but spending a few nights in a cabin in the mountains, surrounded by snow sounded like a dream. Michael had been sceptical at first but you’d managed to convince him to come when you said you’d need someone to keep you company when the others were on the slopes.

The others had all gone out as soon as you arrived, leaving Michael to get settled in the cabin.

But it’s turned out to be somewhat of a nightmare. It’s too dark to actually see the snow storm but you can hear it, shrieking and howling against the walls and windows of the cabin. You have no service, no central heating, just the small assortment of snacks you had brought with you, a packet of paprika crisps, a bar of chocolate and a prosciutto sandwich you’d bought back at the main resort, back down the mountain, back in civilisation.

“Fuck, fuck fuck!”

“What now?” You ask, still focused on the fire.

“Mobile’s fucking dead. Shit! I have a charger in my bag but the bloody electricity isn’t fucking working so I can’t fucking charge it!”

You smile to yourself as the kindling catches alight and the flames start to lick at the larger logs.

You glance over your shoulder as Michael tosses his phone on the sofa, runs his hands through his hair and catches his lower lip with his teeth.

“I have plenty of charge on mine,” you say, “I’ll turn it off to save the battery and we can see if the service is working in the morning?”

Michael stares at you for a lingering moment. He can be so intense sometimes, almost unsettlingly so. “You want us to stay here all night?” he says softly.

“People know we’re here. I’m sure someone from the resort will come up when they can. Until then, we just have to wait out the storm.”

He tuts, but he knows you don’t have any other options.

You sit together with your backs against the sofa so that you can be as close to the fire as possible. The heat pleasantly burns your face and skin through your jeans and jumper. Even then, where your arm presses against Michael’s, you feel the warmth of his body beside you. 

You grab the crisps and the sandwich out of your bag, offering them both to Michael. He only takes a handfuls of crisps and when you split the sandwich in two he takes the smaller half. You offer him more of the chocolate bar but he insists he’s not hungry. You frown at that. It might not be a Crunchie, but Michael never turns down chocolate. 

“How was your Christmas?” You ask, popping a square of chocolate on your tongue.

“Fine,” he says, looking down at his hands, “had dinner with my dad and my nan, went to see my mum on Boxing Day.”

Guilt twinges in your chest. “Are your parents not together?”

“Oh no, they split up a long time ago,” he says, like it should have been obvious.

“I’m sorry.”

He turns to face you, staring intensely. “Why would you be sorry?” 

“Because I didn’t realise.”

He smiles. You think it’s because he knows you’re nervous. “I’ve been splitting Christmases between my parents every year since I was twelve, I’m well used to it now.”

The topic doesn’t seem to phase him. He takes another crisp from the packet and looks into the fire as he crunches it between his teeth.

The low light reminds you of the nights you’ve sat opposite him in the King’s Arms in Oxford, all the times you’ve been tipsy off wine spritzers and found yourself trying not to make it obvious that you’re staring at him. He’s handsome, especially up close when you can see the details of his face, his lips, his surprisingly pretty eyelashes, the little cleft on the tip of his nose.

When his eyes turn towards you, you think your heart might leap out of your chest.

You take a quick breath, eyes darting around the room, at the fire, the pile of logs beside the stove, the sprinkling of ashes on the floor, but it seems inevitable that you’ll find your way back to him.

“Why did they split up?”

Michael raises his eyebrows but keeps his face solemn. “She left him for someone else.”

“Oh,” is all you can think of to say. 

“It happens,” he says. “People always want to find something better. My dad was never the most exciting guy to be around.”

“But what about you?”

He huffs a laugh to himself. “I’m not exactly enticing company either.”

You can’t tell if you just want the conversation to end or if you should say something else.

“It’s not something I can fix,” Michael says. One of his hands rests on his thigh and he slowly flexes it so the tendons shift beneath his skin. “And it’s not something that needs to be fixed. People come in and out of your life, but you move on. That’s just the way it is.”

He’s almost hunched over himself, with his chin tilted down and his glasses sliding down towards the end of his nose. 

You’d seen him in the pub once, back in first year, with that friend of his, Oliver Quick. Oliver had gone up to the bar and ended up sitting with Felix Catton and his band of admirers. You’d watched Michael leave the pub and remember your heart shattering for him, for this boy you didn’t even know.

Now, stuck in this cabin, snow swirling past the windows, the sound of the fire crackling a few feet in front of you, and Michael’s side pressed against yours, your heart shatters all over again.

You place your hand over his, and he instantly stops moving. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re great.”

Michael tries not to smile. “You don’t need to flatter me,” he says.

You curl your fingers over his hand and tighten your grip. His eyes meet yours and you feel yourself frowning, because he doesn’t understand, because he doesn’t see himself the same way you see him. 

“I mean it. You’re funny, even when you don’t even mean to be, and honest, and straightforward…”

You glance down at his lips, slightly parted as he listens to you. It crosses your mind to lean in closer, but something stops you.

“I really love that we’re friends,” you say.

Michael looks down at your hands. His lips are pressed together.

He doesn’t want this, you think. He doesn’t want me.

So you pull away, with a little smile to keep it friendly.

He blinks a few times as he looks back at your face. “Thanks,” he says, softly. 

He stands, and you don’t think you can bear to look at him as he moves towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

You turn your attention to the fire, add another log for good measure and poke at the glowing embers in its heart.

You hear movement behind you, footsteps and fabric.

When you look back you see Michael has his arms full with pillows and blankets. He layers some of the blankets on the rug, and soon he has two makeshift beds, one on the sofa and one on the floor.

“What’s this?” You ask.

“We’ll freeze in the bedrooms without the heating, we might as well make use of the fire.”

It’s a good call, and now that you have somewhere to sleep you start to realise how tired you are. 

You rummage through your suitcase and pull out a pair of pyjamas you got for Christmas. Michael changes in one of the bedrooms and comes back in one of his maths pun t-shirts and a pair of red and black bottoms. 

You go to lie in the bed on the floor but Michael puts his hand on your shoulder and insists you sleep on the sofa.

Even with the heat of the fire on your face and the blanket pulled up to your chin, you can’t stop shaking. Your limbs are frozen and your skin is tight, but it feels deeper set than that. You feel the cold in your chest like a fever.

It feels like hours have passed and you still can’t sleep.

“I can hear your teeth chattering,” Michael’s voice grumbles below you. You peer down over the edge of the sofa. He’s turned away from you, towards the fire. You hadn’t even realised he was still awake.

“It’s fucking cold,” you say, wincing at the quiver in your voice.

Michael shifts to his other side so he’s facing you. You’ve never really seen him without his glasses, and he looks completely different, somehow softer, not as harsh.

“We’ll be warmer if we, if we share,” he says quietly.

His suggestion weighs heavy in the space between you, unless it’s just in your head. You can already imagine yourself pressed against him, feeling the warmth from his body and letting it sink into yours.

You don’t trust yourself not to try something stupid either.

You take the blanket with you. The floorboards are piercing against your bare soles so you step on the balls of your feet, quickly slotting yourself by Michael’s side, on the layers of blankets. 

He’s facing you now, your noses must only be inches apart and you feel his breath running over your cheek.

You try to steady your own breathing, but it only makes your heart beat faster.

You see his neck move as he swallows. “Come here,” he mutters, and brings his arm around you, pressing his palm to your back to pull you closer into his chest.

You let your arm drape over his side and your legs intertwine with his. You need the heat, tucking your head in under his chin and resting the side of your face against him.

You move with the rise and fall of his chest, breathe in the scent of him with every breath, hear his heartbeat against your ear.

If you shifted your head slightly, your lips would meet the base of his throat.

Want tightens and lingers in your stomach, but curled up under Michael’s arm, you let its dull ache soothe you to sleep.

You wake slowly, opening your eyes to cold sunlight glaring through the windows. In your haste to get warm last night, you had apparently forgotten to draw the curtains. All you see on the other side is white, the snow now settled and piled high.

The fire has long since died and the air is colder than it was when you fell asleep, sharp as you take a breath through your nose.

It’s still warm where your cheek meets Michael’s chest, where his hand rests against your back and your bodies are pressed together.

It feels good to be so close to him. He’s still asleep, as far as you can tell. You hear the heavy sound of his breathing, air fluttering in his throat and passing through his pouted lips.

As you start to become more aware, more awake, a warm wanting stirs in your gut and between your legs.

It’s a stupid little crush, one you’ve not been able to distract yourself from these last few months.

You start to trace your fingertips over his chest, feeling where his chest is hard, then soft, and remember everything you said to him the night before, and what you perhaps should have said.

You nuzzle your face in closer to him, to the clean scent of his t-shirt and something else that is so uniquely him.

You try to stay like this for as long as possible, even if it’s torture not to want more.

“You’re moving a lot,” he mutters. You feel his voice rumbling in his chest and humming against your head like it’s a part of you.

Only when you freeze do you realise you’ve been rocking your hips, every hint of friction you get against the fabric of your pyjamas only fueling your hunger. But you’ve stopped now, resting your palm against his stomach.

“I’m cold,” you say.

“Hmm,” he says, resting his lips and his chin against your head, over your hair, “I don’t feel cold.”

The low rasp of his voice only makes you want him more.

The lingering haze of sleep must be clouding your judgement, your sense.

You tilt your head up, brushing your lips over his throat like you’d imagined. You feel him shudder, and feel his stomach tighten under your touch.

He utters your name in a breathless whisper as he paws at your back and pushes his hips into yours. His arousal is evident, hard and pressing to your centre through two layers of fabric.

And then he pauses, and his hand slips away.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says.

You drag your hand down a little further, to slip under his t-shirt and feel the ridges of his surprisingly toned stomach, just above the waistband of his bottoms. “Why are you sorry, Michael?”

“I don’t know, I just…” he huffs in frustration as his hand returns to your body, gripping at your waist through your shirt.

You start to snag your fingers on the waistband, and realise he’s forgone wearing any boxers to bed. “Do you want me to help you?” You whisper, unable to hold back a grin.

“Yes, fuck, please,”

A whine sounds in his throat as you shift his bottoms down just enough to free his cock, and close your hand around it. He’s bigger than you expected, long and thick, heavy, hard and soft-skinned as you stroke, up, down, up, down.

You enjoy the feel of him, run your thumb over his weeping tip as he starts to pant and try to hold back his moans, leaning against you and ghosting his lips against your temple.

You only feel yourself becoming more and more desperate. You hook your leg over his, grinding your core against his thigh. Sparse sparks of pleasure course through your body, not enough for a release, but it still feels good.

You tilt your head again, eagerly pressing your lips to his. He seems taken by surprise at first, but meets you with clumsy enthusiasm. He kisses you like it might save him from something. Once or twice he seems to lose track, dragging his lips to the corner of your mouth only to pull you back into him.

The movements become more and more frantic, your hand pumping Michael’s cock, his hips bucking under your touch.

“Fuck,” he hisses against your lips, “I’m close. Fuck, I’m so close.”

You rock particularly hard against his thigh, and he brings his hand to your rear, squeezing at your flesh and urging you on.

You tease your lips against the shell of his ear, smiling at the wanton noise he makes as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“Are you gonna cum for me Michael?” You whisper as you up the pace.

“Please,” he grunts, “please…” and suddenly he’s moaning against your skin, holding you tightly as you feel his cock pulse in your hand as he spills over your fingers and knuckles.

You quickly move your head back so you can look at him, eyes fluttered shut, jaw slack and tongue just peeking out from behind his teeth.

“You’re so pretty,” you say quietly.

He blinks his eyes open, looking down at you with a dazed smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

“So fucking pretty,” you say, with another drag against his thigh.

He hums, low and cryptic in his chest. “Do you need some help there?”

Before you can answer he’s slipped his hand underneath your pyjamas. He cups your bare, wet cunt, lightly circling over your clit with the tip of his finger.

“Fuck you’re soaked,” he mutters, all but teasing your lips as he leans in to kiss you. “Got yourself all worked up, hmm?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “fuck, don’t tease me, please…”

“Now, sweetheart,” he coos as he presses more firmly against you, hastening his movements so your breath catches in your throat. “We might still have a few hours before anyone comes to get us, and I can think of more than a few ways to pass the time.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

[demigoddessqueens]

come (stay) with me

Masterlist 11

a/n - all of the aemond scenes got to me in the season finale

thinking of aemond alone when Helaena and Alicent leave me

the despair and anger fills his heart and stomach with immense dread as he looks out at King’s Landing, at edgy his family has

all his doubts, insecurities, angers and fears, all the emotions he’s felt since childhood threaten to bubble up and he has to swallow it down.

the forces and will power he’s tried to keep and all are losing their grip….and everyone is gone

tears that pooled in his eyes are threatening to spill over and he hates himself for being so weak and letting his past come back to him

he hears footsteps and doesn’t care to turn around until he hears your voice

“….aemond…?”

He turns to see you staring at him. All the worry and concern on your face and he’s helpless to stop it

“Would you leave me all the same, my love? Just like my family?”

[achaoticeternal]

— 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗵𝘂𝗿𝗰𝗵

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

|| aemond, much to his mother’s delight, has fallen head over heels for a kind-hearted, devout follower of the Seven 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧ you were a daughter to a well-established Lord and family in Westeros, evening having to great honor to receive many lessons in a monastery 

✧ you not only had a brilliant mind like the crone, a beautiful innocence like the maid, and the tenderness and warmth like the mother. but your aura also demanded the same respect as the father, the smith and the warrior

✧ your lord-father and alicent were close friends in court, so when he sent you to King’s Landing to learn from the greatest septas the faith had to offer, it was only natural that you be a guest of the royal family.

✧ when alicent had introduced aemond and you, he took clear interest 

✧ aemond noticed the pendant of the maid adorned on your neck, signaling your purity and virginity. he knew then and there you would do anything for your faith and to simply be a good girl

✧ often, he would invite you to attend his own private lessons - except for his high valyrian lessons, since those were sacred to the Targaryens - but you would join him for histories and even answer questions about his own house before he could so much as utter a word. 

✧ he took notice to how you prayed before each meal and drink you took, before each lesson, before bed, while attending tourneys... he liked seeing you kneel in prayer and at night would imagine you kneeling before him like a God. 

✧ soon, aemond made a habit of praying with you when your paths crossed. at meals, he’d clasp your hands together in prayer under the table. at festivals and tourneys, he’d come to you alone and take your hands in his and speak praise to the mother and the father with you.

✧ he used your prayer time as a way of become closer with you, to insert himself into your life — because while alicent raised her children in the faith, aegon had strayed to his promiscuity and his own father never thought much of it all. it gave him a release from the world to just pray with you.

✧ one day, after your lessons at the sept, he met you outside the doors, only to drag you right back through the great doors.

“my-my prince... what are you doing? we’ll be late to your histories lesson!” you spoke in a hushed tone, acknowledging the quiet in a hall of worship. 

“i must confess before the seven... and you,” he explained which caused you to more willingly follow him while his grip still strong on your fore arm.

once at the altar, both of you knelt before the array of candles. both of you lit your own candles to call upon the seven. silence fell between both of you as you made your own prayers to the respected gods.

that was until aemond began to speak aloud, “Father Above, I beg your courage. Mother Above, I beg your kindness. Maiden sweet, I beg your virtue. All of thee to bestow upon me a love, a true and honorable love. The love of the girl who pray with me and i with her.”

your prayer was cut short as his words caught her attention, “aemond...”

“blessed be,” he finished before looking back at you, “my lady, i wish to pray at your side for the rest of my days. would you allow me such a courtesy, and even allow me to ask your Lord-father for your gentle hand?”

he extended a palm to you, asking for your hand if you accepted his proposal. with a smile, you gladly accepted such. with a finally prayer, he escorted you from the sept back to the Red Keep, doting on you while walking arm in arm. 

[myfandomprompts]

How do you think each ewan character would be like as a girl dad.

I have been dying to write prompts again (I did that in another life), and I have no time nowadays because of work, but because I am an unreasonable person apparently, I'll take great pleasure doing this headcanons!

Ewanverse!girldad headcanons

Abraham

He would be harsh with her/them. His community wouldn't really see girls in high regards and would be loving and caring only in private. He loves them, but is scared to be "too close" to them. In public he can't help but keep an eye on them though, they are his blood after all, his precious women.

Aemond Targaryen

He would be over protective. At first, he would think that he would care only for boys, but no matter if it's his first child, or second, or tenth, he will go into dad mode and just- raise her to be the best. He would take pleasure spending evening reading High Valyrian with her, be very wary of what dresses she wears, of who she meets. He would encourage activities, would it be dragon riding or sword fighting, and whenever she would grow up to be a little rebellious he would turn mad and worry all the time she escapes the Keep or get into trouble. But he would be so proud.

Billy Taylor

Clumsy at first. There is nothing more scary than to have a child, and have a girl of all things. He would be amazed during all the infancy, and then panick. All the time. But he would adore the moments where they would connect and spend time together. She would be as sweet as him, and would be showing her off to her mother and family proudly.

Billy Washington

↑ This is his genuine reaction learning he'll have a girl. The minute he realises it, his mind is set on doing better, on getting all the help he needs in order to be a better person, and the best dad. There is something scary about having a girl, but he knows she'll be okay because the girls in his family are brilliant.

Ettore

What will he do with a girl? Is that the product of his obsession? Why is this different of any other girls he knows? > Because it's his daughter. On earth, he would be an awful dad (if he managed to keep her, that is), would provide but barely. Maybe send her to fetch his cigarettes or do things for him that a child shouldn't do. But in the end he would like to have her closer to him. It's his daughter, no one else's.

Genyen/Shaun

Would not care, at first. Hell, what even is the point? When he sees her for the first time it's so odd, she is his, and she will grow up to resemble him. Maybe he could teach her a thing or two, who knows? How to fare for herself, how to con people. And as time passes, the more they team up, and he can't see his life without her.

Michael

It's his babygirl. He is so lucky. She will be brilliant, how could she not be? He will protect her from the others that will look down on her, because no one deserve her anyway. They don't deserve to be in his presence. He would buy her so many books, her first computer at four, and from there just watch her grow to be as brilliant as him. And then she would crush all the category of person that looked down on him when he was himself growing up. He would be so proud.

Oh, and he would made dad jokes. All the time.

Osferth

Caring, loving. A product of the sky she is. What is more beautiful than his daughter? She is a gift, and he would protect her with his life, cherish her until she is so happy she shines. He would read to her early on, and then when she would know the psaums better than him he would have the biggest grin. He doesn't want to fight anymore, just take care of her.

Tom

Him, a dad? Okay, he'll manage. Shouldn't be so hard, eh? But then a girl? He'll turn into someone else. Attentive, doting, a little firm but it's because he just want to protect his family, and hell how he would want to protect her. He would have an even closer relationship with her than the mother and would be so happy. She teach him how to be more responsable, because there is nothing more worth than changing for her.

Will

Will Will Will. Would be really lost at what to do, but then he looks and looks at her and just fall in love. Why should he not spend all the time he can with her? Would feel guilty nonetheless. What if he is not good enough? He would let the mother take care of her, but he can't stay always long. Believes she would be better without him, anyone would be actually. But life gave him this girl, he should at least try. And he won't regret it.

I excluded Jason, Jack, Poacher & car thief (SOAH)

[female-hysterics]

May I please request 9 and 36 from your kink prompt list for Aemond Targaryen please 🥺

Got a little carried away here 😅

You never minded the aftereffects of childbirth, always filled with love with what you brought into the world, and then there were some days, like today, where your breasts left you in agony.

Your baby had been refusing to nurse the entire day, they were more focused on eating some sort of soft mushy fruit instead that Helaena brought them, and you were at your wits end when you searched for your husband and found Aemond alone in the expansive Red Keep library tucked away in the back for privacy. It looked like he had been there for a while, a empty glass of wine at his elbow with numerous candles nearly burnt to the bottom, and he had a stern look on his scarred face. His pale hair was in his usual neat style, leather patch still over his eye, and his remaining pale blue eye was riveted on the heavy book in front of him.

An idea popped in your head, sudden and surprising, and your breath caught in your throat.

There was a night a few weeks ago where your breasts were sore just like today, your baby had been more focused on trying to chew on you with their surprisingly strong gums as opposed to actually nursing, and Aemond had quietly walked in on you trying to ease the pain. You had your dress pulled down until it was bunched around your waist, leaving your chest bare, and you were pressing a warm wet cloth to your breasts.

 It was a little messy for sure, but it was the only relief you could get at that moment.

The warm cloth felt nice, soothing your chafed nipples while coaxing milk to flow, but you were still wincing with every gentle prod of your fingers. Once you did all you could, you mopped up your chest carefully, and that’s when he made his presence known.

“Next time, you should come to me for help,” he had murmured, making you jump in surprise as you whipped your head around, and you went breathless at the sheer hunger in his eyes when you looked at him.

His eye was glued to your breasts, his tongue flicking over an incisor as he stared at you heatedly and unabashedly, and you flushed at his words. You knew he wasn’t talking about helping with the washcloths, but you quickly pushed aside the thought of what he was really suggesting as your heart nearly skipped a beat, and you just decided to play it safe and naïve for your own sanity.

“Even a small breeze is painful, my Prince. This is pretty much all I can do,” you said, pulling up your dress gingerly, and his gaze met yours with an intensity that threw you off guard, “next time…come find me,” he continued in the same soft tone and you didn’t know how to respond without sounding foolish, so you just kept quiet.

Now, here he was, and you were nearly in tears.

Aemond Targaryen had no sense of shame in the bedroom, you had slowly learned over the course of your marriage, but you were still hesitant to approach him with your idea. It was considered odd, what you were debating, but the idea itself had warmth pooling low in your stomach. He never made you uncomfortable, taking time to listen to you, and he was always happy whenever she shyly approached him with something you wanted to try.

He always made you feel safe and loved and, after all, he did order you to find him.

You thought back to the heated way he had looked at you that night, the hunger in his gaze, thought about the few times where he seemed to watch you nurse a little more intently than usual, and came to a decision. You squared your shoulders, held your head up high, and swept into the room.

“Hello there, my love,” he said softly, nodding at you in greeting once he spotted you,  before closing his book to give you his undivided attention, and you stalked up to him with determination.

You walked up to him, pushing at his chair until he scooted the chair away from the table, and he said nothing but raised a thin eyebrow. Once he had slid back enough, Aemond still regarding you quietly but now with curiosity written all over his face, you took a deep breath to steady your nerves.

You hoisted yourself up and crawled onto his lap, ignoring his sharp gaze, and was instead completely focused on the horrible ache in your chest. His hands automatically came up to hold your waist, confusion clear on his face as you remained quiet, and he frowned at you in bewilderment while you settled into a more comfortable position on his lap.

He didn’t say anything, though, seemingly content with waiting on you to explain.

Your fingers trembled as you hastily worked at the straps of your dress, almost tearing the fabric, and you nearly cried in pain at the constriction of the cloth against your sore breasts. Tears stung the back of your eyes and you just ended up ripping the straps to pull down your dress. His eye immediately dropped down to your chest, before growing dark and heavy lidded as you shoved the material down to your waist, and he made a noise somewhere between a growl and a purr as his hands squeezed your hips.

“Oh, my dear pet…you must be in pain,” he murmured, low voice nothing but a pleasing rumble, and you couldn’t focus clearly on anything but the intense cramping sensations radiating from your chest. Not even caring if they were walked in on.

“Hurts…please,” you gritted out, settling against his warm body more fully, and you glanced down at your chest with a grimace.

Your breasts were so swollen and heavy, so full that milk wasn’t even beading at your nipples like they usually would, and even just looking at them had you squeezing your eyes shut in pain.

“You’re just so beautiful…and such a good little wife to come to me for help,” Aemond eventually purred, broad hands tightening on your hips once more, before reaching up to smooth over your ribs.

His skin was hot against yours as he then smoothed his palms over your arms, making you gasp and shiver, and he sat up straighter in his seat. He gingerly repositioned you, untangling your dress from your legs so they spread easier over his lap, and you shifted more comfortably over him. His long fingers brushed the swell of your breast, his eye darting up at you when you gasped wetly at the corresponding throb of pain, and you looked at him helplessly.

“I got you, pet,” he said softly, comfortingly, and you felt the knot in your stomach ease at his words.

You felt a little better knowing that he was completely okay with what they were doing.

He braced one arm around your waist, the other hand cupping your breast gingerly, and he flicked his tongue over your puffy nipple before drawing it into his mouth. He gave an experimental suck and groaned deep in his chest at the sudden rush of milk.

You hissed at the first contact of his mouth on your skin, something you always did since he always ran so warm, and you fought the fleeting urge to jerk away. His body heat was higher than the average person, probably something to do with him being a Targaryen dragon rider, and his mouth was searing against your horribly sensitive and aching nipples. Then, however, you tangled your fingers into his soft hair to drag him closer and nearly sobbed as he began to suckle in earnest. You grabbed one of his large hands and pressed it against your ignored breast, his warm palm making you whimper even as it slightly soothed the ache, and you kneaded his hand against yourself. They both moaned as milk dribbled over their intertwined fingers, yours out of relief and his out of pleasure, and you lowered your hand to weakly hold on to his wrist as he continued his massage. Relief swept over you, the cramping sensations blissfully fading with each squeeze of his fingers and each determined suck of his mouth, and you didn’t even realize you were rocking your hips until you felt his hand move back to your hip to push you more fully against him.

He was hard underneath you.

Aemond switched breasts, the hand on your waist moving back to knead your breast and pinch and roll your wet nipple with his slender fingers, and his hot tongue laved over your other breast. He lapped up the milk that had spilled out, licking over your swollen nipple with a small growl, before he latched on and sucked hard.

You threw her head back, pushing your chest against him, and your sudden orgasm was quick and surprising.

You shuddered and bucked over him, grinding your hips against his frantically to draw out your pleasure, and you cried out his name breathlessly. Once your orgasm faded into a warm pleasant hum, you slowly rolled your head forward, and your eyes met the piercing gaze of your husband. He was staring up at you with his pale skin flushed pink, that intense hungry heat was back in his eye, and you saw his tongue dart out to drag over your sensitive peak once more. You squeezed your eyes shut, letting your head fall back, and your hips began rocking against his once more.

Then, he pulled away, and you could’ve cried at the loss. You quickly realized his hands had dipped under your dress and was fumbling between their bodies, and you almost did cry when you felt him slowly sink into your wet heat. You immediately began rolling your hips, taking him deeper on each downstroke, and his thick girth filled you to the brim perfectly. He hit something deep inside you, easing that horrible empty ache while simultaneously making your pelvis twinge slightly in discomfort, but you didn’t care. You kept that angle, grinding and rolling your hips until you were sobbing, and Aemond pulled you against his chest to pepper small wet kisses over your throat. You focused your eyes on him, meeting his gaze as you continued to move, and he was looking at you with such molten heat that you felt scorched all the way down to your very marrow. You leaned forward, bracing one arm over his broad shoulders, and cupped your still aching breast.

You lifted up until your wet puffy nipple brushed his lips, trailing over his lower lip in an erotically obscene image, his hot breath ghosting over the sensitive flesh made her clench down on him tightly, and he cursed darkly before he latched on with enough vigor to make your second orgasm rip through you.

You wailed in pleasure loud enough to have one of his hands slip over your mouth to quiet you.

You bared down on him on the next downstroke, making his hips jerk up into you roughly and so deeply, and you clawed at him as your body shook and trembled with pleasure that rushed through you and stole the very breath from your lungs. When your orgasm finally subsided, leaving you gasping and writhing, you slumped over him completely boneless. He was still cupping your breasts, massaging lightly, while his hot tongue lapped at your nipples lazily. It wasn’t quite teasing, but the feel of his tongue rasping over your sensitive skin had you whimpering softly and your hips jerking against his once more.

“You did so well, my love,” he purred, sounding utterly delighted and content, and his gaze flicked to you while he nibbled ever so gently on your breast before switching to the other.

You began shifting your hips almost as if you couldn’t help yourself, the sight of him licking at you just as erotic as feeling him still hard and thick buried inside you to the hilt, and his blue eye sparkled. Maybe it was your insatiable body, maybe it was because you could see the heated adoration in his gaze, but you couldn’t stop chasing that familiar coil of pleasure tightening in your pelvis as he continued his ministrations. Your nipples were aching, sore and tender from being sucked on for so long and so enthusiastically, and he traced the puffy ridges with the tip of his tongue.

“Should…should we stop?” you asked hoarsely, rocking your hips slightly faster as your eyes lingered on him drawing your nipple in his mouth and suckling before releasing with a soft ‘pop’.

“Do you want me to stop? I’m here to help, my lovely pet, and I am very interested in seeing how long you can hold out…how much pleasure do you think you can pull from that pretty little cunt of yours before you’re too exhausted to even beg me to make you come?” he asked, never once stopping his kneading or licking, and your hips rolled almost frantically at his words.

He smiled sharply, something wicked and full of dark promise, and you whined high in your throat at the way he studied you from under his lashes.

“Oh, no, love…I don’t think that you’re quite done yet. I know that I am far from done with you.”

[flowerandblood]

Glass Cuts Deepest Headcanons

Aemond x Wright after events from the series

Headcanons for the closeness and intimacy between Aemond and Wright after the events of the series. They will also include descriptions of sexual encounters and attempts to cope with the trauma of sexual abuse. Series Masterlist

⭐ Aemond must always feel her. When they lie on the sofa together and watch a movie, when they read while sitting next to each other, when they talk in a restaurant. His hand is on her hand, on her thigh, stroking her, an involuntary reflex that he doesn't think about.

⭐ At night he has to hold her, his arm around her back or chest is a bare minimum. Every movement she makes wakes him up, he kisses her forehead or temple every time he's sure they're both safe, and then he falls asleep again.

When he has nightmares, he wakes her up and tells her about it, and she holds him to her breasts, terrified and trembling, stroking his hair and reassuring him that he is safe until he falls asleep again from exhaustion.

⭐ Visiting museums and art galleries together is their common passion, which they fulfill in every free moment, going on trips and sightseeing together. He has to hold her hand as if they were teenagers, while having the same indifferent and cold expression as always, making her laugh. Whenever they are driving anywhere, one of his hands is always on her thigh.

⭐ He loves it when she sits in front of him on the bed or a folded sofa while they watch a series or a movie together. Then he wraps his arms around her body, feeling her wonderfully from all sides, the back of her head resting on his shoulder, his cheek against her temple.

Innocent hanging out usually turns into intense sex as soon as her buttocks press too hard against what's hidden in his pants. His manhood pulsates in response every time, and Wright, feeling him, teases him until he hisses in her ear that she wanted this herself, as he slides her panties off, spread her thighs, and enters her from behind with a firm, violent thrust.

His one hand on her breast, kneading it, playing with her nipple, the other between her thighs, teasing her clit as he fucks her from behind with deep, fast movements, growling if this is what she wanted, if she can't concentrate even on a stupid movie and how many times he have to fuck her to make her behave. Of course, in fact, he will get great satisfaction from it all himself, not giving a damn about whatever they watched.

⭐ Aemond finds herself in a dominant role when it comes to classic sex. He finds satisfaction in tying her hand with his belt to make sure she doesn't touch him while he enjoys her body. Of course, they have predefined rules and safety passwords.

He loves to prolong and deny her orgasms, driving her wild with his tongue and hands, making her one big mess begging for fulfillment. His biggest fear is that he will hurt her so he makes sure he doesn't overdo it by saying "you're doing so good for me, can you hold on for me just a little longer?", "just a little bit more and I'll let you cum, hmm?", "such a good little girl, easy now, we're almost there".

When he finally lets her come, he slides into her almost immediately, himself on the brink of orgasm from what he's doing to her, hard and swollen, with determined thrusts of his hips fucking her with all his might, regardless of how sensitive she is after her orgasm, rubbing her right where she needs it, pushing his tongue deep into her mouth.

Sometimes, while doing this, she will beg him to untie her hands, to intertwine their fingers, that she wants to feel him. Then he stops for a moment, breathing heavily, releasing her, taking her hands in his, going back to what he was doing a moment earlier, listening to her sighs and moans of delight as she reaches another peak with him.

⭐ He proposes to her after a year of their relationship, confident that he wants to be with her for the rest of his life, and forces her to take him to the church where she first saw the stained glass windows as a child while walking with her father.

Wright thought they had only gone there for a walk, however, at one point he lets go of her hand, she turns to him and he kneels in front of her, a small box containing a sapphire ring in his hand.

For a moment Wright can't believe what's happening and panics with happiness, simultaneously crying, suffocating and waving her hands with happiness, before finally choking out a yes.

⭐ After their engagement, he finally decides to introduce her to his family and, to his satisfaction, his relationship with her makes him regain a good connection with his mother again. He has a serious conversation with her about what happened and how he didn't cope with his trauma. They both cry in the other room as Wright and Helaena talk about their favourite books and slowly become friends.

⭐ When Aemond sees her on their wedding day in the church the sun is already setting, the coloured lights of the stained-glass windows illuminate her petite figure as she walks underhand with her father in a modest long-sleeved pearl gown, beautifully embroidered and partly semi-transparent, white flowers in her hair.

He thinks then that it is God himself who gives him his Eve in possession at last, he imagines that he sees her for the first time in his life standing in the Garden of Eden. He gets as emotional as she does, trying not to cry and thus make her cry too, so that she doesn't blur her make-up, but still they both can't hold their tears while saying their vows and they say them with difficulty, stuttering, looking into each other's eyes with a love that he hadn't even dared to dream of before.

⭐ Their wedding night is tender and peaceful, full of laughter and joy. Her touch is warm and respectful, they undress slowly, and then she goes to the bathroom and changes into a lovely long nightgown, from under which, however, the outline of his body is partly visible, which arouses him even more.

He stays in his shirt and trousers however, they don't think about it, he turns her onto her back, intertwines their fingers together and slides into her, panting into her mouth between kisses that they are one from now on before God and will remain one after death, that she will be his Eve too in the new paradise.

⭐ When Wright becomes pregnant for the first time he is stunned and excited, he starts reading lots of parenting articles on the internet and makes Wright laugh by telling her what she should do, what vitamins to take and what could be a risk to the baby. She has to reassure him that she and the doctor have everything under control.

From then on, he constantly keeps his hand on her abdomen. The thought that their child is now there makes his wife seem to him like some kind of superhuman being, a miracle who will be able to bring a new life into their world, and he thinks it is impossible to love someone so much.

He wants her to give up her job for the duration of her pregnancy fearing that the chemicals in the patina and glass paints they inhaled could realistically harm the baby, being toxic, but she was dying of boredom at home and begged him to at least let her cut glass.

He reluctantly agreed and arranged for her to have a room next to his workshop which up to then had been his private studio, and from which he took everything that could be dangerous to her for that time.

⭐ On the day of the delivery he dies of fear that something will go wrong, Wright did not want him to be there when his baby comes into the world fearing that he will just pass out. Her screams and moans of exertion cause him to just start crying, terrified, her parents have to calm him down.

However, when the nurse announces that it's over and he hears his baby crying he almost runs inside, Wright tired, sweaty, pale yet smiling holds their tiny son in her arms, he is all red from the heat and his childish despair that he has been ripped from his mother's warm womb into this cold, scary world.

Looking at her with their baby in her arms, all he can think about is that she looks like the Mother of God with the Child, he sits down next to them in a chair and watches them, unable to get out of his awe at this sight. He then creates many works inspired by this scene, often sketching them while she held their son to her breast, when she was cradling him or playing with him.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy

[liaa--qb]

Sorry 😂😂😅

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

my god the pics of him from the airport made me go FERAL, imagine actress!reader getting fucked for hours at the hotel room, receiving so much praise and body worship since he couldn’t say shit during filming nsfw scenes for the show

Just imagine Ewan and actress!reader arriving together at the airport for the event. And he gets a little protective when there are too many reporters, and you two get inside the car together

You have no idea the self control and resistance Ewan had to master up while filming all those intimate scenes with you. He always had to hold himself back, but not in your hotel room.

Imagine Ewan praising you and kissing you as he takes off your dress after the event. His hands touching every inch of you, admiring you, worshiping you.

Imagine him gently picking you up and putting you on the bed. His lips leaving soft kisses everywhere. It's all about appreciating you and worshiping you.

He would take his time, make you moan and beg while he showers you with praises and use his lips and fingers to make you feel good.

He makes you keep eye contact with him as he makes you cum.

Imagine him looking you in the eyes and he leaves a trail of kisses and gets down on you. He loves eating you out and showing you how much your pleasure means to him.

When he finally thrust himself inside you, you are all nice and wet for him. He tells you how amazing you are and how you deserve to feel good as he thrust deep, making you moan loudly.

For hours he praises you, worships you, and gives you all his attention. When he is done with you you couldn't even move but feeling amazing.

Ewan never forgets the aftercare. He will bring a wet towel and clean you up, kissing your forehead and praising you for being a good girl.

Imagine you two cuddling. Both naked and in each other's arms and falling asleep in that position

[humanpurposes]

Michael Gavey Headcanons

Main Masterlist

Warnings: smut, me being insane for this freak

A/n: I've never done headcanons before I just needed to get this out of my system because I am in a MOOD

Michael Gavey being a virgin loser boy when he starts at Oxford, obviously.

Completely falling for a girl at his college.

Their first kiss being slow and soft and innocent.

But once he starts to get a taste for this, the close contact, the feeling of her lips and her tongue, her body beneath his hands, it starts to drive him insane.

A study date in her bedroom turns into a makeout session and suddenly she's pushing him back against the bed. He's just so happy to be here, getting to see all of her, pawing at her waist and her hips as she straddles him.

He's a desperate, subby little mess, so eager to follow her instructions and make her feel good. And trying so hard not to come too quickly but she's so tight and wet and warm, he can't help it :/

After that he's insatiable. Any spare minute they have he wants to be between her legs, make her come with his fingers and his tongue. He wants to feel her skin against his, fuck her and feel her fall apart.

He's a perfectionist, and you know once he get a bit more confident and knows what he's doing, his meaner side is gonna come out.

Him gradually finding all her weak points, discovering what she responds to.

He's obsessed with bimbofication, taking this intelligent, beautiful girl and fucking her stupid, pinning her to the mattress with his body while he pounds into her, making her come over and over again until her mind is hazy and her body is limp.

And he'd be SO SMUG about it!!

“Does that feel good? Come on answer me, sweetheart, or have I fucked you dumb?”

Pushing his glasses up his nose while he watches his cock move in and out of her.

“Just like that, my perfect girl, my stupid little slut, mine.”

General taglist (comment to be added or removed!): @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @targaryenrealnessdarling

[demigoddessqueens]

every step you take

a/n - me thinks Ewan needs to be in more roles, music videos but that’s just me 🤷‍♀️

Masterlist 11

Yandere!Martin who is the type of obsessive who watches your every move

Where you go, who you see or talk to, all of it is his business

yandere!Martin who marks your skin with hickeys and love bites if you’ve been gone too long

Make out 💋 sessions go on for hours well into the next day if he wants, leaving you breathless and your lips flushed and pink as your cheeks are

Yandere!Martin who tugs at or steals bits of clothes to keep you closer to him, pinching and grabbing at any skin exposed to him

Even as he leans back as you plaster kisses all over his body, those firm arms are keeping you in place until he’s satisfied

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Michael Gavey SFW Alphabet

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Acts of service and quality time. Michael isn't naturally a touchy feely kind of person, so will show he cares by bringing snacks and hanging out with his partner. He has felt like an unwanted outcast all of his life, so these small acts would be his declaration of "this is my person".

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Michael doesn't make friends easily, social skills aren't something that comes naturally to him. He will befriend people that he considers to be similar to him, and can come off as quite intense in the early stages.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Cuddles would be quite awkward at first, as he's not used to physical contact, but he'd grow to love them. He's not the all-encompassing, every limb wrapped around each other type of cuddler, but is never more content than when his partner has their head resting on his shoulder with his arm around them, while they read or watch TV.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Is naturally neat and orderly, but cannot cook to save his life. It would be a case of his partner doing the cooking and he does the washing up afterwards. He does want to settle down though, knowing he has someone who isn't going to leave would make him incredibly happy.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Michael doesn't let go easily, so a break up would be messy. There'd be angry words and tears from both sides. A real mess with no possibility of remaining friends afterwards.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

If the relationship makes it to the one year mark, his partner can absolutely expect a proposal. In his mind, he has found the one, so he wants to seal the deal as quickly as possible.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Emotionally he's incredibly insensitive. He'd need to be taught what not to do. Physically, he's gentle to the point of being too soft, but that comes from nerves and a lack of experience.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Hugs aren't something that comes naturally to him, but as the relationship develops he grows to enjoy hugs as a means of greeting.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

His partner has to be the one to say it first, then he'll say it back. He's not comfortable putting himself out there, in case he's rejected.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Extremely prone to visits from the green eyed monster. His biggest fear is abandonment, so every person is potentially someone you'll leave him for. This lessens as the relationship develops and he feels more secure.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are awkward at first, he's not experienced. As time goes on, he gets more comfortable and his favourite thing to do is brush his lips against his partner's temple or hairline when they're engrossed in a book or concentrating on something else.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Incredibly uncomfortable. He doesn't know how to talk to children.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Michael's an early riser. He'll make a tea for himself and his partner, and leave theirs on their bedside table. He reads until they get up.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He falls asleep early. Usually nods off while watching something.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He is a chronic oversharer, simply because he doesn't understand social dynamics.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He is quick to lose his temper, but it's short lived and he calms down quickly, often seeming embarrassed afterwards.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers every little detail, no matter how inconsequential.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The first time his partner held his hand in public. The fact that they weren't ashamed to be with him meant the world to him.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He's not protective in the sense that he would get into a physical altercation for his partner, but he's protective in the sense that he makes sure they do what's best for themselves in every aspect of their lives.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He makes a big effort, simply because his partner means the world to him.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Speaking without thinking, eating junk food instead of proper meals, arrogance.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not in the slightest.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He would be crushed if he suddenly found himself without his partner.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

His favourite idea of a date is taking his partner to a museum, and giving them their very own tour, because he'll have looked up and memorised all of the facts regarding the featured pieces beforehand.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Stupidity is a huge turn off for him. Also conformity to the "norm" - he wants someone that has a mind of their own.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He goes to bed early and gets up early.