#if you may have noticed i took inspo from good omens

[maomoj1]

suguru was going to confess but it went the other way(?)

[lunarflux]

↔ ᴍʏ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴɪᴏɴ, ᴘᴛ 2

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!OC

genre—smut, dark romance song inspo—bad omens - death of peace of mind, billie eilish - my boy summary— Aemond indulges in his twisted desires with a woman who knows his every need. They meet in secret, their passion driven by his anger and her willingness to submit to his painful advances. Aemond craves her, yet despises the intimacy that follows. He questions why she always returned to him, knowing that she did not love or care for him. The cycle of desire and anger persists, leaving him yearning for more, caught in a tormented state until their next encounter.

Adiel’s footsteps left marks in the dust-coated stone floor. Her steps, delicate and strategic, clicked down the hall and into a large room with only a table and chairs at the center. Her father, Drystan Tyrell of House Gardener, waited, standing at the head of the table. He did not appear to be satisfied with Adiel’s tendency to arrive late which she only did to bother him. She took a seat opposite him with yards of space in between.

“You’re late,” he sighed in frustration, “Again.”

“I thought it was only you who called me, father,” she chuckled, “Is a daughter not allowed to take her time?”

Drystan approached her and placed his hand on the table, leaning in so that the severity of his words may better sink in, “I was informed you denied Lord Lannister.”

“I did.”

“You cannot keep doing this, Adiel,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “You know this—”

“Forgive me for noticing that his loins swell at the sight of any woman,” Adiel sat back with a grin on her face, “I heard from the servants that he once approached Princess Rhaenyra. By now, he must be desperate. He’s weak, father. If I were to wed a Lannister, at least let it be a man with some dignity.”

“Dignity has nothing to do with it, you stupid girl!” Drystan’s eyes bulged at her harsh disinterest.

Adiel leaned forward, “Perhaps I should take on Ser Gawfrin.”

The game Adiel adored most was one that could be played only with words and was won with silence. She was quite good at it, and relished every time she was the victor. Once again, she left her father speechless at the mention of the knight who only days ago ripped through the town square in the name of justice. While others in the court cowered at the thought of bloodshed, she couldn’t help but smile at the knights as they entered the castle with crimson streaks decorating their armor.

Drystan stumbled backwards, “When I took you in, I swore to my brother that you would be in good hands. That includes marrying a man who is kind. Not one who finds sport in cruelty.”

Adiel cocked her head to the side.

He hardly ever mentioned his brother, her real father. Drystan was very much a father-like figure to her, but only in years. Had her foolish father not fallen during a tournament, she might have cared a little bit more. From that day on, Drystan whisked her away to King’s Landing against the wishes of their house and claimed that she was his child. She played along with the lie if only to torment him with the truth and all she could do to twist it.

“Then I suppose, I will not marry,” she declared, “I find no fault in that path.”

The alternative was one she did not prefer though it was not for the reason most would assume. To think it was to the streets or to the church where she would become a priestess—the thought alone made her cackle. She spared the church of her presence. Cruelty coated her skin, and she would only spurn a wildfire in the Lord’s house. That much she knew was beyond her wants.

“And besides,” Adiel rested her cheek against her hand, “A man’s cruelty is worthless to me. I would be a fool to wish for it in a husband.”

Drystan never understood her logic. She didn’t speak in riddles, but her tongue was laced with spite and cleverness, a trait she brought with her through adolescence.

“Physical cruelty is weakness,” she teased, “The mind can do more to wither a soul, and the damage lingers until death.”

“These games you play, Adiel, one day, they will deliver your demise.”

“And when that day comes, I welcome fate and all she has to offer me. It is but a game, father.”

“We cannot remain in King’s Landing unless we secure your place in society,” Drystan reasoned, “You will keep your black heart hidden until you secure a choice. And if you must choose, then I demand to know the man first. Let me judge his character. Let me do this much at least.”

Adiel raised an eyebrow and hummed a dreamy sigh, “Very well. I will choose wisely, father. Do not fret for me or my black heart. Only those with eyes open wide can see my wickedness for what it really is.”

Drystan shook his head, again tortured by Adiel’s mind games, “And what would that be?”

It was always when the door opened that her face switched. She would paint on the façade of an innocent maiden once more, to be kept out in the open until she was alone again. Drystan stood upright at the sight of the interruption, his upper lip stiffening.

“The truth,” she purred.

Ignoring her words, Drystan bowed his head, “My Prince.”

Adiel looked over her shoulder with a curt grin, and only one person could see it.

Aemond held the door open. He almost stood at attention, waiting. When Adiel stood, Aemond froze. She curtsied before meeting his eye, the faintest hint of a smirk on her lips before disappearing into a vacant expression. Drystan approached Aemond nervously as he let the door slam shut. It echoed throughout the room, and the three waited in silence before Drystan spoke.

“My apologies, Prince Aemond,” Drystan motioned over to Adiel who contained herself well, “My daughter and I were discussing a private matter.”

“There is no such thing as a private matter in the King’s home,” Aemond responded tersely, “Lord Tyrell, if you wish to keep secrets, I suggest you find residence elsewhere.”

Adiel kept her eyes forward as Aemond passed, barely brushing against her arm as he took the seat she occupied only minutes ago. He removed the small blade from his waist and firmly placed it into the table.

Drystan grabbed Adiel’s hand and ushered her forward. Before he could take hold of the brass knocker, the door opened again.

“Queen Alicent, forgive me, we did not mean to disturb you,” Drystan muttered with his head hung low. He nudged Adiel, and she curtsied once more.

“Lord Tyrell, Adiel,” Alicent attempted to hide her shock, “You are here early. I thought…” She leaned over to see the back of Aemond’s head, unresponsive and listening.

“It is my fault, my Queen,” Adiel smiled with a short nod, “My father and I were discussing the matter of whom I should be betrothed to. It was not a discussion easily had elsewhere.”

“Ah,” Alicent chuckled, “I see. And have you chosen someone?”

Aemond held his breath if only to better hear the conversation behind him. Whatever niceties his mother had to offer, he knew it would be enough to compel Adiel to speak more of what never came up when she was in his bed. News of a potential marriage made his stomach turn. To him, a marriage would mean nothing. He could still claim her if he wanted to. What poor sire would deny him of what he believed to be his?

No, he shook the thought. Adiel did not belong to him. After their last conversation, he now knew that it was only he who craved her. She craved something else, but it was nothing any other man could give her. All feel pain, but pain has its own taste. His, it seemed, was the sweet mead she thrived on.

His mother listed names, the names of men who did not deserve Aemond’s good favor. With each, he imagined what the man would look like standing beside Adiel. Holding her close, touching her face, tasting her until she twisted and coiled in delight. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Even the thought of her bare conjured up the sounds of her whimpers. Aemond swore he could hear her—the rhythmic pounding of his flesh against hers. Her slick wet drippings coating his fingers. The more he imagined, the harder he gripped the blade. Before long, it was warm, and it was the only thing keeping the furious twitch from disturbing his silence.

Adiel politely shook her head, “In time, I will find a good man, my Queen. I’m sure he is not far.” Drystan took her by the arm and led them away.

Aemond held the end of the blade, still standing tall. He twisted it until the wood splintered. “Lord Tyrell,” he called without turning.

“Yes, my Prince,” Drystan tugged Adiel back.

Aemond tapped his fingers on the table, creating a muted rhythm before he spoke again, “I wish you luck in your endeavors.” He rose, and his gaze landed on Adiel.

She did nothing, but he knew she heard it—the call. The urge pulsed, and it fractured in his throat. Alicent pulled the knife back, and placed it in his hands. The handle remained warm.

That night, Adiel came to him like a dream bathed in red. Aemond undressed her slowly and studied her—the many scars he gifted her and supple pink flesh between her legs, the way she trembled and gasped when he finally touched her. The moment she lay naked before him, the anger disappeared just as it always did. She begged and accepted the pain, his hand wrapped around her throat and his fingers buried deep inside her until she choked on her screams in ecstacy.