Like The Wave, She Broke; But Like The Sea, She Persevered

Like the Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered

Chapter 3: And So, It Begins

Previous Chapter

A Robb Stark X Yi Tish Reader/OC Story

Author's Note: I do not own Game of Thrones or ASOIAF or any of GRRM works. But please no hate, but feel free to comment, like, or reblog if you liked reading this story and want me to continue! There are some phrases written in Mandarin and some are in Romanization, but the translations are at the bottom of the post, along with pinyin for pronunciation. Ship terms and language is written by someone who has never been on a medieval ship in a storm. Also a surprise character is introduced into the story!

Also, I am so sorry for how long this story took to be updated. Finals and internships have been busting my butt for the past 2 months. But hopefully I'll be more consistent with my updates. I really appreciate everyone who has been following with this story, and I am especially grateful for my beta writer @valeskafics for her very helpful comments and her tips! Please check out her works, she's an insanely brilliant writer!

Warning(s): sexual content, past trauma & abuse, violence and violent themes, depression, symptoms of PTSD & survivor's guilt, asshole bosses, mention of offensive and racist terms, GOT canonical misogyny & sexism, angst (so much angst), references to abusers, and dark/yandere attitudes.

Previously in “Like the Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered”:

“You’re coming because you’re the King in the North, Arya because two Starks are better than one in this case and your mother is in no state to continue on, my guess is that the bannermen probably want to send her back to Winterfell. And Blackfish is going because he’s a Tully of Riverrun, but he’s not your fuckup Uncle Edmure Tully of Riverrun.”

Robb’s POV:

For Robb to say that the meeting with the bannermen was tedious would be an understatement. Theon was right that the meeting was mostly about sending his mother back to Winterfell in order to reunite with Bran and Rickon. His Lady Mother was more than pleased with the decision, although she tried in her best efforts to remain strong for her son, she was at her wits’ end with worry for her two youngest boys. She called for a steward to prepare the trip for her and Arya, when the atmosphere immediately became tense. It seems that his mother was unaware that she would be the only Stark returning to the North. Furthermore, the only one amongst Robb’s council uninformed of the apparent unanimous decision to send Arya to Maidenpool with Robb her Uncle Brydyen as a way to show good will, but still presenting a unified front from both the North and the Riverlands to Stannis and his men. In hearing of this decision, she demanded a moment alone with their king and princess her son and daughter, along with Lord Brydyen.

“You expect me to return to Winterfell,” gritted out his mother, “only to leave my daughter here?” Her crystalline blue eyes were nearly bulging out of their sockets, her signature red strands escaped her braid, giving the illusion of fire surrounding her in the tent’s candlelight. A fire that was slowly rising with her increasing anger. “So she can meet with Stannis? And then what? Would she train to be a soldier, to fight, in King’s Landing, just after escaping? Of all the things you have expected from me to allow in you becoming King, this is your truest sign of madness from power.”

“Mother, please- “, Robb started to explain his reasoning, by which he wanted to explain that Arya practically ambushed him after his brawl tiff with Theon, and outright told him that she was going with him to Maidenpool. There was nothing to ask, no permission to grant, she was coming if it meant tailing behind him on foot for weeks in order to meet Stannis Baratheon and plan siege on King’s Landing and rescuing Sansa. She even shoved a dagger near his balls and told him that she’d cut them off if he sent her back home with their mother. She followed by pointing out that he might be better without it, considering he married the first girl it pointed at in this war. He tried his best to ignore Theon’s squawking laughter behind him as he visibly paled.

“NO! No, I won’t hear it,” Lady Catelyn shook her head furiously before pointing a finger at him like she was scolding a small child, rather than a king in war, “I have swayed by you too many times. All of which because I had been thinking of your rights as a king, and your happiness as my son. But in doing so, I have allowed you too much freedom. As a mother, it was my duty to allow you as much happiness afforded to you in this war. But in doing so, I have let you forgotten your duty to your family. No more, I could not stop you from marrying Talisa, from executing Lord Karstark, but I will not let you turn my daughter into a killer-”.

“I already am a killer!” Arya yelled over her, interrupting their mother’s fury-fueled lecture, and bringing both their mother’s and Robb’s eyes on her for the first time since the bannermen left the tent. “I already killed four men! I trained under a killer, a faceless man, I’m not leaving!” Robb was blown away by what he heard, from his youngest sister of all people. Arya turned to him, and he knew that she would not relent. “I’m going with you, I’m going to meet Stannis, and then I’m going to march into King’s Landing and get our sister back.”

This was not his little sister that snuck out of her lessons with her Setpa, the one that would always beg him or Jon to teach her how to fight, the one who would fling food at Sansa and he would send her to her room. That Arya longed for freedom, for glory, but was still green to the world and its cruelty. No, this Arya understood what it meant to take a life, felt the stopping of a man’s heart, saw the light bleed out a man’s eyes before being replaced by dull nothingness. This Arya was a killer.

“I’m the only one out of all of us who knows their way around the Red Keep. Joffery may be stupid enough to not hide, but Cersei will. And where Cersei hides, that’s where I’ll find Sansa. I’m going to make Cersei see a Stark staring down at her before I stick Needle in her head and her children.”

Gods, they turned his baby sister into a killer.

Brother stared at Sister, Tully Blue gazed into Stark Grey, Duty challenging Vengeance, each side daring the other to make a move, to take the bait, to give leeway. The world around them stopped until time finally decided to move forward. Robb looked at his mother, and then at his siter once more, and after a few minutes of extremely careful consideration, he finally relented. To which he heard his mother scream.

“NO! I forbid it!” Lady Stark shoved a finger to her eldest son’s chest, as if her mind imagined it as a blade that could pierce his armor for his insanity. She immediately grabbed Arya’s hand and to make her way out the tent to pack their things, “Come now Arya, we are leaving now. I will no longer pretend to humor your brother’s madness any longer- “

“NO!” Arya pulls her arm away from her mother and immediately stands by her brother’s side. “Look at me, look at ME!” Arya stood her ground, refusing to move away, refusing to let her mother to force her into a role that no longer fit, a role that had never fit in the first place not since she first saw Jon and Robb spar one another with wooden swords, dreaming to hold one in her hands. “I’m not a lady! I’ve never been a lady! I never wanted nor will ever BE a lady!”

Robb glanced between his mother and sister with frantic worry, unsure of where he should intervene. But it seems that his mother did that favor for him.

“Arya, I don’t want to fight with you-”, she started, her eyes filled with stubborn anger and her voice laced with absolute exhaustion. She had hoped that if she pleaded, her youngest daughter would begin to relent. Robb’s mother always seemed to underestimate her northern blood.

“I WANT to fight!” Arya interrupted, her impulsiveness continually shining over her patience. “I want to fight with you! Shout, scream, yell horrible things we both will regret!” Her voice refused to tremble as the pale grey eyes she inherited from their father shimmered with angry tears. “Because it seems only you hating me will make you see me! To HEAR me! To cause you to finally wake up from the fantasy of the fake daughter you made up in your mind over your real one that stands before you!”

For the first time since their reunion, for the first time since she could toddle, Robb saw tears brimming his chaotic sister’s eyes. Not for the first time since war broke out, he wished for his brother Jon’s company, not just only for his comfort, but also to handle Arya. Thick as thieves those two, as Arya always considered Jon to be her favorite brother, never once thinking less of him for his bastard status, or blaming his existence as proof for his father’s infidelity not like his mother, Sansa, or almost everyone did in Winterfell. No, Arya was always proud in knowing the Jon Snow was a Stark, whether he carried the name or not (another trait that he saw in you, his beloved), he was her brother.

Even Robb couldn’t claim that he never used his status as their father’s heir and first true-born son to his advantage at times, whenever he was jealous of how quickly Jon picked up hunting and fighting while he sometimes struggled, or whenever he was reminded that it was his duty as heir that he had to marry a highborn noblewoman and not you, or whenever he saw the two of you sparring together (Jon had the muscle, but you had the speed and agility) with that rare gleam in your eye that could only come from a skilled partner, or whenever he spied saw the two of you walking together in the keep’s town in comfortable silence, or whenever he saw you sitting together at meals at the far end at his mother’s insistence when Theon was making his presence known at the brothels and he heard your laughter oh, how his fists clenched in fury at the sight of your smile not directed at him. But Jon wasn’t here, and Robb wasn’t a boy in Winterfell, not anymore. Now he was the King of the North, and if he could not be king of an independent North, then he was still the Lord of Winterfell and the North’s Warden. That meant that he was head of the Starks, including his own mother should she continue to carry the name “Stark.”

“Mother,” Robb started, the two women in the tent quickly turning their gaze to him, “you are to return to Winterfell to watch over the keep and watch over Bran and Rickon. I’ll send 10 men with you in case of an ambush. The North needs the Starks to watch over her.” His mother’s eyes softened in relief, mistaking his decision as agreement.

“Thank you, my son-”, she started before being cut off.

“But you will be the only Stark returning to the North,” he stated as he saw Arya’s back straighten in shock. “Princess Arya will remain by my side to assist me in negotiating with Stannis. As I am sure that you are the last Stark he wishes to see.” He saw the eyes of his mother widen in fear and desperation.

“Robb, my son, please-”, she pleaded, “listen to reason.”

“No,” he could not risk being soft anymore, not with the North on the line, “Stannis is our only hope in surviving this war. When you came to Renly’s side, you declared the North his enemy. Now it is up to me to fix it, to beg if necessary.” He lowered his eyes to stare his mother down with as much authority his father drilled into him as a youth, “I am your son. But even if I have to give away my crown, I am still Warden of the North and Winterfell’s lord. I am YOUR lord. And as your lord, I proclaim that this decision is final.” He turned to his sister, and clasped his gloved hand on her shoulder, “Get some rest, tomorrow we must prepare. The following day, we leave at first light.”

“Yes,” Arya stared at her brother with determination and gratitude, “my king.” With that being the final word, he left the tent to make way to his own. He quickly removed his outerwear until he was only in his small clothes and didn’t bother to wash himself before collapsing on top of the furs on his cot. Fatigue washed over him as he closed his eyes and slept without any dreams.

Now resting in an inn, Maidenpool being only a few more days away, his ass still sore from the weeks of riding and rising anxiety of meeting Stannis Baratheon, the King and Lord of Dragonstone. He dared not to admit to himself of his worry in fear that his nerves will get the best of him when he finally meets Stannis Baratheon. While he may have been a southerner, born and raised, Robb had only tremendous respect for the man. Moreso, Robb was grateful to have never crossed swords with in the field.

Prince Stannis was hailed a “military genius,” his victory against the Victarion Greyjoy at the Fair Isle during the Greyjoy Rebellion was mythic, even Theon couldn’t help but be in awe whenever Maester Luwin recounted it in their lessons. Stannis, despite having no particular skillset of either sailor or admiral, was set up as Master of Ships against seasoned naval commander who fought in naval battles at the end of Robert’s Rebellion. It was the first naval battle Stannis fought in his life, entering the battle an inexperienced commander and left as the man who gave Victarion Greyjoy his most crushing defeat.

“Truly,” Robb thought, “if the North must bend the knee to another Southerner, by the Gods let it be him.” As he was resolute in his belief that only Stannis Baratheon could manage to rule over the Seven Kingdoms, and lead them into peace and prosperity. His disadvantage in his claim would be that he had no heir, only a sickly daughter who survived a case of Greyscale as a babe, and had to continue to grow with horrifying scars left from the disease on her face. From what he heard; her mother became cold and cruel to the young girl and grew mad under some god named “R'hllor.” Stannis himself converted to the same faith, even allowing a High Red Priestess referred to as “Lady Melissandre” to sit within his council. Robb couldn’t help but pity the poor girl; knowing how cold her father was - not to mention her deranged mother - hardly made for a warm upbringing. Lost in his thoughts, he did not even hear Arya come into the room and sit on the room’s other bed.

“What do think will happen when Stannis sees us?” She asks, her face completely blank as her mind races through the worst scenario. “Do you think he’ll kill us? Like he killed Renly?”

“We don’t know that to be true,” he answers back carefully, “and even if it was, it’s because Renly declared claim to the Iron Throne over him. When you think it like that, he only killed a usurper.”

“Like Joffery?”

“Aye, like Joffery.” After waiting for a few moments for her reply, Robb thought that he settled her nerves, and closed his eyes to begin to sleep. But what Arya asked next was so soft that he almost missed it, but it chilled his blood when his ears caught it.

“…Aren’t we usurpers?” She asked him. “Won’t he see us the same as Joffery?”

“Arya, we aren’t- it’s not-” Robb struggled to find the words to ease his little sister “Stannis wouldn’t-”

“Wouldn’t he?” Arya interrupted with a dead gaze and flat voice. “If he killed his own brother, what makes you think he won’t kill you?”

“Stannis wouldn’t make the same mistake Tywin Lannister made,” Robb shook his head as he tried to sound as calm and patient to fight off the migraine blooming in his head, “he’s a better man than him.”

“Like how you thought Walder Frey would just let you marry your dead wife? Or like how you thought that you wouldn’t die at a wedding.”

Robb flinched at her biting tone. When he looked to her once more, he first saw how her fists clenching the bed spread so hard he thought it would be torn. He then looked at her face, it was no longer impassive. Her mouth was pursed in anger, her eyes were mad with fury, and he saw her chest falling and rising with her nostril flaring as if she was preparing for a fight.

“Father died because he thought that a Lannister wasn’t as bad as he made her to be. Mother thought that Littlefinger was still someone worth trusting even after betraying father. And then she let go another Lannister, and then you killed Lord Karstark.”

It was hard for Robb to be forced to listen to every horrible decision that his family made that led them to this point, but he was too tired to retort back. So, he just let her continue on with her little rant. He figured that she needed to get it off of her chest.

“You, Theon, Mother, and thousands of men are alive now because of one person; Li.”

Hearing your name hurt more than the arrows to the chest, but he remained quiet as he heard the slight tremble creep through his sister’s voice.

“But Li’s gone now. She’s gone, and she can’t protect us anymore. She saved the North, the Vale, and you repaid her by marrying some pretty little healer who batted her sweet little eyes at you.”

“What does the Vale-”

“I know Mother went to King’s Landing.” This made Robb freeze.

“How the fuck-” but his couldn’t finish his thought as she pressed on.

“I found her while she was packing, she told me that she had to go. She couldn’t let you ruin everything.

“I tried telling her to not to go, that we needed her. I told her that when we get Sansa back and go back to Winterfell – that she’d be welcomed back as a hero of the North, be given a title and land– but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t listen to me. She kept talking about no one would listen to her. Then she started crying, I never ever saw Li cry – not even when Bran fell. Then she told me everything. ‘Bout how she tried to warn everyone: Father, Mother, and even you. She told father to leave, but he wouldn’t listen then either. She said that all of this was her fault, because she didn’t warn them earlier.

“She told Father, ‘Take the girls and go. Go back to Winterfell. Make up any excuse: say you’re sick, say your wife and youngest boys miss you, say that the raids increased and the lords are in need of your command. Say anything and just LEAVE. Don’t tell anyone. Not the Queen, not Varys, not Littlefinger. Not even the King. They will act the friend, smile prettily, look you in the eye and whisper comforting words. Only to stab you in the back unblinkingly with that same pleasing smile as you bleed out at their feet.’

“She even did the same with Mother. She told her that Lord Baelish couldn’t be trusted; that he was lying to her like he did at King’s Landing, but Mother wouldn’t listen. So, when he was far enough from the camp, she ambushed him with a cloth doused with Essence of Nightshade to knock him out, and made sure that she was far enough so that no one would hear killing the knights Tyrion sent him with. She then climbed a tree to tie and gag there for a few days, and left Daiyu there to make sure that he wouldn’t escape.”

This was news to Robb; he was sure he would have heard something from his Aunt Lysa at the news of her missing husband. The woman was deranged with infatuation for him. Fully awake now, he gave Arya his full attention.

“What happened next?”

“She told me that she wanted him weakened before questioning him. She wasn’t worried when he first escaped, it was only when she heard about the Ironborn attacks that she knew she had to make sure Mother wouldn’t do something stupid. If nothing but to knock her out with the nightshade long enough to move him to a secret location. But Mother was already at the cage, along with someone else. Another woman I think – Lady… Lady… Brianna of-” Arya grew perplexed at her memory failing her in a time like this.

“Lady Brienne of Tarth.” Robb remembered for her. “But wait - why would Mother worry about the Ironborn fleet? Even now they made no attempt to seize Winterfell. Plus, we still have his only son.”

“Balon Greyjoy doesn’t give a shit about Theon, only himself and power. What better way to get it than with two little Stark boys? Li noticed Mother was getting scared, making her susceptible to impulsiveness. And she was right. When she heard that Jaime Lannister was brought back, she knew that he would make another attempt, she just didn’t think she would be beaten in getting there.

Anyway, she said that couldn’t allow Her Lady to release Ser Jaime, as doing so would be an act of treason against you. Mother told her that Li had no right to interfere as she couldn’t begin to understand the pain and stress she had been since the war began. She asked Li how could an orphaned whore understand the pain she felt as a mother whose children were all scattered across Westeros. She then ordered Brienne to take her down. It was a close fight for the both of them; the Tarth woman was strong, but Li was quick. She would have won, but she was still injured from fighting the knights. It was ten against one; and while she was fighting one of them, another stabbed her back while another kicked her knee. Before long, she got overpowered and knocked out, and was carried to the healers’ tent.”

Robb couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he had wondered why you blamed yourself for the Kingslayer’s escape, and the deaths of those two Lannister boys. He only assumed that it was your empathy getting the best of you. He intended to question Theon but completely forgotten with Maidenpool as his first priority. He remembered seeing you in the tent; he was shocked at the blood and bruises that bloomed in shades of black, blue, and purple across your body. Already angered by his mother’s betrayal, he demanded to know the men in his camp who had done this so that he could swiftly punish them. You croaked out that it was spar with some of the men at the camp that went too far. When he asked you why Theon and your shadowcat weren’t at your side, you quickly responded that Theon was with him, and that Daiyu was hunting. Scolding you for being so reckless, he insisted that he carry you to your tent.

But you only swatted his hand away as you stood up from the cot while stating that you dealt worse at sea as a child. You must have noticed his temper rising, since it was only then that you lifted your eyes to meet his. And with a single look at your tempestuous gaze, he was both silenced and enraptured. Knowing you had won this battle, you walked wobbled back to your tent.

All while Robb was left standing there like an idiot; his cock already hardening at the thought of your stubborn eyes melted from bliss with each fervid thrust of his hips meeting yours in overwhelming euphoria. The only bruises on your body would be those from his lips and teeth. He didn’t even register Talisa walking up to him as he strode to his tent to quickly give release. He remembered ordering Greywind to stand guard as he closed his eyes and let his imagination run rampant. He thought of punishing you for your impertinence, forcing you to kneel between his legs. He would have ordered you to take out his hardened member as he scolds you for making him so hard in public. He would have ordered you to lightly lick his tip, before carefully taking his thick head into your mouth. He audibly groaned at the thought of your unrelenting gaze being broken as he pushed your head to fully take him. He could see slightly wincing as you gagged at the struggle of taking his length and girth. And when he released his load, your eyes widened in shock at the volume of his cum, knowing it was all for you. He remembered imagining you to swallow it all, and that there would be consequences if you spilled anything. After swallowing his load, you opened your mouth to show nothing was left. He praised you for being such a good girl for him, and he remembered finally spilling into his hand at the thought of you smiling warmly at his praise.

All for his momentary peace to be interrupted by the sound of Greywind’s warning, and for Lord Karstark’s squire to inform Robb that his presence was demanded at the Kingslayer’s cage. Knowing it wouldn’t be good, Robb quickly rid of any evidence of his release and tucked in his flaccid cock into his breeches before making way to the cages that held any enemy prisoners. Only to discover that the Kingslayer had been released by the aid of his mother in attempt to exchange him for Sansa and Arya. That was the morning everything went to hell.

“What happened next?” He was almost terrified to know the answer.

“She told me then that she decided enough was enough. That night, she called Daiyu to let their prisoner down. When she saw him asleep, she stomped on his balls. She said that as a youth, she caught the eye of a certain One-Eyed Crow. He would teach her many things, one of them was how to make men talk. But he was stubborn, even in his current position. Every time he demanded to be released, Daiyu snarled. Every time he mentioned his position as an emissary of King Joffery, Li punched his gut. Every time he called himself Lord of the Vale, she put a hand to his mouth before stabbing his arm. It didn’t take long for him to temper him.”

Robb paled and grew a little green at Arya’s impassioned retelling of Lord Baelish’s “interrogation.” What unnerved him even more was the slight admiration in her eyes toward your actions. Although it shouldn’t have surprised him, Arya had always worshipped the ground you walked on. Next to Jon and Father, you were probably her most favorite person in the world.

While you had a special bond with all of the Stark children, you held the two girls close to your heart. Sansa adored you, as you saw more to her than a pretty face and delicate stitching; reminding her that it was her kind soul and generous heart that you loved the most. Although, Sansa always beamed whenever you asked for her input on stitching and clothes. She stating that it comforted her that she was better than you in at SOMETHING.

Meanwhile, whenever Arya wasn’t sneaking off her lessons to join her brothers, it was to find you. You fascinated her, always begging you to tell her stories of the life you lived before Winterfell. Whenever she was in trouble with Mother, you would tell her that she had a spark within her that was growing rarer in the world around them, and that you hoped it never went out. You would even teach her a few words from the many languages you spoke, telling her that everyone should be fluent in one other language than their Common Tongue.

“She told him that he betrayed our father. He denied it of course, even reminded her of how she witnessed him offering his aid with the dagger. That got him a broken knee. She already knew that Tyrion would never bet against his brother Jaime, Ros told her that they acted close. And that Jaime Lannister had already revealed that it was King Robert that won the dagger from him. King Robert would never make an assassination attempt against Ned’s family, but he was stupid enough to leave it lying around the keep. Making it more than easy for him to get it back.”

Robb was completely dumbfounded, his mind racing as he tried to piece together every new piece of information.

“Wait – so that means-”

“Littlefinger sent the assassin to kill Bran, not the Lannister’s.” Arya started with a somber nod. “The Kingslayer pushed him off the tower, and Bran did almost die. But no one knew that his legs worked. Who’d believe that he’d survive a fall like that?”

“Another advisement from you to Father,” thought Robb, “you really were too smart for your own damn good.”

“She told me how scared he got. How he started to get nervous and stutter. He tried telling her how he tried help Father by telling him to bend the knee to Joffery, saying that he would still remain Hand and run the kingdom in peace with our family safe. But all that earned him was her removing a finger. Li told him that he must have known that Father would never bend the knee to a bastard born of incest and that she cared little for more of his excuses and that he needed to shut up. All she wanted to know, was how he managed to kill Lord Jon Arryn.”

If Robb wasn’t in shock before, he certainly was now.

“She told him how strange she thought it was that she never responded to any of the ravens you and Mother sent to her. Why wouldn’t she send aid to her sister and nephew? After all, they’re fighting against the same people who murdered her husband. She said that while she never personally met Lady Arryn, she remembered Mother talking about how her sister claims that family means everything to her. Meaning that-”

“It wasn’t the Lannister’s that killed Jon Arryn” finished Robb; horror filling him as he realizes that his father, this war, the feud between Lannister and Stark, were all pulled at the strings maneuvered by someone who his mother treasured as a friend. Arya nodded with sober eyes, telling him that her reaction was like his in realizing the truth.

“Li told him that she noticed how similar brothel was that of the brothels in Lys, from the silken textiles to the Lysene women that served as pleasure slaves; even the way he ordered them was identical to that of a brothel’s master. He must have spent a lot of time at Lys to be familiar with their language and mannerisms.”

“Arya, what does any of this have to do with Jon Arryn’s death?” Robb snapped as he was growing impatient, “Southern nobles travel there all the time, not exactly strange behavior.”

“That’s what I said to Li, but do you know what she told me?” Arya smiled as she recounted what you told her next, “She said, ‘Why did Littlefinger survive this long? It wasn’t because he was strong, or rich, or even because he had friends. It’s because he watches everything, he takes in everything. Nothing was unimportant, everything had the potential to serve him in some way. I wanted him to know that no matter how smart he thought he was, I was better.’ She said that isolating and starving him were to just weaken his body, torturing him was to weaken his mind. But to break him, she needed to beat him in his own game, knowledge.”

The silence that followed was deafening to Robb. The only thing he could hear was the increased fervor of his heart pounding against his chest. He waited for his sister to continue, to hear the mastery of your inquisitiveness, to maybe gain your insight. Maybe he will finally begin to see a glimpse of the demonic ingenuity that hid behind your solid gaze; maybe, just maybe, in hearing this from someone else, he would understand you, if only just a little bit more.

But Arya didn’t say anything…her face was blank as the soft hacked tendrils of her hair covered her eyes.

“What next?” Robb whispered, his voice desperately pleading for more.

“…”

“Arya,” he pleaded once more; his voice growing more distraught with each passing second, “please tell me. What else did she say?” He could see his sister’s lips moving, but her voice was so quiet that he had to strain his ears to hear her next words.

“…That was it…,” she conceded, “she said that she had to go, that she stayed for too long already.” Arya kicked off her boots before bringing her knees to her chest, clutching them with her spindly arms. Her face remained blank, but Robb swore he heard her voice cracking.

“That can’t be it…” Robb protested in disbelief. “Arya there had to have been more. Tell me there’s more!” Robb was no longer lying on his bed. Now he stood over his sister, towering her small frame the same as their father once had when he scolded them as children. His voice growing more inflamed in misery. His anger erupted when Arya remained in her silence by lowering her head to her knee tops. If he paid attention, he would have noticed the slight quiver of her bottom lip.

“Arya!” He bellowed, guilt flooding his body as he saw the slight flinch of his baby sister’s body, but he was too blinded in his anger to care about anything other than you in that moment. “Arya, Gods help me if you don’t tell me-”

“I’m not lying!” She wailed; her face finally free of her impassive façade. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her pale eyes were beginning to grow red and puffy, and her face grew pink and splotchy. “I begged her to tell me, but she wouldn’t! I asked her why she didn’t tell all of this to you, to Mother, or even Theon!”

Her chest was heaving with every sharp intake of breath, her entire body was shaking uncontrollably with every gasp. After everything that happened: from Bran falling to Robb almost dying; it took you leaving without the promise of returning that caused the weary dam to be demolished by the overdue flood of her grief and sorrow.

“I tried to make her! But she wouldn’t tell me! All she did was look at me! Looking at me with that stupid smile!” With her flood of sorrow, came the rage that followed; as she roared out her final moments with you before your departure, “The one she makes when she’s in trouble, or scared, or hurt; but she never lets anyone know about it! She just hides it! Hoping it’ll go away and everything will be fine and we’ll be none the wiser! But I knew something was wrong! I knew that she did something important, and I tried to make her tell me!”

She paused to wipe the little dribble of snot running down her nose with her sleeve as little hiccups escaped as a result from her crying.

“But all she did was give me a stupid hug! It was so tight and warm a-a-an-and- it smelled like her and-,” she paused once more to catch her breath, only to begin crying again as she wailed out her next words, “and she said she was sorry ‘cause I needed to stay strong for just a little longer, but everything would be alright! She told me she loved me and kissed my head! And then she grabbed her travel pack, called her shadowcat, and then she LEFT!” She stopped to wipe her tears with her sleeves while also hiding her face from her brother.

Robb could no longer be angry. He couldn’t even pretend to be strong anymore. He collapsed on his bed, its loud creak accompanying Arya’s loud sniffles. It was only when the candle was beginning to flicker out that he noticed enough time passed for Arya to steady her breathing. He let out a weary sigh, before whispering out the question that plagued his mind since Arya began to speak.

“Why didn’t she tell me this from the start?” He croaked out. “Did she think I wouldn’t believe her, or that I wouldn’t trust her? I- I just- I don’t understand-”

“It wasn’t that she couldn’t trust you,” she breathed out, “it was that she couldn’t trust herself.” Seeing how this only muddled her brother even further, she pressed on, “She did say one more thing about Littlefinger though-that she and him…they were alike, just a bit.”

“What? How could they possibly be remotely alike?” Robb questioned, completely baffled by the thought of comparing you to that traitor.

“Before she killed him, he told her that there was no justice in the world. Not unless they made it. Him, the small son of a small house, knew that the only way to rise in the world, was through only himself. Came from nothing, rose to power, and she was exactly the same. He saw it when he first met her in King’s Landing. But he could tell she changed; this war changed her. Because of you, because she followed you. She said that hated his words; but what she hated more was the fact that everything he said was the truth. She became weak; no longer trusted herself to take action, because of you.”

“…Because she followed me into war?” He asked as a bitter laugh escaped his lips, not wanting to feel the guilt growing in his chest at Arya’s recount of your confession.

“Because she fell in love with you.” She stated, praying for your forgiveness for revealing your most shameful truth.

It was as if Robb’s world had crashed down all over again.

“I never knew,” were all that he could choke out.

“It’s ok,” his sister reasoned in attempt to comfort her brother, “I don’t think she knew either.”

And with that being the final word, the candle’s flame died down, and darkness cloaked the two siblings in awkward comfort. Arya laid on her side, wanting to gain at least a few hours of sleep before their continued travels. But no matter how much he tossed and turned, sleep evaded the young king. Anger and bitterness were his constant companions since your departure, he reasoned them with you breaking both his heart and his trust.

Only for shame and self-loathing to overflow within him in learning that he had done the same to you for much longer.

“And I can assure you my lords that the price was more than fair,” your confidence was slowly diminishing as you chose your next words carefully, “all that was asked from the stranger was that I sail from Seagard to a locate an individual and escort them to somewhere Beyond the Wall, afterwards I would be told more details of my mission from there.”

龙力 (Lóng lì) POV:

It’s been several weeks since the ship provided by House Mallister had departed from the port of Seagard, but there had been no peace for me to grieve.

“’OY Boy! Get a move on! She’s starting to blow!” “Who is-” “The WIND! Can’t you smell?” “Ser, I-” “THAT’S CAPTAIN TO YOU!”

“哦，仁慈的观音 (oh, merciful Guan Yin),” I thought pleadingly, “我求你饶了我这种折磨.” I should have known better than to hope that Lord Mallister would provide me a ship handled by a proper crew. I leaned back to bear witness at the horror unfolding before my eyes. Tried as I might, I could not hide the grimace etched on my mouth as bitter disappointment roared in my expression.

黛玉 (Dài yù) was faring no better, as the bored expression in her gaze was any indication. She, like me, was not impressed by the pathetic display before her.

I doubt that more than half these “men” had ever been on a ship for longer than a few hours to catch a meal, let alone to make a journey with no promise of definite return.

“WHAT IN THE SEVEN HELLS DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING BOY!” The “captain” shouted, his spit flying through the air, and landing on the poor deckhand he was currently torturing.

My grimace morphed to a scowl; this man was no ship “captain,” he was not even a man meant for the sea. Even before stolen from my home and family, I lived on market near the port. Hundreds of ships would dock at the port, and thousands of men would flock at the market.

Some were handsome and rich; some were ugly and poor.

Maybe they were heroes returning home; maybe they were cowards running from one.

If one’s face was green to the breeze, then another’s soul was battered from the storms.

But each and every one of them had a look in their eye: a look a resolution to witness the sea and all of her horrible glory, let them live or die if she wanted.

As a little girl who dared not dream of a life outside her family, these men fascinated me.

This man disgusted me. His voice boomed with slurred speech, and his face glowed red and his breath smelled putrid from all the ale he ingested. His beard was bushy and untrimmed, flecks of rotting meat made permanent residence there. When he wasn’t sitting on his ominously large ass, his rotund gut sloshed with every step he took to yell at someone else. I’ve seen and met many men who voyaged the sea like him, but he was no sea man. There was no resolution in his eyes, only greed and arrogance. Lord Mallister could not have sent me on a more terrible ship with a worse crew. I wished more than ever to be by my brother’s side.

Ironborn…Mainland… one fact remained: the sea roared within him. Salt ran through his veins, while the wind called his spirit. A kracken, a wolf, it never mattered in the end.

Theon Greyjoy was a man who would have thrived at sea. It called to him, as it did to me. He was the very image of the pirates I made up to tell to Lady Arya and Lady Sansa when they still very small. From the rakish glint in his eyes, to that boyish smirk he flashed to any pretty girl who glanced his way– even the way he spoke just screamed arrogance.

But that merely a mask – a façade to hide his hurt, his insecurities, every vulnerability from the world who decided his place in it since he had no say in that matter.

They saw neither his kindness, nor his empathy. They would not believe the truly caring young man that hid behind years of carefully manufactured egotism.

They didn’t see the boy that would carry his late lord’s eldest daughter after she fell and scraped her knee; ruining her stockings and dress with blood and muddy snow. They never saw how he would gather her in his arms, and whisper words of promises how she was still the prettiest girl in all of the Seven Kingdoms. They failed to see the slight blush on her cheeks that came whenever she saw him alone at the archery range in her family’s keep.

They turned their sights away when he would find an abandoned hawk chick on a morning ride, and raced back to his room to nurture it back to health. They refused to bear witness the determination in his eyes to aid a creature into living rather than to accept pathetic comfort in death. They never saw the sickly little chick grow into the swiftest predator to every fly through the Northern skies.

They didn’t see a young boy flush in shame in learning the meaning to a slur he called a foreign former sex slave. They never saw the change in his behavior when the child awoken, immediately begging for forgiveness. They were blind to the beginning of a family, built on a foundation of both mutual respect and acceptance.

Furthermore, they refused to acknowledge that an ignorant boy could grow into a confident and capable man; if they are given the time and care they are deserved from the beginning.

I was hit by a wave of sorrow in remembering him. Gods, how I missed him.

“I’m so sorry Ser-CAPTAIN! I-I just-um-I just thought-” the unfortunate deckhand sputtered out. His face growing more flustered as he continued to try to sort out his words. He looked not a day past his twelfth name day. He was only a bit older than Bran.

The sight was so pitiful it almost made me want to help…almost. But I couldn’t afford to draw more attention to myself…no matter how much the boy reminded me of Bran.

Gods above, it’s been so long. Did he grow? Was he taller than me? And what of Rickon? Have they been paying attention in their lessons? Have they been eating their greens? They had better not have fed them to Summer and Shaggydog. Were they good to Maester Luwin?

By the Seven, has Maester Luwin been neglectful in taking his medicine since I’ve been gone? Is he still making sure to get proper rest in acting as advising hand while Bran is the Acting Lord of Winterfell? Has he been overworking himself?

…Has Jon been informed since he trekked to Castle Black to take his vows?

My mind began to spiral, and with it so did my heart begin to race. Bran, Rickon, Jon, Maester Luwin…would I ever see them again? Had they been informed of the Frey’s betrayal and the Lannister’s mutiny? Do they know of the deal I needed to take? ... Had they thought I betrayed them?

“别再折磨自己了,” I angrily berated at no one but myself, “你不是这里的受害者."

I needed to snap out of my misery. I made a deal, and I would see it to the end. If never returning was the price to way for the benefit of House Stark, then it was a price more than fair to me. Wallowing in defeatism would do me no good, my childhood was a testament to that truth.

It would not win the war.

It would not bring back my late Lord, Lord Eddard Stark.

And it would not revive Queen Talisa Stark nee Maegyr, and that of her and Robb’s child who bled out on the cold tile floor of the Frey’s Keep as a result of my incompetence.

Thankfully, the bulging pimple of the man opened his mouth, and thus my spiral of self-pity soon distorted to righteous fury.

“SPARE ME THE BLUBBERING AND STARTING CLEANING DAMN IT!” The foul captain turned his foot, and strode back to his quarters. He walked as if he was only doing his job, but I could see his face. The moment he turned; his rotten scowl turned to a repulsive grin that showed his rotten yellow teeth.

Oh, I despised this man. My fingers inched toward for my knifes, and my soul was calling out for his blood. And how I longed to fulfill its wish. 黛玉 (Dài yù) could sense my agitation, and in response her tail started to twitch, indicating her aggression. If she decided to attack, I do not think I would have it in me to stop her.

A gust of wind broke me from my blood lusted trance as a chill ran down my spine. Quickly I turn to face the ocean, gripping the railing as I stare at the horizon. The breeze continued to whip my hair, tangling my raven locks with her invisible grazes; I could tell something was wrong. When the wind blew stronger, I looked up at the sky, forgetting that the stars had not been seen in the night sky for days. But the sun had long set, and so far, there was still no rain so the chances of trouble was likely – a drop of water landed on the back of my hand.

Another on the top of my head.

A third landed on my cheek.

“台风,” I whispered out, fear flooding my body.

“What's that miss?”

I turned around and saw that it was the pitiful deckhand. I look at him with furrowed brows, and was about to repeat what I had just said to warn him – when I realized that I had switched to thinking in my native tongue without realization. I recompose myself in haste and grip the young boy’s shoulders to tell him.

“Typhoon,” I whisper carefully, noting how his eyes soon became wide with fear, “It’s been cloudy for days, the wind is picking up and now there is rain.” Oh gods, I could feel the wind growing. Raising my voice, I tell him, “Warn the crew, secure all the loose gear, make sure all the windows and openings are batten down and latched tight. Are you with me so far?”

He quickly nods, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Good,” I nod in attempt to reassure him before continuing, “Now-what I am going to tell you next is the most important. I want you to tell the men in charge of the masts – that’s the pole that holds the sails – see it?” I quickly point to them, making sure that his eyes follow my finger. “I want you to tell them to strike the royals first – not the mainsail – the smaller ones, got it?”

“But my lady, the-the winds-should we not-” the young man tried to question, before a powerful rumble rolled across the downpour. Followed by a horrifying crack, along with a blinding flash of light. Its shape resembling the dragon of my pendent, a Yi Ti dragon.

“HURRY!” I yell to him before running and pounded on every cabin door “All hands-on deck! TYPHOON COMING!”

The drizzle that came as a warning became a shower; and the shower soon transformed into a downpour. And the downpour went on until it was a fucking monsoon.

The men were scrambling to prepare for the worst; all of them trying to play a part that none were expecting. The damned “ship captain” was nowhere to be found. Probably tucked in poster bed, a fire roaring, sheltered away in his cabin’s warmth– ignorant to his men’s suffering – away from this madness. A truly disgusting man. I sneered under my breath, but I had no time to waste on him.

A few hours have passed, and the men had grown desperate. After the boy relayed my orders, they scoffed at the idea of grown men receiving orders from a woman whose only defense was a few blades and an irritated shadowcat. But as they realized how much danger they were in; they gradually began to accept me as the officer in command. At the very least, they saw that I was a more competent sailor than that of their captain. But in spite of our best efforts, we could not stabilize the ship to escape the storm.

We needed to get to land…fast. There was no chance of this ship, nor the people of this ship surviving if we attempt to drop anchor to ride this storm out.

“REEF THE MAINSAIL! AND ABANDON COURSE!” It was a desperate attempt, but I cannot risk to strike the mainsail. To do so would lose all forward power and abandon all control in the ship direction through the steering wheel. We’d be floating straight downward like floating corpses.

“HELMSMAN!” I called out.

“YES, MY LADY!” He dutifully responded.

“ABANDON COURSE AND POINT! WE NEED TO GET TO LAND AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE!” I directed as clearly as I could in my state. Fatigue would soon get the best of me, but I could not lose my concentration.

“AYE’ MY LADY!” He replied, to which he relayed his message to the men controlling the mast. “REEF THE MAINSAIL!”

A series of “AYE’s” rang through my ears. If I was not so terrified of our current placement, they’re unified front in receiving my order would have brought a great sense of pride to me.

Almost an hour had passed, and the waves were getting less turbulent.

There…LAND! We were saved!

When the navigator spotted the stretch of grey, the ship’s men practically cried in relief. I almost did the same…but something still felt off. It was too early for celebration.

Why did those spots of rocks and sand unsettle me? Twenty lives were saved, we managed to ride out the storm, the Gods had not claimed anyone tonight…so why can’t I feel myself relax?

We were getting closer to the shore; the rocks were becoming larger…my heart was racing.

What am I feeling? It’s as if…my body was warning me about something…something my mind is failing to remember.

The body…the mind…my body…my mind…

It’s one thing if both your mind and body fail to recall something…but for the body to remember what the mind had forgotten…oh Gods, where am I?

I could feel my body growing stiff, but my hands were trembling? Why? What am I forgetting? What is it about this place that is bringing these…reactions? I felt a hand on my shoulder, I took out one of my daggers to find…the young deckhand?

“My lady!” His smile was so wide, his shoulders were sagging in relief, he felt…safe, “WE made it to land! We survived the storm!”

I felt a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding to escape, trying to convince myself to relax.

“Yes,” I smiled, “thank you for relaying my instructions. You were a tremendous help.”

“Oh no, my lady! It was because of your orders that we survived another day! And not a single man was lost!”

His smile was so genuine and sweet…he really did remind me of Bran. I felt myself calm down a bit.

“Even so, I am grateful that you trusted in me. The part you played in our survival should not be ignored. You have my thanks…um…” I tried to recall his name. If I was to thank this brave young man, then I want to do it properly.

“OH! Yes! I never gave my name!”

…Why was the air growing colder? Was it getting darker?

“My name is Eoghan Wright my-”

Blood spattered across my face as his head was bashed in with a club.

Blood…red…iron…oh Gods…are we-

Screams of pain filled my ears, 黛玉 (Dài yù) leapt in front of me. I felt nauseous, I wanted to keel over and never stand again.

I looked behind me…and saw the sight of a massive sigil on a sail.

…Black…gold…Kracken…iron

I knew that smell…HE reeked of it – I would have choked to death on the smell alone when I was with him if I hadn’t felt so dead so young.

A memory is coming to me…from my brother…Theon.

“The ground so full of metal that nothing grows there,” he once told me, “All that iron ore in the ground poisoned it I suppose.”

Iron ore…the Iron Islands…I doomed us all.

A terrifying grin with putrid breath was all I sensed from the world before a cloth was pressed against my face…and my world went dark.

Meanwhile in King’s Landing:

A lone figure stood before a window, facing one of the finest views of the Red Keep. Her figure eluding the serenity of a worldly temptress. Her face and frame emitting only lust and peace, that only meant she was a talented actress. A few weeks ago, she had sent out a piece of a puzzle that would either aid her dearest friend’s latest conspiracy, or send both the Lannister’s and the Eyrie for her head.

Littlefinger’s death caused an uproar within the Red Keep. That…along with the failure of the Red Wedding…the Gods couldn’t save the Stark girl from King Joffery’s wrath.

Never before had she wanted to wring a man by his balls more than that of Robb Stark, Young Wolf and King of the North.

King or not, only the most stupid of boys would lead thousands of men to their death for the company of a plucky foreign chit with a passable smile and round ass.

She prayed that a more worthy suitor caught your eye.

…Maybe she could find a way for you to meet that young Payne squire…at least he’d be a considerably better match in terms of loyalty for someone as preciously deadly as you.

…Not to mention he was surprisingly well-endowed.

She recalled the time you and your brother caught her on the turnip cart for her escape to King’s Landing. Following her everywhere whenever you came to the village town. You would always be more duckling than dragon in her eyes.

“Will I ever see you again?” You looked so heartbroken asking her this question. It broke her own heart to see such round eyes being filled with tears from worry and fear.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” you pleaded. A cruel request from someone such as yourself. You would bleed yourself dry to feed every starving child you came across.

“I love you-”

“My dear Ros,” spoke a bald figure with a slight Lysian accent as he entered the room, “How do you fare on this fine day?”

Banishing her troubled thoughts, she lightly curled the ends of her lips to give one of her famous smiles. As she turned, the sun’s rays danced across her flowing red hair, giving the imagery of a glorious flame. The fine silks from Lys hugged her figure magnificently. She was the very image of temptation.

“Fear not Lord Varys.” She told in a calm tone, giving none of her worried away. “I am well as always.”

“Stay strong little duck,” she pleaded to you, wherever you may be. “You pleaded for my safety, now it is time for me to plead for your’s.”

Translations:

“哦，仁慈的观音...我求你饶了我这种折磨” (Ó, réncí de guānyīn……wǒ qiú nǐ ráole wǒ zhè zhǒng zhémó): Oh merciful Guanyin…I beg you to spare me this torture.

龙力 (Lóng lì): Dragon Strength

黛玉 (Dài yù): Black Jade

“别再折磨自己了...你不是这里的受害者" (Bié zài zhémó zìjǐle... Nǐ bùshì zhèlǐ de shòuhài zhě) : Stop torturing yourself ... you are not the victim here."

台风 (Táifēng): Typhoon

Taglist: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @its-actually-minicika, @arcielee, @axelsagewrites

Baby my body is ready for literally anything and everything you bring forth

The Harshest Winters: Before the Storm (18+)

Get caught up on THW here!

You've seen them on the brink of madness. But what about before the Dance?

SURPRISE!!

Upon popular request, I decided that it was about time we expandeded the HW universe and did something fun with it.

I plan to turn this into a 3 part mini-series, that dives into the lives of our beloved chatacters before the Dance of the Dragons ever happened.

I already have the 1st chapter ready, and I will post it on the same day as the 5th instalment of THW - trust me, it'll all make sense then.

In any case, this one is for my girlies who are still enamoured with our sweet prince Jace (who is alive and kicking in this one, thank the Gods)!

... Although one cannot have "The Harshest Winters" without Aemond Targaryen stirring the plot.

I promise you - great things happening. I'm still in my little cage, writing and planning away like a mad-woman sent from the darkest pits of the Seven Hells ♡

Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy this one as much as I did when writing it. See you all really soon!

- Mina :^

Bitch how dare you getting me into slasher smut

“La Petite Mort” - Dark Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Pt. 2 of 2)

a/n: read part one HERE! thank you guys so much for the support with this lil story, i had so much fun sharing it with you! ❤️

Summary: You deal with the fallout of Aemond's confession.

TW: DDNE dark content, HEAVY DUBCON, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, p in v sex, unprotected sex, dark themes, kidnapping, gun violence, knife violence, handcuffs, oral f receiving, oral m receiving, tiddy succin

Word Count: 2,780 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated❤️

“Do you know how much I love you?”

“Do you know that I’ve fucking killed for you?”

You look at Aemond, the intense expression in his eye terrifying you. You stand, frozen in place, as he stays buried inside of you. He’s got to be joking, right? There’s no way he can be serious. You laugh nervously, as he pulls out of you, feeling uncomfortably empty as you feel his seed leaking down your thighs.

“You’re so funny, Aem.”

“I’m not joking,” he murmurs in your ear, nipping at your earlobe before whispering, “I promised you our time was coming soon, didn’t I, pretty agent?”

Pretty agent.

You feel as though your blood turns to ice in your veins at his words. It’s him. It’s Aemond. He’s the killer, the one who’s been stalking you, the one you’ve been trying to hunt down. You barely manage to dodge his kiss, shoving him out of the way and slamming the door to your bedroom shut, locking it. You grab the first shirt you can find, which unsurprisingly, is one of his that you sleep in. The thought makes your skin crawl but you put that aside when you hear Aemond calling to you from the other side of the door.

“Come on, baby, open the door,” he coos, his voice saccharine sweet, “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Fuck you,” you spit angrily, grabbing your gun from your nightstand as you hear Aemond begin banging on the door, “What, you want me to let you in so you can fucking kill me?

“We both know if I wanted you dead, you’d have been dead already. Now open the door, love.”

You shake your head, holding back a scream when he manages to kick it open. Aemond’s pulled his clothes back on and has his own gun drawn, both of you standing, staring each other down. Aemond’s lips quirk up into a smirk.

“You’re not going to shoot me and I’m not going to shoot you, love. So put the gun down and let’s talk.”

You cock your gun, finger on the trigger and shake your head, “You killed all those girls, Aemond. You really don’t think I’ll kill you for that?”

Aemond crosses the room in two long steps, his gaze never wavering as he tosses his gun aside, disarming himself. He raises his hands in surrender as he speaks once more.

“Are you going to shoot me, pretty agent? I’m unarmed.”

You feel your eyes water. You have the power to end this here and now. You have the power to put an end to the violence Aemond has been perpetuating for God knows how long. You swore an oath to uphold your duties as a federal agent, to protect the citizens of your country. By all accounts, that means killing Aemond. He brings your gun to his forehead, looking down the barrel of it into your eyes.

“You can’t do it, can you?” he murmurs, “You love me too much to do it.”

You feel the tears finally begin to fall as you look back at him, unable to just pull the trigger. Because even though he’s a murderer and a monster, he’s still your best friend, the man you care so deeply for, the one constant in your life. The one who’s been there for you through it all. And in your moment of hesitation, Aemond grabs your gun from you, pulling you in by your wrists, holding them in one of his large hands. He reaches for something in his pocket, and before you can even say a word, your world fades to black.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you wake up. But your head aches like crazy, your eyes burning slightly as you sit up. That’s when you feel the metal on your wrists. You try to move your arms and find that you’re not able to go very far. You’re handcuffed to the bed you’re lying in. You let out a growl of frustration and futilely tug at your restraints until the doorknob twists, indicating someone is opening the door. You immediately close your eyes and pretend you’re asleep once again.

“I know you’re awake.”

You refuse to open your eyes until you feel Aemond’s finger tracing the shape of your lips. Then, you look up and glare at him.

“Where the fuck am I?”

“Just a guest room in my apartment,” he says, moving a hand to stroke your hair, “You’ll be safe here, with me.”

“Is anyone safe with you?”

Aemond frowns, “You are.”

You scoff, “You are killing women who look like me, Aemond. Leaving your little notes at each crime scene, fucking terrorizing me. Is it so far off base to think that you want me dead?”

“You’re the last fucking person on this planet I want dead,” he snaps at you, gripping your chin in his hands, “Get that through your thick skull. I love you. Everything I’ve ever done is for you, for us.”

“Why kill them?” you demand, “Huh? Explain that to me!”

“Because you were never going to see me,” he says quietly, “So I decided I’d make it impossible for you not to. Those girls, I’d be nice to them, pretend they were you, take them home, fuck them while pretended it was you. And then? I’d make a gift of them to you, showing you just how far I was willing to go for your love.”

“A gift?” you sneer, “You sick fuck-”

“Language, sweetheart,” he tuts, “And you know something? I think it was a bit fucked up of you to go on that date with your precious Cregan when I was right fucking there the entire time.”

The mention of Cregan stings for a moment before you put two and two together and gasp, looking up at him, “He didn’t ghost me, did he? You- you killed him!”

A smile plays on Aemond’s lips, “Do you really think I was ever going to let anyone else have you? Ever? No, love, I’m the only one who deserves you. The only one who can treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Do you understand now?”

“I don’t understand shit, you bastard,” you growl, “And now you have me cuffed to a bed? People are gonna come looking for me-”

“Not for another week,” he taunts, “It was really easy to put in a time off request on your laptop and delete the emails without you even noticing. For a special agent, you are quite bad at choosing passwords, love,” you scowl up at him, making him let out a low chuckle as he murmurs, “You look so fucking cute like this. Tied up. At my mercy.”

“You don’t know the meaning of mercy, considering what you’ve done-”

“Do not,” he cuts you off sharply, pressing a finger to your lips, “Act like you’re not the least bit flattered by what I did. Didn’t you say you wanted a man who was willing to kill for you? To die for you?”

You know what he’s referring to. A late night conversation, back in Quantico, while watching some stupid romcom together. Of course he chooses to twist your words to serve his own sick little agenda. The idea makes you seethe with unadulterated fury as you spit at him. Aemond? He just wipes it off and laughs, telling you that he’ll be right back with some food for you.

When he returns, it’s with a bowl of your favorite cereal. And for a moment, you feel yourself soften at his thoughtfulness, you think of him as your best friend, your Aemond. Then you realize he must’ve been planning this for a long time, abducting you, holding you captive in his home. And your eyes harden toward him again, any hint of affection gone.

“So angry,” he says teasingly, bringing the spoon to your mouth, which you reluctantly eat, your need for food overpowering your anger, “There you are, sweet girl. You know,” he chuckles for a moment, “Sometimes I think about how funny it is that I was able to avoid detection even with the handwritten notes. We truly live in an age of technology. I think the notes may have been your first time even seeing my handwriting.”

“That’s why I couldn’t recognize it,” you grumble, “And you wrote in all capital letters. Made it messier, smudged the ink. You knew exactly what to do, how to get away with it. You used me-”

“Don’t you dare say that,” he snaps at you, his eye narrowing, “I’ve used others. But never you. Don’t you ever say that again.”

“You fucking asshole,” you scoff, “You really think I’m just going to be okay with you being a goddamn serial killer? How fucking delusional-”

He cuts you off with a kiss that’s almost bruising, his hands gripping your hips, and you hate yourself for it, but you kiss him back. A part of you feels like kissing him is the most natural thing in the world, that this is what the two of you were meant to do all this time. But good sense prevails and you bite down hard on his lip, enough to make him bleed. However, Aemond? He merely lets out a low groan, his lips capturing yours again, the copper tang of his blood invading your mouth as he gives you another searing kiss.

You realize that the best way of getting out of this alive is playing into his sick little fantasy. And so, you lose yourself in his kiss, deciding to bide your time and wait for the opportune moment to make your escape. Aemond’s hands travel under the fabric of your shirt, squeezing at your tits, moaning as he feels your nipples harden beneath his fingers, pinching at them, squeezing your soft flesh. He moves to sit on his haunches between your legs, lifting them up over his shoulders as he once again buries his face between your thighs. You remind yourself as he stares up at you that you’re doing this to survive. That you’re not enjoying this. But the truth of the matter is you love how it feels. You love the feeling of the cleft of his nose brushing against your clit, the way he grips your thighs hard enough to bruise, how he laps at your folds like a man starved.

Aemond brings you to the edge not once, but twice before shedding his clothes and fucking you, growling into your ear how he’s going to keep fucking you until you have no desire to fight him anymore, until you surrender completely to your need for him, until your cunt and legs are so sore that you won’t even be able to leave the bed. He pounds into you and you can’t even grab onto his hair or arms for purchase, still handcuffed to the bed, entirely at his mercy. And you hate that you love it. You hate him, but more than that you hate yourself for enjoying what he’s doing to you as he spills himself inside you yet again, pushing his fingers inside you, saying that he doesn’t want you to waste one drop of his cum.

The next few days are spent much the same. Aemond fucks you like his life depends on it, he brings you food, he eventually cuffs your hands together and runs you a bath, washing your hair for you. You hate him, and yet, he’s still your Aemond. He insists to you that he would never hurt you. That all he wants is for you to love him the way he loves you, for you to truly see him in the way he needs you to. That everything he’s ever done is for you.

Every day he asks you if you love him, and every day you give him the same answer. A resounding no. And you know you’re lying. You know a part of you has loved him ever since you met him, a part of you that you simply refused to acknowledge, not wanting to lose your best friend.

And a sick, deplorable part of you, one that you won’t ever admit even to yourself, craves the attention he gives you, is impressed by the fact that he has literally killed for you, wanting to earn your love. But you silence that voice inside of you as best as you can, though it grows louder with every kiss he presses to your lips, every soft smile he gives you as he feeds you.

After four days, you finally get your chance to make your escape. Aemond decides he trusts you enough to uncuff you. You decide not to attack straight away, because you know he’s going to be on guard as he takes the cuffs off. He frowns at the sight of your raw wrists, gently massaging them, apologizing, saying that he had no other choice. You pretend to understand, you smile and tell him that’s okay. He kisses your wrists, his finger moving over your pulse point, smiling to himself.

Aemond allows himself to get comfortable with you, deluded into thinking that you want to be here with him. And maybe you do.

When he sleeps beside you, one arm wrapped around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck, you decide that this is the time to strike. You slide out of his grip, walking toward his kitchen, finding the largest, sharpest knife you can among his belongings. You gaze at your reflection in it for a moment, not recognizing the person staring back at you. You shake your head and return, sliding back into bed, feeling him move to hold you again.

That’s when you strike. You move to straddle him, poising the knife to stab him through the throat. And he just stares up at you, unspeaking, unmoving. Just gazing at you with that one blue eye and one white, almost reverently. You hold the tip of the knife to his throat, though not moving, feeling his hands move to hold your thighs in place.

“You’re beautiful.”

It’s a soft whisper, one that cuts you to the bone. And you know in that moment that you can’t kill him. In spite of everything he’s done, every depraved, awful sin he’s committed, you love him. You’re in love with Aemond, both the man and the monster that lurks within his heart. The monster that sought nothing more than to keep you by his side forever. You toss the knife aside and lean down, pressing your lips to his, tears streaming down your face as you do. You make quick work of Aemond’s pajama pants, sliding them down to reveal his cock to you, moving down to sit between his legs, taking him into your mouth. Aemond lets out a moan of your name as you bob your head up and down on him, hollowing your cheeks as he hits the back of your throat. Aemond resists the urge to buck his hips against your mouth, your plush lips wrapped around the base of his cock looking so goddamn pretty. Instead, he lets you set the pace until he’s nearly at his end, when he pulls you off of him.

“I don’t want to cum anywhere other than inside that perfect cunt,” he growls in your ear.

You move to straddle his waist, sinking down onto his cock with a contented sigh. Aemond sits up, his hands moving to your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside as you begin moving up and down on his length, your breasts bouncing as you do, attracting his attention. Your tits are his weakness, he muses, as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, nipping at it slightly while his hands go to your hips, helping you along.

“I love you,” you admit as you squeeze around his cock, “I don’t care what you’ve done. I hate myself for it, but I love you.”

Aemond groans as your pussy clenches around his cock, impossibly tight, making him feel like he can hardly even move, “Fuck, baby, I love you too. You know I do. I’d kill for you. I’d die for you.”

He spills himself inside you again, making you moan his name as you fall down against him, exhausted. He holds you tightly, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, cupping your face in his hands.

“I’m a monster,” he admits, “But I’m your monster.”

“I know,” you whisper, closing your eyes and allowing sleep to claim you once again.

This is super fun! Everyone is so beautiful! Ugh my heart can’t right now ❤️

@valeskafics @dreaming-for-an-escape @axelsagewrites @ilikeitbetterangsty @gloriouswerewolfcollector553 @starkskeep @ramielll

Everyone should play this, and tag others you’d think would really enjoy it!

Make a cute self here ✨

I‘m in my Aemond era with that scar 😈

No pressure tags: @sapphire-writes @ruby-dragon @chompchompluke @selahstars @bouncehousedemons @its-actually-minicika @howyouloveyourdragon @i-killed-ramsey @targaryenbrainrot @oneeyedvisenya @marthawrites @aemondx @arcielee @osferthsbussy @fairysluna @targaryenrealnessdarling @flowerpotmage

Feel free to join even if I didn’t tag you 🫶

Like a Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered

A Robb Stark x Yi Ti fem!OC/Reader & GOT AU Fic

Chapter One: Farewell/Goodbye

Next Chapter

Author's Note: Hello, so I am very new to writing fanfiction, and also I have never read any of the books, but I have done a lot of research. This fic will be mostly based on the show Game of Thrones, but it will take elements from the books (especially for the characters Euron Greyjoy and Stannis Baratheon). Also there is practically no information of the language/culture of Yi Ti according to GRRM. So taking in mind that it is supposed to be inspired by "Imperial China," I used simplified Mandarin because while I do think Cantonese would be better considering how the geography is inspired by southeastern China, I need pinyin and can only speak Mandarin. I will offer translations at the bottom. Also for the names, I am not perfectly clear how they work so I basically tried to make a name using characters that I felt would have a lot of impact together.

Warning(s): This fanfiction will include dark themes of the following: sexual content, sexual abuse, violence and violent themes, child trafficking, depression, angst (so much angst), and dark/yandere attitudes. (Please comment if I had missed anything)

“I made it… I actually made it.” I thought to myself as I slumped onto the deck, relief flooding my body as my legs start to give out in exhaustion. I managed to get onto the ship just before it left the dock. I close my eyes and try to breath as waves rock me back and forth like a never-ending pendulum. The last time I had been on a ship felt like several lifetimes ago, although I supposed that it was true in more ways than one. For as I had so fervently sworn to never step foot onto another ship, I could not deny that a part of my heart was soothed by the familiar cries of gulls, the thundering orders of those and command, and the waves crashing against the wood of a vessel completely at its mercy. Still, I felt myself turning green, and soon 黛玉 (Dài yù) is curling up next to me, offering much needed comfort. I curl myself around her, and breathe in her fur. Her fur, whether dry from a nearby fire or soaked in red life, smells of cypress, smoked sandalwood, and spices. It reminds me of Winterfell, of the North, of my second home. Once again, I thank Lord Stark in allowing me to keep my sweet shadowcat when I found her as an orphaned kitten from a band of poachers that had already killed her family and intended to skin them for profit. As I continued to stroke her luscious black and white striped fur, I felt 黛玉's (Dài yù) deep purrs turn to breathing becoming deeper and more consistent to signal she was about to sleep. And just when I was about to do the same, hoping for sleep to be dreamless, I heard my name being shouted out in pure agony.

“龙力 (Lóng lì)!” My head shot up while 黛玉 (Dài yù) immediately became alert and ready to strike any figures that posed a danger to us. I turned my head to look at the dock we just left, and to my horror I found a figure so far that he might have been a trick of light. But I remember those eyes, those clear blue eyes. Eyes despite their clarity, were filled with more fury than any storm I had witnessed out in the seas. Eyes belonging to a figure that once stood tall looked broken and defeated, as if their shoulders had been burdened by the gods themselves, although I supposed in a way they had. Next to him was direwolf the size of a small horse holding his head high, and howled so forlornly as if the ship was a floating pyre.

“Robb.” I croak out, my voice sounded so unfamiliar to me. I tried to look away, but I knew if I did, I would never forgive myself. So, I gazed into his eyes trying to shout out every apology I could think of, begging for his forgiveness. When his figure disappeared, I turned around and let out a sob I didn’t realize was there. I curled into myself, reach to my necklace and grasp on the black pendant and pray to any god that would listen. 黛玉 (Dài yù) mewled softly before laying her head on top of mine, even wrapping her arms around me, as if she were a mother soothing a weeping child. I could not bear to see her blue eyes, so frozen yet alive with winter fire. I knew that sleep would never come for me tonight. So instead, I prayed that Robb would not let his impulsiveness cloud his judgement, that he will only focus on the war and freeing the North. I prayed that he will forget me and move on to find happiness of his own and to grow old and happy with a good woman by his side and his siblings all together. But above all, I prayed that he would let me go and let me be free. I do this until my mind blacks out, and a memory had played out as if I was a spectator to moment that did not belong to me.

~Flashback of 7 ago~

“龙力 (Lóng lì),” I decided, gazing at the stone turned dragon pendant handed to me, knowing the confusion that must be filling Robb Stark’s eyes, “my family name is 王 (Wáng), but my first name will be 龙力.” My parents’ sweet “小玉 (Xiao Yu)” no longer existed, she her lullabies were gone forever, but she will never forgotten, not her nor her parents, never again. But “龙 (Lóng)” had taken her place, it was born from the anguish of the small jade in order to a dragon that clawed out of anguish.  “龙 (Lóng)” was a dragon, and dragons carried a magic within them that could never die, not even when the world demanded it. My grandmother was partly right, I was not born a dragon, I was but I was made into one. As for “力 (Lì)”, that would be something of my own. “力 (Lì)” was a testament to my strength. Even before being a dragon, I was strong. I had a strength of my own that belonged to no one but me. And although it had been cracked and broken down repeatedly, it remained. The events forced upon me to realize that strength, however unfortunate, will not go unrewarded.  This pendent was evidence of that, that if a piece of jade can transform and be molded into a strong dragon, then so can I.

I turn and face Robb Stark, the boy I thought was a spoiled and obnoxious brat that had everything handed to him while so many others claw for just a scrap of his fortune, and give him the first hug that I have given anyone since my parents died. I hold for so long and tight that he has to push me away for air. I smiled with tears almost spilling from my eyes, happiness overtaking me for the first time in what felt like a lifetime ago. I kissed both his cheeks, and he turned so red that he tried to sputter out a response, but I beat him to do it.

“王龙力 (Wang Long Li),” I beamed so brightly, “that will be my name. I finally have decided on my name, it is the only thing that was not given to me but what I gave to myself. It is important, too important, but you deserve to be the first to know. I will wear this forever, thank you so much. Thank you so much.” I hugged him once more, and felt his arms wrap around me before tightening and even saw the tips of his ears turning bright red before Maester Luwin came upon us and I showed him my pendent and told him my name. I didn’t have to tell him the meaning of a name, his smile told me enough.

~Flashback Ends~

Waking up I realized that I was still grasping on the black pendant as if it was the only thing that kept me from falling completely apart. I should have left it behind, but I knew it wasn’t a possibility. If I had to take only one thing that could possibly link me to my past, from the youthful joy and spilled blood in Yi Ti, to the beautiful hope and horrendous tragedies in Winterfell, I couldn’t leave it. This pendent meant far too much, for it alone was the sole witness to my life (past, present, and soon-to-be future). It had seen every moment in the life of that once naïve and sweet 小玉 (Xiǎoyù) that played along the warm breezes of the Jade Seas, the 小玉 (Xiǎoyù) that laughed to her parent’s singing songs of the Jade Emperor, the same one that witnessed her family’s slaughter and was stolen away until she no longer laughed, no longer smiled, and eventually forgotten her own voice. The precious and rare black jade that was eventually picked from the pockets of tattered rags to be used as a paperweight by Euron Greyjoy, forgotten by the shadow of a girl who was robbed of every joy and security that should have been her right from birth. A girl who became so broken, who’s soul became so lost, she carved through men with her knifes with such masterful and impassioned fervor and searched through the gashes with such sober and languid eyes to see if she could find hers in their bodies.

But it also witnessed the gaining of her strength, starting at the glimmer of remembrance in hearing an old lullaby sung by a mother with features similar to her own. Every time she snuck away to hear the woman sing, her eyes daring to show wistfulness as opposed to chilling apathy, the black jade could feel the little girl that was constantly struck down finally begin to stand and walk again. Every step that the girl took, the black jade that lost its luster from being forgotten had slowly regained its shine. Even when the kind woman that sung so sweetly was broken in, taken by the wicked pirate’s men and himself, her face with warm eyes and tender smiles, was mutilated beyond recognition, the girl did not fall again. Instead, her eyes held righteous fury and body was fueled by liquid lightning. Quick were her hands in drugging those men, meticulous and masterful were her fingers in slicing through their facial nerves, cruel glee dancing in her eyes as they could make no sound but knowing they felt everything, the sheer intensity and determination of her strength in hoisting their bodies underneath the sail’s pole. So easily could the black jade remain forgotten, once more losing its luster and shine, but the girl had decided that she would no longer forget the little girl in Yi Ti. Because although that girl was gone, dying the day she was sold in Qarth, she knew that the girl still deserved to be remembered, as did the people she loved that died with that girl.

With that decision, this new girl took only a blanket and the jade before changing into a pair of breeches and tunic that sagged over her body to prevent any suspicion of her sex, left Euron Greyjoy to venture to a new place. A place where she would meet a kind and good man, one who she would gladly devote her life in serving and protecting. She would meet his family, his wife and children. A wife that would take one look at the girl, and think her too savage and wild. But knowing in her heart that the girl was someone who would torture herself before letting any harm befalling her family. Children, all so different yet each one had a foundation of wildness, and were raised with so much unconditional love and loyalty that witnessing it had quickly thawed the suspicious girl’s icy walls. A place where she would meet another Greyjoy, but a different Greyjoy, a better one. A Greyjoy whose blood was Ironborn, but his heart would be northern. A northern boy whose blood carried the salt of the sea, but whose heart and soul were strengthened and bathed by the snow, the trees, and the winds of northern land. A boy who she distrusted before slowly and surely becoming her found brother, and she becoming his found sister. A place where she who had sea water in her veins, was not born in the biting inland North but the tropical breezes from the Jade Seas, slowly rebuilt herself from the ground up and fortified her soul with new memories, new happiness, and most of all, a new name. A name she gave herself, with the help of a boy with auburn curls and blue crystalline eyes that shimmered with wide smiles as he gave her the greatest gift that she vowed to carry with her so long as she breathed.

I let out a shaky breath as I once more closed my eyes and began to pray. I never prayed so much in my life before now. I was never one to pray, never one to truly believe in higher beings despite the stories of ancient and powerful magic I heard as a girl that I once believed in, the same stories I told to Bran and Rickon when they entered my rooms to protect them from nightmares. But my grandmother told me that there is usually no point in praying to the gods, because the gods never listen, and if they do, they will often do the opposite just to spite you. She said they had already laid out plans, and we were at their mercy without hope to change it. But maybe just this once, she was wrong. But maybe there are gods that listen, that will hear this unworthy girl’s prayer, that might grant her this one thing. I always thought I was a good granddaughter, always following and listening to my grandmother’s words.

I should have listened better.

*Switching POV’s to Robb*

As the Young Wolf stood there on the port, watching as the ship that carried his love farther and farther away from his arms, looking more and more like the broken boy that cried his heart out when his father died and less and less like the shapeshifting King that tore apart his enemies in the battlefield sung amongst smallfolk across Westeros.

“Your grace, do you want us to commandeer that ship in order to search for the fugitive? It isn’t too late; we can still hope to catch up to it if we use a galley with our strongest men.” Smalljon Umber tried listing off other ways to get to the ship, and was more than ready to do it himself. But Robb knew that doing so would be of no help to him. He knew what game his lady was playing, and he will let her think she had the upper hand for now.

“No.” Robb steeled himself into his full height and once more became the Young Wolf feared in the South. His eyes no longer full of sorrow as they just moments before, now they were filled with ice and a cold fire that looked it would burn you as horribly as it would freeze you in an instant should you be so unfortunate as to touch it. “Now we continue with our goal, marching to King’s Landing and littering the South with Lannister dead until they acknowledge the North’s independence and free my sister Sansa.” Gone was the naïve lovestruck boy, and in his place had risen a hardened leader that had a blade hungry for blood and screams. “But first we gather up the Frey’s and Bolton’s and call for their execution immediately. When Walder Frey’s and Roose Bolton’s heads are separated from their necks, I intend to make them gifts to Tywin Lannister.”

“Fly, fly, fly little dragon,” Robb’s mind hiding the dark whispers swirling in his head. “Fly as far as you can, but know that you will never escape the wolf you cheated.” Anger and fury had further cemented in his bones with each step he took to his steed. He realized long ago his feeling for his cruel lady love. He was enchanted by Talisa’s warmth and kindness, believing that she could be enough to thaw away your bitter chill. But it was all for naught, for nothing could replace you. He should have known this the moment he set his eyes on you when his father first brought you to Winterfell all sullen and feral but strong and determined. When bitterness and jealousy filled him as he heard you laughing at Theon’s stories and saw you two sitting together at dinner. When he caught you gazing at your black rock that you protected so fiercely and he longed to have you feel that way towards him.

“Ah yes, her precious stone,” Robb almost smiled as he remembered one of his most treasured memories, as it was the first time you truly smiled and it was the day you decided your name, “how could possibly forget that day?”

~Flashback to 7 years ago~

“My grandmother gave it to me,” your accent still a little thick when talking in Common Tongue, but you were making extremely good progress according to Maester Luwin, “she said that I would need it one day in order to protect me.”

“Why? Father won’t let anything happen to you while in Winterfell.” Robb thought this obvious, for his father was the strongest and most powerful man in all of the North, and it filled him immense pride and joy in being his son. His father was good and honorable man, one who always kept his promises to each and every one of his people as the Lord of Winterfell. “He promised you when you got here that no one would ever harm you so long you lived under the protection of the Starks.”

“I know all that,” you stated as you rolled your eyes. Of course, you knew that Lord Stark would keep his promise in keeping you safe, as Ned Stark was likely the best man in the world. “But I think it’s for something different, something bigger.”

“What do you mean by ‘bigger’?”

“I am not sure, but all I know is that my grandmother said that this stone would protect me when I would need it most. She said that this particular form of jade was only precious for those who needed it for its magic.”

“Magic?” Robb now rolled his eyes; you were trying to trick him. “That’s what old people tell kids in order for them to behave and not run in passageways and not track mud into the keep.”

“She said that it would lead me to my fate, to a place full of snow and ice and water with little green in the North.” Your eyes had a far-off look; your eyes only looked like that when you were remembering something. Robb hoped it was something good. “She told me that there was a role I had to play in this place, and that the jade would lead me to it.”

“But how will it protect you?” Robb was quickly growing irate. How could a measly stone protect you better than his father, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North? A role that he will take over as his heir, making you also under his protection.

“She said that jade protects your spirit and mind from harmful forces, but I must carry it with me and never forget it. Otherwise, it will lose its power.”

“But why does it need to be black? Can’t it do its job if it were white or grey?”

You shook your head. “She told me that it had to be black. In Yi Ti, black is the color of the North, and the North’s element is water, so that means black is the color for water in the North. I think…I’m not sure what she meant, 妈妈爸爸说她喜欢...” you paused as you realized you were speaking in your native tongue; your cheeks grew flushed in embarrassment. Robb pretended that the rosy hue didn’t look the least bit adorable, “I mean, my mama and papa said she liked to…babble I think you call it? But what I do know that it is too important and I need to carry it with me.” Your voice quieted down as faint footsteps crunch the snow behind you only to find Maester Luwin. Deciding that you were done speaking, you stood up and ran to him to see if he could spend some extra time with you how to read and write out Common Tongue.

In that moment, Robb had the most brilliant idea in the world. Truth be told, the preparations alone were remarkably tedious and was probably more trouble than it was worth for a girl Robb had known for a fairly short period of time. It took weeks of searching the castle town to see if any of the jewelers had even heard of “black jade,” let alone worked with it. It was by some miracle only performed by the gods that he half stumbled upon an elderly near blind carver that once apprenticed under a master jeweler who dedicated his life in studying the different practices across the world in the slums. However, Robb was not so young and green to life to expect such luck to spring in his path without something else in demand. But the old man simply asked the chance to meet the wearer of the finished product so that he may see the face of the person who captured the young heir’s heart.

“Though my eyes have almost lost their sight, make no mistake that this old man had lived long enough to know that those in your position would not go so far for someone that did not mean a great deal to you.” He spoke so softly as if witnessing a memory unraveling before him. “And if I had the fortune of my sight, I am sure that your eyes would betray what you deny.”

It took great efforts separating the stone from you, and Robb truly feared for his life if you found out it was him that took it before the product was completed. Thankfully, the old man was a master craftsman, with tools made of bone and fingers so nimble and quick you would never think the man blind at all. When Robb had presented the dragon pendent to you, you first lashed at him something fierce, but in seeing the work had your words failed you. When your eyes lit up and you hugged him so tightly that he thought all the wind had left him, Robb found himself unable to speak. When you had been pushed so that he could breathe, but kissed his cheeks with tears in your eyes, did Robb hear his heart beat at an ungodly pace. Finally, when you had gifted him your name with happiness in your voice, when you chose him to be the first to know your name, did Robb realize that from that day forward, he loved you. He knew you to be the keeper of his heart and soul since he was a lad to when he would become a man.

~End of Flashback~

When he had first awoken from his injuries, barely able to breathe, and you were sitting next to him. Your eyes were filled with glee as you reached for his waterskin and tipped it so gently and carefully to not spill on his wounds. As laid on his cot, cursing himself for falling for such a trap and endangering his men and causing the death of his wife and unborn child. You said no words, only when you so lovingly placed your arms around his neck, allowing his head to rest on your shoulder, did he fall silent. He sat up and held you against him with both arms as you laid tender kisses in his hair. When he looked into your eyes, and begged you to kiss him as he wanted you to for as so long, and though your eyes were uncertain you laid him down on his back, and placed your lips upon his. In that moment Robb’s world felt so whole and happiness had filled so completely that tears escaped and a sob of pure joy was choked out. He knew that he was yours, he always had been, but finally you were his. How happy he was when you pulled away and smiled down at him so sweetly, and you told him to rest so that he can gain strength to fight for his kingdom, his people, his family. How deliriously in love was he in doing exactly as you asked.

And imagine the confusion he felt when he had awoken expecting you by side, only to be met with his lost little sister Arya and his mother. Imagine the fear in hearing how you had left the camp as part of a deal to save him and his men. Imagine the betrayal coursing through him learning that you drugged the water you placed on his lips with a powerful drug that would put him in a heavy sleep that was meant to last a week rather than only 3 days. Imagine the unadulterated fury filling his body as he quickly dressed and called for his steed and Grey Wind to track your scent. And imagine how his heart broke watching the ship being released from its dock, and in a final act of desperation to see your face, he called out your name as Grey Wind let out an ear-shattering howl. Imagine the joy he felt seeing your body turn and your eyes gazed into one another, knowing you hadn’t expected to find you so quickly.

“You will run, you will hide, you can do whatever it takes to be away from me. It will not matter, for in the end I will find you.” Robb’s vow was further his cemented as he rode closer to his camp, ready were the words to carry out the traitors’ executions. “You thought you could escape your wolf, when really all you did was prolong your inevitable fate as his future queen.” Robb’s teeth clenched as he thought this, how stupid you were indeed. To think he would ever let you go now that he tasted your lips, felt your body pressed against his chest, saw your sweet smile as you laid him down to rest. Oh, what he planned to do to you the moment you were in his arms, his cock grew strained and he could feel it leaking at just the thought of him claiming you. He relished at the thought of gazing upon your naked body, laying kisses and bites upon your collarbone and neck for the world to see. He was desperate to suck and nip your breasts as he plays with your soaked cunt with his thick fingers. He could see it so perfectly, you begging for him to mate with you like the bitch in heat you are, begging for his thick cock to ruin you for anyone who even thinks to look at you. How you mewl so obscenely as he slowly slides his throbbing member into your tight heat. Once he is fully sheathed into your wet cunt, and his tip kisses the entrance of your womb, as he intends to go at an ungodly pace with you at his mercy begging to be filled by his pups. How happy you are when he releases load into your womb and praying to the gods old and new that you can be blessed with a child immediately. And how he intends to do so over and over and over until his name is the only thing you can remember.

Translations:

黛玉 (Dài yù): Black Jade

龙力 (Lóng lì): Dragon Force

王 (Wáng): king, but in this context of the story, it just serves as a very common surname

小玉 (Xiǎoyù): Little Jade

妈妈爸爸说她喜欢... (Māmā bàba shuō tā xǐhuān...): Mom and Dad say she likes to...

Please be kind as this is the first fanfic and smut I have even written, but still please like, comment, and reblog!!!

Hope you all have a wonderful day!

I should not be this soaked when my beloved Can-Can just died

"Syz Riña" - Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

A/N: i'm going to hell for writing this, you're going to hell for reading it, let's have fun twerking on satan's lap ig 🥰

Summary: Aemond takes what he is owed.

Rating: 18+, MDNI

TW: DUBCON, canon-typical incest, profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns, P IN V SEX, spit kink, breeding kink, fingering

Word Count: 2,343

HOTD Taglist (bold means I could not tag you): @pastelorangeskies @poppyreader @ietss @hopelesswritergall @michaelcliffordbrokeintomyhouse @ad-astra-again @hedahobbit98 @its-halleys-comet @ur-local-asseater @not-a-glad-gladiator @babyblue-chaos @clara02 @ultraviollett @bitchyglitterfox @polireader @disco--fairy @hwaillight @avaleineandafryingpan @larix999 @jamespotterismydaddy @the-jess-life @onadailybasis @mawofmeraxes @fandoms-unite123 @elle4404 @givemeeverything @tinykryptonitewerewolf @whorefordrew @foxyanon @aemondsdaemons @candypurplebutterfly @revory @floswife @r1dd1kulus @unnoticeableparadox @jessica295 @rottingviserys @alitaar @cumslutforaemond @nyaaaaa008 @watercolorskyy @justanotherkpopstanlol @crownedtargaryen

When you land at Storm’s End, dismounting from Cannibal, you know you should turn right back around the moment you see Vhagar. Jace volunteered the two of you to go as your mother’s emissaries, and you don’t wish to disappoint either your twin or your mother. And so, you steel yourself and announce your arrival to the guards, knowing your uncle, the man whose eye you stole all those years ago, is waiting just inside.

As you walk, you reminisce about the last time you saw Aemond, only a week or so past.

-

As the pig is brought to the table, you stifle a laugh. It is a knee-jerk reaction, reminding you of the idiocy of your youth. Aemond, of course, does not see it that way, leveling you with an icy glare. You bite your lip, still holding back a giggle at how ridiculous you all had made the pig look, the Pink Dread as Aegon had so ingeniously dubbed it. You are not laughing at Aemond necessarily, but unfortunately, that is the way he takes it.

“Final tribute,” Aemond stands suddenly, staring at you, “To the health of my niece. Beautiful, wise. Hm,” you feel your skin flush as his eyes rake over you, blood going cold as he finishes, “Strong.”

“What the fuck did he just say,” Jace scowls as Alicent hisses her son’s name.

“Come, let us drain our cups to this beautiful, strong girl,” Aemond smirks again and tips his glass to you, Aegon laughing and raising his glass as well.

“I dare you to say that again,” Jace growls, rounding on his uncle, intent on defending your honor, you, his beloved twin and betrothed.

“Why?” Aemond feigns innocence, “‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think your sister strong?”

Jace punches Aemond in the face, prompting you to jump to his aid, only to be slammed into the table by Aegon.

“I quite like you at this angle, Niece,” he grins into your ear, rolling his hips against yours.

Aemond is able to make quick work of Jace, shoving him to the ground. Jace looks over to you, seeing you being harassed by your other uncle. Fire is in his eyes as he stands again, ready to fight. He is pushed back by your stepfather. He points a warning finger at the both of you as Rhaenyra sends you off to bed.

Aemond feels burning flames of anger licking his stomach as he watches Jace wrap you in some furs and hold you tightly. You are shivering. It should be him. And it will be. This betrothal will not be an issue much longer.

He follows the two of you out and waits for you to separate from your twin to head to your own quarters for the night before approaching you, silent and dangerous. An apex predator, going in for the kill. Before you can even touch your doorknob, she’s shoving you up against the door, his chest pressed against your back.

“I will take what I am owed, niece,” his voice is quiet, cold, and calculating as he whispers in your ear, “And you will give it to me.”

He turns to leave, gone as fast as he came. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. Your heart beats wildly against the wall of your chest. What you owe him…? The incident was years past. And you never meant to blind him. You were children, for fuck’s sake, so what does he mean?

-

“Princess Y/N Velaryon. Daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

The thunder roars at Storm’s End as your arrival is announced to Lord Borros Baratheon. When Jace suggested that the two of you deliver your mother’s ravens, you had a feeling something like this could happen. When you saw Vhagar, you should have turned and run all the way home. But you did not. And so now?

You attempt to sound as dignified and mature as possible, curtsying and handing the scroll to the older man, “Lord Borros. I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen.”

Borros sighs and calls for the maester to read the message to him.

Aemond steps forward from the shadows. You feel him before you see him, his eyes on you, as they always seem to be. Your eyes travel to where your uncle stands, his blue eye glaring at your no doubt drenched and shivering form.

“King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact,” Lord Borros turns to you, eyes scrupulous and calculating, “If I do as your mother bids, which of my sons will you wed, girl?”

“My lord,” you pause, truly apologetic as you speak, “I am not free to marry. I am already betrothed to my brother.”

“So you come with empty hands,” Lord Borros mocks, before sighing and fixing you with an uncharacteristically gentle look, no doubt feeling sorry for you, “Go home, child. And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

You feel a sharp sense of disappointment. You’ve failed your mother and now you will have to bring her news of your failure.

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord,” you reply, curtsying.

As you turn to leave, your uncle’s voice rings out, “Wait! My Lady Strong.”

You stop in your tracks, frozen, turning slowly to meet his gaze. You choose to ignore the jibe at your parentage and wait for him to speak.

“Did you really think that you can just fly above the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” Aemond questions, his face stern and intimidating, “In truth, I’m surprised you’d go against your rightful king, considering your pathetic attempts to get his attention as a child,” he takes a step closer, “You followed him around like a lost puppy, didn’t you? Is that all you are? A little puppy following commands?” Aemond chuckles, “How pathetic.”

You wince at his harsh words, knowing them to be true. Growing up, you always admired your Uncle Aegon. You sought his approval in everything you did, and as such, it often involved tormenting poor Aemond.

-

“Behold, the Pink Dread!” you lead the pig toward Aemond, giggling.

Aemond’s smile turns sour. He turns to his brother and nephew, both laughing hysterically before storming away, looking almost as though he’s about to burst into tears. A wave of guilt washes over you as you watch him leave.

“Should we say sorry?” you ask innocently.

Aegon scoffs, “Niece, if you even try saying sorry, I’ll make sure that you never get to train with us again,” he ruffles your hair, “You did well. You can come to the pit with us tomorrow.”

You all but jump for joy at Aegon’s approval, forgetting Aegon, and thereby, your guilt.

-

You swallow and find the courage to speak, “I will not fight you, Uncle. I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge,” he muses, staring at you, “No,” Aemond speaks, removing his eyepatch to reveal the sapphire that had replaced what you had stolen from him so long ago, “I want you to put out your eye as payment for mine. One would serve.”

Aemond tosses a dagger at your feet, making you take another step back, stumbling slightly. The court begins whispering at the fear evident in your eyes at your uncle’s words, your entire form trembling.

“I would not blind you,” whatever comfort these words bring you is taken away by the next, “I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

All is silent for a moment before your voice rings out across the hall, clear and with a strength that you did not quite realize you had, “No.”

Aemond glares, “Then you are craven as well as a traitor,” he smirks, letting out a malicious laugh, “No matter,” you see his gaze harden slightly, “You can give me your cunt instead.”

Your eyes widen as you stumble backwards, held up by a lord who you assume pities you.

Aemond lunges for the dagger he’d thrown at you, roaring, “Give me your cunt or I will take it!”

You reach for your own dagger, holding it out in front of you defensively with shaking hands as Aemond smirks at you, twirling his dagger between his fingers. Ready to take what he wants.

Lord Borros snaps, “Not in my hall,” he turns to his advisors, “The girl came as an envoy. I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof,” he turns now to the knight who had aided you to your feet, “Take Princess Y/N back to her dragon.”

You’re led back to your dragon, glancing back over your shoulder at Aemond’s seething form. Somehow, you have a feeling that this is not going to work out in your favor. You remember the last time you saw Aemond as you climb atop Cannibal, your beloved mount. You run your hand along his scales, the warmth of them a welcome solace from the cold rain overhead. You take to the skies, whispering to him to take you home as quickly as possible. Back to the safety of your mother’s arms and Jace’s.

But fate has something else in store for you. From the corner of your eye, you see Vhagar’s massive shadow advancing on you. You’re not sure what’s more terrifying. The mighty dragon herself or its rider. The storm rages on as Aemond continues his pursuit of you. You maneuver through the sky as quickly as you can, and it’s as though Cannibal senses your fear, because his movements grow more erratic.

“Dohaeres, Cannibal,” you whisper frantically, “Soves! Please!”

“Riña,” Aemond’s voice taunts from somewhere behind you, “Come out wherever you are. You owe me a debt.”

You pray that you and Cannibal remain hidden from your uncle and Vhagar by the clouds you are about to pass through. Then, as if out of nowhere, Vhagar appears, flying just in front of you, Aemond seated atop her, looking like the Warrior himself.

You feel Cannibal bristle beneath you and know he’s planning on using his flame to defend himself. You scream, begging him not to. While Cannibal is massive in his own right, Vhagar? She is gargantuan. But Cannibal does not heed your warning, blowing fire into Vhagar’s face.

Everything happens so fast. Vhagar lets out a horrifying roar, making you stare at her, and her rider, in fear.

Your eyes widen in fear as Vhagar’s giant jaw clamps on Cannibal’s neck, “No, Cannibal!”

As your dragon begins to fall from the sky, you are lifted onto Vhagar. You find yourself chest to chest with the man you fear most. 

Aemond stares at you impassively, “You are mine,” he speaks, his voice low and terrifying, “You have been mine since the day we met. You took my eye,” his hands move to rest at the bodice of your dress, “I will take your body.”

“No,” you cry, attempting to squirm away from him, terrified by him and by the fact that any movement could send you careening down to your death, “I’m supposed to marry Jace! Uncle, please let me go!”

This seems to displease Aemond; he grips you by the throat, squeezing just tightly enough to make you gasp, “Speak his name again,” he murmurs in your ear, “And I will gouge out his eyes and give them to you as a wedding present.”

You begin to sob openly, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as you wail at the thought of your beloved older brother being hurt. Aemond leans forward to lick your cheek, lapping up the saltwater that flows from your eyes.

“Just kill me,” you cry, cringing, “Blind me, Uncle, I’m sorry! I never meant for that to happen!”

“Apology not accepted, niece,” he hisses, grabbing you by the jaw and forcing you to look at him through teary eyes, “We will be wed tonight. I will have you. I will take what is mine.”

He grabs your skirts and bunches them up at your hips, his eye ravenous as he takes in the sight of your bare legs, almost as though he’s a dragon himself, going in for the kill. He moves his hand up your thigh, his eye never once leaving yours. You squeeze your own eyes shut, unable to look at Aemond, unsure of just what it is he plans to do.

Aemond’s long fingers move with grace up to your cunt, making you gasp as he strokes at it lightly. He smirks at the shiver that goes through your body at his touch, noticing everything you do. Every breathy little gasp. Every whimper. Then, he pushes two fingers inside you, making you let out a yelp. You’re no stranger to pleasuring yourself. You’re quite sure no girl your age is. But his fingers feel entirely different. They’re long and fill you up in the most pleasurable of ways.

Aemond laughs darkly as you squeeze around his fingers, “You little whore. Your cunt is soaking my fingers. I thought I’d have to prepare you, but you seem quite ready for my cock.”

You feel your blood rise to your face as he continues working his fingers inside you, curving them, pumping in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. Aemond watches as your body writhes against his touch, as you struggle to maintain some composure as you come undone at the hands of the man you’re meant to hate.

“That’s right,” he hisses, his thumb rubbing against your clit, making you let out a sharp gasp at the sensation, “You’re such a greedy, wanton little thing. Look at you. You’re supposed to hate me, aren’t you? Now look at you. You came here to rally support for your mother. Now? I’m about to fuck you.”

He speeds up his movements, making you let out a cry of his name, “Aemond, don’t, it… I…”

“You, you,” he mocks, not relenting, speeding up even more, “Spill yourself on my fingers, you little whore. Scream my name.”

Aemond pinches your clit slightly, making you finally let out a scream of his name as you reach your peak, throwing your head back as he pulls his fingers out of you. He presses them to your lips.

“Lick my fingers clean.”

You stare at him, surprised, but seeing the intense look in his eye, you part your lips. He pushes his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. You close your eyes, only to hear him growl against your ear.

“Eyes on me.”

Aemond stares you down as your tongue moves against the skin of his fingers. You feel entirely humiliated and yet, you can’t keep your eyes off of him. After he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, he grips your jaw.

“Open your mouth,” you do so and are quite surprised when he spits into your mouth, “Swallow.”

You’re silent for a moment, completely shocked, when he repeats himself, a little more aggressively. He grabs your hair, pulling you up to him.

“I said to swallow.”

You again do as he says, staring back at him, wondering what he’s planning on doing next, “Are you going to kill me?”

He doesn’t speak, rather he merely rips the bodice of your dress open, leaving you in your flimsy shift, which quickly gets soaked by the relentless downpour of rain. He watches with delight as it clings to your form, the outline of your breasts quite evident through the thin fabric. He takes your dress and tosses it. You watch it fly away, thinking to yourself that if he wished… That could be you.

When you turn back, Aemond’s breeches are undone and he has his rather lengthy cock in his hand, the tip already weeping with pre cum. He leans down over you, lining his hips up against yours before pushing into you. The intrusion is not altogether unpleasant, and you find yourself raising your hips, wanting him to move even deeper.

“Such a nasty, wanton little harlot you are. Drunk on my cock,” he chuckles, grabbing your hands to pin above your head, “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”

He pulls back before slamming his cock back into you, making you let out what you’re sure is a pathetic mewl of his name. Your noises spur him on as he begins bucking his hips against yours, his cock railing into you over and over again, without mercy or hesitation. With one hand he holds your wrist, while the other snakes under the fabric of your shift to squeeze your breast so hard that it has him moaning at the feeling. He mouths at your other peak over the fabric of your shift, biting down slightly on your nipple, making you whimper and turn your head away as he continues.

Aemond continues slamming his hips against yours, reveling in every moan, every breathy gasp, every cry of his name you let out, the rain soaking the both of you as he finally takes what he believes he is owed.

“Your family won’t want you back after this,” he hisses in your ear, his movements stuttering slightly as your walls tighten around his cock, nearing your peak, “I’m going to fuck my heir into you right now. I’m going to spill my seed in your cunt every night. You’re going to be mine in every sense of the word. Wanted you so long. Loved you so long. You’re mine now. All mine.”

“Yours,” you manage to agree, feeling as though your body is on fire, and only Aemond can quench it, “I’m close…”

“Soak my cock, syz riña,” Aemond hisses at the feel of you tightening around him, hardly able to so much as move, “Come on.”

Your peak hits you more intensely than ever before, white hot pleasure blinding you as you feel almost as though you’ve died and ascended to the Seven Heavens. Aemond continues fucking you through it, spilling his seed deep inside you, staking his claim over you once and for all.

He stays there for a moment, just staring down at you, “We’ll be married tonight. You’re mine now.”

His words while he was inside of you ring like a bell in your head, “Loved you so long.”

He can’t have been serious… Could he?