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irenadel · 5 months ago

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And if the devil… 10/10

Aemond Targaryen X Maid!Reader TW: For the aftermath of DV Thank you to @barbieaemond for letting me use her beautiful gifs to make this lovely fic banner. As promised am tagging @prettyduckling22

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

It is raining heavily when the queen finds you. The lantern she holds aloft barely lets her and her father see you and they dare not come any closer. Her son’s dragon is wide awake, making a dreadful rumbling sound somewhere deep in her gullet. There is a soft, hazy glow all along the beast’s underbelly, like dying embers, like a fire you make the mistake of considering dead.

Alicent feels like her entire body has been turned to lead, soft and infinitely heavy. She hears her father hold his breath and knows, at least, she is not alone in her terror.

He does not leave her. He holds her shoulders steady and Alicent is grateful for that.

“Aemond…”

When Vhagar picks her head from the ground, moves it like Alicent imagines avalanches must move, she is still making that wrathful, rumbling sound. The ground shakes with it. Her legs feel like they will not carry her weight and she wants to weep, like a child, when the dragon opens her mouth to breathe hot and humid and carrion-like upon her.

She wonders if this was the last thing her son saw with both eyes, before that terrible night where it had all begun to go wrong.

“Try again,” her father whispers in her ear. Always try again. Never a moment’s rest.

“Aemond please,” she croaks out, the feeble light of her lantern trembling in the wind. “I’ll be quick.”

The dragon makes another noise and Alicent finds it to be the most awful of all, for she feels it, to the bottom of her belly, a heavy, nauseous weight, a near human moan of pain. When Vhagar cocks her massive head to better look at her, Alicent nearly cries in fear until she sees those eyes. Always they had seemed beady and lizard-like to her, predatory and unknowable, but now they just seem miserably tired.

For a moment she feels ashamed.

I trusted you with him, the ancient, watery eyes of the dragon Vhagar seem to say to her. I trusted you with him and always you have failed me. First the eye and now this…

She breathes the words between near-clenched teeth and it is a wonder to her that the dragon seems to understand as she turns from her and to her father behind her. She advances without him, without even looking back at him, unable to explain the price of going under the great dragon Vhagar’s wings to him.

He would not have paid it anyway. He has never paid it for her.

When she finds you and her son laying against the wall of stinking, warm scales she almost pays it again. She covers her mouth and traps the words behind her fingers.

I’m sorry, she wants to repeat, but finds she cannot. Not when confronted with her son’s bloodied face years ago, not now that he doesn’t look at her, you in his arms, wrapped in his green cloak, kept warm by dragonfire, dry by one leathery wing held close to the dragon’s body. She barely recognizes you in the gloom under Vhagar’s shadow. Ugly, scrawny thing that you had been. Remarkable only for your strange coloring and the princess’s favor. You had made Helaena happy and thus the queen had tolerated your ill manners. You had been smart and obedient and made yourself scarce when you had become a problem and Alicent had been grateful for the discretion if for nothing else.

Now she feels ill looking at the blood upon your dress. She cannot tell much else with her single lantern’s light and she almost doesn’t dare whisper it: “Is she alive?”

Aemond’s hand stops, halfway through caressing your short, matted hair. There’s dried blood all over one side of your face, your temple and cheek having already swollen black and blue. Your eyes are closed, your hand holding onto the prince’s neck is swollen too, white-knuckled and clenched.

He still does not look at her.

“You can leave now,” he answers and Alicent does not know his voice in that moment. Wants to shake some sense into him as she has done to his brother so many times. A man’s voice, with a petulant boy’s demand.

“She needs a maester, Aemond,” she tries again, not even knowing if it would not just be wiser to let this all die down. Let things take their natural course and help her son mourn, later, once the danger is over.

Aemond is speaking to you, low and gentle, in a soft, kind tone Alicent hasn’t heard from him since he had both eyes. Some of it must be High Valyrian, the rest Alicent cannot recognize. There is a cadence to it, like music. Through it, she hears Vhagar howl again, sees the pebbles on the floor jump with the monstrous vibration of it all and knows she cannot.

Who knows what would be left of her boy if she lets him lose one more thing?

“I’ll bring the maester here,” she capitulates, kneeling down besides the two of you, just to get a better look at you. A fever, she feels when she dares put her hand on your ruined cheek. But you breathe at least. When she gets up to leave, she feels the tug of her son’s hand on her wrist, terrifyingly strong and uncaring, but is glad that he should at least look at her now.

“It was a lost babe,” he says, his voice that of a man, she realizes now, because all emotion is gone from it. Alicent’s heart turns to ice. “A beating and a punch to the gut.”

She had not fled Vhagar when the hoary old thing had turned to her, but she flees her son now. You and her son.

Things have a price, the septons had said sometimes, when she was young and naughty and free. She thinks of Aemma Arryn and her own four living children. She thinks of her daughter, white-faced and grim in spite of the healthy, beautiful babe she had borne. When she ignores her father’s imprecations, when she drags a young and discrete maester to the seaside cliff where Vhagar nests, when together they try to pry you from Prince Aemond’s arms and succeed only in getting him to carry you gently, ever so gently, back to the Red Keep, she thinks of the price of things.

An apology she will never speak to her child but only to his dragon.

A girl’s life. A boy’s soul.

She is done letting her son pay the price and she tells her father as much. He can handle the gossip and the angry lords. It matters little. If he cannot, then perhaps her son’s dragon will.

The prince waits.

He watches a young, redhead maester unstick the clothes off your body and sponge the blood off your skin. Grand Maester Mellos is too important to bother with you.

He listens and seethes. His mother behind him, eyes moist, looking to him though he cannot answer them.

The young maester tells you the blows to the head are the most worrisome. That and your coming cold. He does not use the word babe when he says there should be no lasting damage, it was an early pregnancy. He gives you willow bark tea for the pain and makes you sweat out the rest of your fever. Rest and food should put you to rights, he says to you. He speaks only to you, firm but gentle, not to the prince standing besides your bed, sword-straight and impassive. He is too cautious and well-mannered to let more than pursed-lips betray his anger at whatever royal mistreatment has befallen you. He has no qualms in telling you to call him if you were to have need of moontea, even with the queen and prince balefully looming over him and his patient. Aemond almost likes him.

The queen tries once to suggest moving you out of the prince’s quarters. She does not try again.

The prince waits.

He will allow no servants to tend to you, no one but the queen and maester. When necessary, he will change the linens on his bed himself while you sleep, the way you had taught him to do with his own royal father. It frightens him, how deep your slumber is.

The prince sleeps as close to you as he dares, curled up like a dog at the foot of his own bed. He crawls in it when you are asleep, unwilling to give you the chance to chase him away, soaking up your lingering warmth, too ashamed to ask for it, too desperate to forgo it entirely. He almost thinks he need not bother.

Because the prince waits and still you will not speak.

Your face has gone from black to green to a sickly yellow. You sit in a prince’s bed. You eat the bread he gives you and drink the stew he spoons into your mouth. Sip the warm tea he brings you while you stare at the sheets and say nothing.

Aemond is too miserably aware of how low he is willing to stoop for your voice to attempt speaking to you himself. He has considered it all. Shaking it out of you, with a shout and a curse. Dragging his brother to this room and killing him for you, for himself. Bringing his sister here. Her children. Taking you in his arms again and taking you to Vhagar, flying across the sea, to anywhere that will make you speak again… smile again…

You are slipping from his hands, as far away as you were during those first few days when he would skulk outside closed doors and steal away snippets of your voice, low and husky, singing foreign nonsense to his niece and nephew.

But he is too tired now to summon the outrage he used to feel, at you owning comfort he could not reach.

So the prince waits… until he can wait no more.

“Please,” he says to you, as you sit and stare. “Please…”

You still say nothing. But you do look at him. You reach for his hand and he lets you have it, for as many hours as you need it, even as it grows numb in your grasp. You hold its warmth to your belly, as if the blood of the dragon could thaw the cold residing in there now.

He looks at your glassy eyes, your white-knuckled hand and his own on your belly and he knows what he must do. He should have done it long ago, the first time he had ever seen the blood on your split lip, the bruises on your pale skin. He should have known better than to let himself be distracted by the beauty they revealed to him. He kisses your forehead before he does, trying not to tremble at the brief taste of your skin. He is a man starving, with hunger’s implacable ruthlessness.

When he returns, he drops your cousin’s severed hand upon your lap. The hand that took a prince’s son from him. Prince Aemond One-Eye himself, a bruise of his own on his face, hair wild, eyepatch and dignity forgotten. What he will never forget again is the sound a man makes when Valyrian steel cuts through his flesh and bone.

You do not understand. For a moment you are so stunned and angry it knocks the numbness right out of your lungs. You look at your prince, watch him fall to his knees, lay his head on your lap, besides your flesh and blood, and almost forget to make sense of the words when they come out of him. Westerosi is only your second tongue after all.

“I would have you sing again,” he says with the hoarse rawness of a man who has just discovered all his cruelty to be bravado. “I would have you laugh again.”

And it is awful, to think Aemond would not know that there is no blood that could buy back your soul. Awful but not surprising, that he should not know pain and sorrow could only beget more of themselves. You had known this of him, the first time you had ever seen a sapphire hiding pain. You try not to think of Angus, still a boy, still as much a boy as Prince Aemond himself. You try not to think of what a hand means to a working man and not to a prince. You try not to think of the bridges he has burnt or the ties he has severed for you forever more, when he severed tendon and marrow.

Because if you start thinking of it, you will find yourself fiercely glad that he did.

You will find within your breast a cry of vicious triumph, that sounds to your mind like a Dothraki screamer. Nothing that could ever bring you comfort. Nothing that could ever pay for the death of your dreams, or your hopes, or your love for a boy who had been your boy until he wasn’t.

Nothing that would help.

But still, Aemond had done it for you. Useless, the mother you had barely known had called it in the far reaches of your memory, when men beat their breasts and swear death to you.

Useless perhaps, but he had done it for you.

He lets out a sob when your hand runs through his hair.

“You have no coin,” you say to him and he near cries in relief at the sound of your voice. “To buy back my joy. There is no joy left for me in the world. I have nothing.”

You’ve taken it all from me, you do not say. With black steel and my kinsman’s blood. No hope now, to go back home.

Good.

You think of getting up and not looking back. You think of sailing the poison water and finding your way back to the land of your father, to endless grass and sun-baked earth. You see life unfurling before you, empty and safe. A man maybe. A strong rider who would give you strong children instead of moontea and grief. Small, boring children that do not eat your insides with fangs and claws and fire.

Aemond burrows his face into your lap and crushes your borrowed shift and sheets in his bloodied hands.

You know you cannot. You have no home left but him.

“You’ve nothing I want, Aemond One-Eye. Nothing to pay me with but one thing.”

You see him whip his head off the bed to look at you, the nightmares and dread written clearly on a face too young and beautiful to bear them, warring now with desperate hope. You take this face into your hands, this face you have cherished and cursed, and hold it close to yours, grip tight enough to keep your hands from shaking.

“You,” you breathe and he reaches back for you, hands flying to your neck and gripping you as close as you grip him, choking back a cry of savage joy. “You are the only thing I will ever want again. The only coin I will take. I have nothing but you, nothing. So you will pay me with your life. Swear to me… swear you’ll live forever.”

Easy promise for a king’s son, you think. Easy to think you would go first, of toil or hunger or sorrow. As long as he lived it would be alright.

“I swear,” he answers as he lets you taste the tears off his lips. “Forever.”

I almost cannot grasp I am done with this. It's been consuming my life for the last couple of months. I've been virtually possessed by the idea and I am just glad I was able to surf the wave until I could finish it. Extra chapter and all. I think I've got a couple more Aemond porn one-shots in me that I've started and will probably try to finish. Some Helaemond X Reader and some Aegond X Reader if anyone wants to hear a little bit more of this verse... or at least the shoddy AU I have to conjure to get the pretty Targaryen people to fuck without killing each other. Thank you so much to everyone who commented and left likes. ...not that I will ever admit to obsessively refreshing AO3 and tumblr for likes but yeah... You guys are the best T_T thank you

#aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #asoiaf fanart #asoaif #a song of ice and fire #maid reader #dothraki reader #my writing #and if the devil...#tw: blood

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huramuna · 10 months ago

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a maid's folly - epilogue. end.

dark aemond x maid ofc

work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

previous | next

word count: 2k

follow & turn on notifs at @huramuna-fics for my fic postings!

a new maid from the Vale arrives at the Red Keep during a tumultuous time and becomes ensnared in the One-Eyed prince's web.

thank you for sticking with me while i struggled to get through the epilogue. i hope it tickles the itch that chapter 8 left with you and ties up everything with a nice bow. thank you for your patience, as always.

warnings: smut, power imbalance, religious guilt, dark Aemond, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, Aemond being a touch starved weirdo, possessiveness, jealousy, this is going to be ANGSTY

am i dreaming of sunflowers - post malone & metro boomin, a$ap rocky, roisee

“Dracarys, Robyn.”

“Dwa… caways.”

“No, no. Dracarys!”

“Dwacawuys!”

“... good enough for now, little one,” Aemond hummed, picking up the toddler with his good arm and holding him to his hip. “Now, how do we greet mother?”

“Muña,” Robyn babbled, his chubby arms outstretched as he and Aemond approached Rosemary, who had an apron tied taut around her rounded belly. Her hands were dirtied with flour, which she pat down the front of her dress.

“Very good, little bird!” Rosemary exclaimed, darting over to her two boys, a gentle hand laid on Aemond’s arm, to which he leaned in slightly.

“What’s for dinner, then, muña?” Aemond purred, pressing his lips to Rosemary’s neck, eliciting a giggle from her.

“Venison stew and parsnip mash,” she responded. “‘Tis no sea bass, but it will do, shouldn’t it, husband?”

“I suppose it will.” he responded swiftly, placing Robyn down onto the floor as they walked into the small cottage. He stretched his arm and shoulder before perusing the kitchen table. “More letters?” he asked, thumb flitting over parchment that was strewn across the table.

“... yes. She is begging for your return.” Rosemary avoided his gaze, stirring the mash that was still cooking on the stovetop.

“I don’t understand why– I am useless to them like this.” he pulled out a chair with one arm, his only arm– the other one was amputated at the elbow, long healed and scarred over. His eye scar was speckled now with burns, the sapphire gone from his socket. He didn’t care to wear an eyepatch these days, his hair shorn short. He looked ghastly to everyone in the village besides his wife and son. He looked like his father now, how his face was sunken and the eye socket unadorned– just… there, with only one arm. When going to town, he wrapped a silken sash over the sullied side of his face, just so he wouldn’t scare the children. It was the least he could do.

“The war has been over for six moons, she says– they… they pray for you to come back to King’s Landing, Aemond.” she pointed out, taking the pot off from the heat.

“I have no dragon, I can’t fight– what use am I?”

“You don’t have to have a use, husband– you merely need to be alive. Your mother and brother think you dead still.”

“I’m better off to them dead–”

“Don’t,” Rosemary snapped, hands on her hips. “Do not ever say that to me, or around Robyn either. I won’t have talk of that in this house.”

Aemond bit his lip and tongue, eye lazing over the letter that was pursed between thumb and forefinger.

Dearest Marigold,

I cannot wait to meet my nephew, he sounds like the most wondrous little boy. But we are still not able to leave the nest. The folk are in uprise at the lack of food and resources.

Mother mourns him. Brother has erected a statue in his honor.

You must convince him. We need him here.

Please.

If you are unable to and do not return before the turn of Spring, I shall saddle up and get you all myself.

Best,

Lady Orbweaver

His brow furrowed as he read it over and over again until his lone eye strained and watered from not blinking. “You should burn these.”

“Aemond.”

“I don’t want to speak of it any longer.”

–

Spring had turned, the coldness of the nights bleeding into warm days as the flowered fields of the Riverlands finally began to recover from the war that had ended two years ago now. It had been two springs since Helaena promised to come visit– but she had not yet.

“Vaelaena, please don’t run so far ahead!” Rosemary called as she tottered down the wooded path towards the lake. Aemond was at her side, arm around her to steady the two of them as they walked. She was once again swollen with child, hoping for an early summer delivery date.

Robyn was now five years old, helping his sister along the path. Vaelaena, now two, was the spitting image of her mother with wide brown eyes and wonderment at everything.

“Okay mumma!” Vaelaena squeaked as she continued to do the opposite of what her mother asked.

“Vae, hold my hand!” Robyn smushed his fist into his sister’s, making her slow down.

They reached the pebbled beach of the God’s Eye lake and Rosemary sat down on a flat rock. Aemond had fishing poles strapped to his back, fiddling with getting them off with only one hand.

“Robyn, come help your father.” Aemond asked, much to his own chagrin. He hated to ask for help– especially from a five year old, but this was his life now.

Robyn took the fishing poles from Aemond and baited the hook– they had mulled around in the dirt a few hours earlier in the garden for worms. Mostly Robyn and Vaelaena, but Aemond kicked the dirt around, too.

“Now, cast it like I taught you, boy,” he sat down on the shore, knees bundled up in front of him as he watched his son cast the fishing line out into the lake. He blinked, remembering all too well when he had been bleeding out, dying on this very spot– his arm shredded to nothing but muscle and sinew, and his dragon drowning, sinking to the bottom of the lake. He had watched when they fished Vhagar’s corpse out of the lake, now nothing but a host of bones. They were looking for his body, he knew– they found Dark Sister and Caraxes, too. But they did not find Daemon’s body, nor did they find his. When he looked up at the sky above the God’s Eye, he was there again, swirling in a fight to the death against his uncle– it was suicide, it was… stupid. The despair he’d felt seeing them haul up Vhagar’s remains was immense. He was the cause of her death, a dragon who’d survived from the Conquest and beyond. Only to be brought down by an ugly bloodwyrm.

But it had won the war, in short. Rhaenyra had surrendered after she heard of her husband’s untimely death and fled to Essos with her remaining children. Aegon and Helaena remained in the Keep and Jaehaerys was named heir. It seemed things were finally as they should be– and to them, Aemond was dead. At least, to everyone but his wife, children and sister. Helaena knew the entire time that Rosemary was alive and did not say a thing, and mayhaps Aemond was still cross about that. He had been furious at Rosemary for weeks after she saved his life. He was a terrible patient, in truth. All the while being angry at Helaena and Rosemary, he couldn’t be mad at Robyn, who aided in his recovery, the best a toddler could, of course. He didn’t even have to ask if he was his son, the boy was a spitting image of himself, of the portraits that had been done of him as a child, still hung in his mother’s rooms, he guessed.

Rosemary and Aemond had wed shortly after he regained most mobility, about six months after he arrived in her cottage. They had paid a septon in the town in fifteen copper stars to wed them in the Sept– the Sept of the small village just being a one-room hut with a dirt floor.

In town, they were known as Marigold Rivers and Torrhen Waters. They were nameless, just two bastards in love– and Aemond wished for it to stay that way. Despite his love being alive, his son– he couldn’t help but feel this was his punishment. To lurk in the shadows as a nameless bastard cripple while his mother and brother thought him dead. It was his punishment for starting the war, for being a Kinslayer–

“Papa, look!” Robyn squealed, hauling up a small trout from the lake. “Papa!”

“Good job, son,” Aemond hummed. “Bring it here, let’s see.” he gestured with his one hand as his son wrestled the tiny trout with two hands to bring it over. Despite it all, despite his despair he felt at his current state of being, he still wanted to be a good father. Better than his father was, at least. He had to be. He made every effort to be there, to teach, to nurture, to do what his own father never did. His son would never know that his father was a prince and he wouldn’t know he had the blood of the dragon in his veins– but he would be loved.

Rosemary had Vaelaena on her lap, combing her fingers through her unruly blonde curls, wrestling them into a braid, humming a tune. Her tune was muted, suddenly, as the sound of wing flaps echoed through the air.

Aemond’s chest bubbled in panic and elation, half expecting to see Vhagar from over the horizon. ‘Twas not Vhagar– of course.

It was a giant blue dragon– Dreamfyre. Atop her was Queen Helaena. She landed gracefully upon the pebbled beach. Robyn was frozen in fear or amazement, Aemond could not tell– Vaelaena had her face buried in her mother’s bosom, sniffling.

Aemond rose to his feet, legs shaky like a newborn fawn’s. His sister was here, as she had promised– two years late, perhaps but…

“Aemond!” Helaena called, trotting across the beach in her blue and black riding leathers. She looked radiant, hair windswept from the ride. Her face was plastered in the biggest, dumbest smile ever.

“Hel…” Aemond echoed softly, trudging across the rocky terrain and meeting Helaena in the middle, wrapping his one arm around her. “Hel…”

“I’ve missed you so– my dear brother,” she sniffled. “We’ve all missed you terribly.”

“... how is mother?”

“As well as she can be, considering the circumstances…”

“Aegon? The twins? Maelor?”

“All very good.”

“... Helaena?”

“Yes, brother?”

“Why are you here?”

“To ask you to come back. And I will not take no for an answer.”

Aemond opened his mouth to speak, but saw a flash of white go past him as Robyn walked towards Dreamfyre. “Robyn, don’t!”

Dreamfyre trilled a soft noise at the tiny human coming towards her, who stopped about three feet in front of her snout. Robyn reached out his hand, offering the fish he had just caught. The dragon looked at the little boy, letting out a huge sniff (which almost knocked over the poor boy) and opened her maw, slurping up the fish in a fell swoop. Robyn giggled and was thrilled, despite his hand now dripping in dragon slobber. He trotted back to his father, clinging to his pant leg. “Who’s this, papa?”

“This is… your aunt. Helaena. She is my sister, just like Vaelaena is your sister.”

“Vaelaena?” Helaena asked softly, brow perked.

“... Mayhaps named after you and Vhagar.”

Rosemary approached with the aforementioned toddler on her hip, already teary eyed from seeing Helaena. “Vae, this is your aunty Helaena– this is Lady Orbweaver I talked about.”

“Lady… Owbweaber…” Vaelaena repeated, astonished. “Like in… my stories?”

“The very same!” Helaena exclaimed. “I see that you haven’t given up your talent as a storyteller, Rosemary?”

“Rosemary? … I thought mumma’s name was Marigold.”

–

Fifteen years after the war between brother and sister had ended, the infamous feud dubbed by historians as the ‘Dance of the Dragons’, the realm was peaceful and quaint, still ruled by King Aegon II Targaryen, and his wife, Queen Helaena Targaryen.

By his royal decree, Aegon had bestowed the ancestral island of Dragonstone upon his brother Aemond Targaryen, who had returned five years after the war, thought to be dead after the battle over God’s Eye.

Dragonstone is resided by the prince, Aemond Targaryen, his wife, Rosemary Targaryen, and their five children. Robyn Targaryen, Vaelaena Targaryen, Baelon Targaryen, Daehaerys Targaryen, and Mheya Targaryen, the last of whom was supposedly named for Rosemary’s late mother, who had ancestral roots in the Mountain clans of the Eyrie.

The lamb survived the dragon– the lamb, in fact, saved the dragon.

#aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #the maid's folly #aemond x servant

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misguidedasgardian · 5 months ago

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I want to steal the bride (5)

5. Steal the bride

MASTERLIST

Summary: Aemond’s realizations make him do even boldest moves, now with his own heart on the line

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x BestFriend!Reader

Warnings: cursing, use of “stereotypes”, I don’t want to say “eating disorder” but I do will say inaccurate methods of dieting, Aemond is a slut, might miss some warnings, but you know what this is about

Wordcount: 3.5 k

Notes: sorry for abandoning this for so long, I want to finish it! You already might now how it ends but I’m hoping to add some original stuff in the next two chapters (and final ones)

“Whoa, Cersei's pretty good”, muttered Addam, after Aemond told him the story about how she tricked him into hiring a dildo saleswoman to appear into your very family friendly bridal shower

“The whole goal here was to convince (Y/N) that I'd grown up and she doesn't know

anything about Cregan, that I'm the right man for her, that did not happen!”, he said, exasperated, as both of them were in the locker rooms, getting ready to play some basketball as they always did

“Yeah, but you're still the maid of honor, right, Aemond?”, he asked, “you're still in the game?”

“I don't know, I think she might have fired me”, he muttered angrily

“Get outta here! How does somebody get fired from being maid of honor?”, laughed Aegon arriving, late as always, a new pair of jordans under his arm

“Tell me about it”, mumbled Aemond, not being able to confide in Addam his newest realization

That he not only wanted to be with you…

He wanted to marry you

“You know what? I got an idea”, said Addam, trying to cheer his friend

“Okay”, muttered Aemond, not convinced

“To prove to (Y/N) that you're the only man for her we have to make you the best maid of honor ever”, he said with certainty

“Right”, he said, not quite convinced

But then Criston showed up, a frown on his face

“I'm at a loss, completely stunned”, he started dramatically, his friends watched him carefully, “my guy couldn't find any dirt on Cregan”, he finalized, “this has never happened before!”, he was so amazed it surprised Aemond and the rest, “this guy's clean”

“I'm glad it happened to me”, said Aemond, as he and his friends walked towards the court

“You know he's got three Guinness World Records?”, said Criston

“Cool”, mumbled Aegon, still suffering his “bro crush”

“For what?”, asked Addam, but he obtained no answer

“He's actually got a Medal of Honor”, continued Criston

“Hey, that's pretty funny because we got the maid of honor right here!”, laughed Aegon

“All right, let's stay focused”, demanded Addam

“Look, the point is, we're not gonna get her off this guy”, sentenced Criston, hoping his friend would forget about you, but this was not his luck

“Yeah, so, we need to not make this about Cregan”, said Addam, “We need to make it about you”, Aemond raised an eyebrow

“How?”

“But you gotta show her that you're growing up finally…”, he warned

“I am”, he said defensively

“... that you're changing”, he continued

“I am. I am changing”, he said, more convinced but angry too, “I'm growing up!”, but his friends didn’t quite believed him

“Good. Then this should be easy for you”, said Adam with a wide smile

Aemond flinched with the noise all the contents of Addam’s box made when they hit his coffee table. There was dozens of magazines, and DVD’S

“These are bridal magazines from 18 different countries, each with a feature article on the duties of being a maid of honor”, he said decisively. Aegon grabbed one, more entertained than the rest of the men, and excited too

“Ãœber Bride”, he pronounced poorly, “high Valyrian? really?”, he mocked

“Yes, they are great at weddings!”, said Adam, “they throw the most amazing, meaningful and pagan weddings of all time, and besides that should be no trouble for Aemond”, he said with a wide smile

But Aemond nodded, determined, nodding purposefully, the gears on his head working full time, he was determined, not only to win you back, but to marry you.

“Nice appetizer there, Addam”, he said softly, looking at his friend, “give me the main course”, he demanded

“Here's the main course”, he said back, raising his eyebrow, looking back into the box.

“What do you got for me? Bring it on”, continued Aemond with his bravado

“My beautiful wife is an A-type personality…. She has to do everything perfectly”

“Sure”, Aemond said, unconvinced

“Love her”, said Addam signaling with his hand, “Hate that about her”, he said with a hiss, “Anyway, she rented this when she was gonna be the maid of honor for her yoga teacher….”

“Uh this is getting good”, said Aegon, rubbing his hands together

“This is the goods”, corrected Addam, grabbing a DVD from the box and showing it to Aemond

“I’ll get the popcorn!”, said Aegon, jumping from the couch and running to the kitchen.

10 minutes later they were all seating in Aemond’s livingroom, Aemond with popcorn and a beer, Addam with one of his own, and Aemond with a notepad and pen, ready to write it all down.

“Hi, I'm Jeyne Poole and I'm just so thrilled you purchased this program, and I'm proud of you because it shows that you're not happy being just an ordinary friend and loved one, no, you and I are going to work together to make you the perfect maid of honor… When we're through, you'll know everything there is to know about dresses, crockery, nuptial etiquette, and pleasing your bride!”

It was a hellish couple of hours for the boys.

But Aemond was determined, Aemond was taking notes, Aemond now knew things he wished he didn’t but he knows them now nonetheless, like color combinations, and schemes, or which textures went with what.

And after agonizing days of studying… he was finally reaedy

“Okay. What's the length of the bridesmaid's dress!?”, Asked Adam, throwing the basket-ball at his friend, Aeond catched it flawlessly

“Can't be longer than the bride's”, h said, easy piecy, he thought, and he passed the ball back. Adam passed it down to Aegon

“What if someone won't be able to attend the wedding?”, he tried his brother

“You gotta send an invitation anyway”, said Aemond, receiving the ball and passing it back to Cole

“Receiving line?”, he tried, Criston passed it back to Aemond

“Receiving line?”, he asked, but when he saw his friend shit-eating grin he chuckled, “If there's a receiving line means I've failed because (Y/N)'s married”, he finished, slamming the ball against the floor.

“Right, it was a trick question”, conceded Criston, and they all found it weird he was paying attention in the first place.

Larys catched the ball that had been bouncing in the middle of the court, he threw it to Aemond who didn’t catch since he wasn’t looking at him, he whined rubbing his arm where the ball hit

“Who was the runner-up MVP, 1974?”, he asked, the four friends looked back at him

“No, hey, these questions all have to do with Aemond being the best maid of honor he can be”, said Adam

“All right. I-I-I thought we were just asking, like, questions”, said Larys

“Go sit down” demanded Aemond

“Alright”, he said nodding enthusiastically, and went and did as they told him to

“Basic duties of the maid of honor?”, demanded Adam

“Manage the bridesmaids, hold the ring, support the bride”, said Aemond quickly

“Basic duties as you as the maid of honor?”, tried Aegon, grabbing his brother by the shoulders and shook him

“Show (Y/N) that I've matured, that I can take care of my responsibilities fully and that I need to destroy the wedding from within”, he said decesively

“What happens if you fail at that task?”, asked Criston

“Cregan gets her”, said Aemond

“So… What are we gonna do?”, asked

“Steal the bride”, he said in a whisper

“DIDN’T HEAR YA”, Said Adam firmly, “What are we gonna do!?”

“Steal the bride”, he said louder and firmer

“WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO!?”, asked Aegon excitedly

“Steal the bride!”, shouted Aemond

“STEAL THE BRIDE!”, everybody shouted

“You know, you didn't have to clear your whole day to do all this”, you said excitedly, wrapping your arm against his, feeling a bit guilty of wrinkling his crisp suit, but he didn’t seemed to mind as he always did, when he smiled down at you, your best friend

“Are you kidding? Of course I did”, he said lightly, “The perfect maid of honor is with his bride every step of the way”

“His bride uh? wow!”, you said excitedly, “A changed man!”, you admired, you knew dedicated Aemond, mainly when he was dedicated to hunt women or his job, but… it was great to see it invoked because of you

“I am, indeed, a changed man, because of you”, you passed that as sarcasm, but you didn’t mind because despite what you interpret, you were so happy to have him by your side, all motivated to help you

You entered the biggest and fancier apartment store in all of King’s Landing, five floors of clothes, bed clothes, fancy plates, everything for your house, you had so many things to pick, your wedding gifts list and some other things you wanted to buy for your new home and for the wedding day itself.

“I don't even know where to begin!”, you said excitedly, “should we begin by tagging my wishlist? my mom said she was going to gift me the china collection, but there are so many, I don’t know which one to pick”, you said softly.

He looked over the table where they exhibited all the models, and he was almost shocked he knew exactly what to do, what to say to you, he grabbed two beautiful plates with Valyrian designs on the edges of the plates

“When choosing your china patterns you need to think about what type of entertainment you will do, what sort of... foods you wanna cook”, he said, you were taken completely aback by his statement, “Ah, here, look. Now, don't be afraid to mix and match”, now even more so, specially when he started throwing the plates in the air, even more shocked when he caught them, and started juggling them, he even grabbed a third one, “It's important, even with different styles and textures…”, he said, you placed a hand in your mouth to keep yourself from saying something out loud and snitched to a clerc, “What you wanna do is stir up the table…”, he said, looking at you excitedly, he catched all three of the plates, “Make it come alive with color and finesse”, he said, placing one on top of each other by size, “That is the goal”, he said, you noticed that women had gathered around you, listened to his words, “Also, at the end of the day, you will find… connections”, he said, placing a perfectly matchable bowl at the top, and when you looked, you realized, they were all different, but together they looked beautiful.

“Thank you very much!”, he even took a bow when even an employee of the store started applauding him. You did too, as you were so excited, Aemond looked back at you and nodded

“Let's go… If you think I'm good with plates, wait till you see what I do with linens”, he said, weirdly proud of himself. You went up a floor and then another, and then you came across something waaaaay more interested then linens

Underwear

One you needed for your wedding night.

“Lingerie, perfect!”, you said, excited.

“What about the linens?”, Asked Aemond, as he seemed truly lost

“You'll be able to help me pick up something for the wedding night”, you explained, he shook his head

“No”, he denied you even with his hands, “Are you crazy?”, you were fearful of it being weird, but then you thought he was the best person for the job

“You're the perfect person for this job!”, you said simply, “Who's taken off more lingerie than you? Let's put your whoring to good use”, and you dragged him into the “forbidden” section

“Good point”, he grunted. Even though he wanted nothing else but to see you in your underwear, he really didn’t want this to be the context in which he was right now…

He was grabbing onto his knees for dear life, as he was waiting for you to finish putting on some lingerie… for your future husband, he looked down to his crotch

“Behave, you hear me?”, he demanded. He then looked back at the moving curtain, the one you were behind, “So, how did it go with the Northerner Grand Council?”, he asked. He had to have his head in the game, and starting to look for weak spots

“Great. Cregan got them to approve everything!”, you said excitedly

“Great!”, DAMN IT, he thought

“So, I gotta tell you, I know this is gonna sound funny but, um, I have to thank you….”, you heard him said, not watching his face got you a bit bold as you tried on the tights

“For what?”, you asked

“Well, for asking me to be your maid of honor”, that made you stop your movements, “Yeah. I-I know this is gonna sound crazy but... you've really opened my eyes to the whole idea of marriage”, that shocked even more than the plate juggling

“Right”, you mocked

“No, seriously”, he said

“Have you met someone, Aemond?”, you asked then, entertained, although, you felt something you didn’t quite like, if he was serious

“No”, he said softly, and that made you feel better

“Well, then how can you be serious?”, you asked

“I don't know. I just… I don't know”, you finally finished putting your leather get up on, and you got out of the dressing space, moving the curtain theatrically

“What do you think? Think Cregan will like it?”, you asked, you even had a small whip in your hand. But Aemond’s face… you were feeling so confident, getting completely out of your comfort zone with this, and he seemed completely horrified

“No”, he said quickly, looking straight at you, “NO”

“No?”, you asked

“It's just…”, he said quickly, now looking away

“What?”, you sked, looking down at yourself, you knew you didn’t have a perfect body… but he was acting like….

“It's cute”, he said, recomposing himself

"Cute"? I don't wanna look cute on my wedding night!”, you said, looking down at yourself again, what was wrong with this lacey outfit?, you looked back at Aemond and he was giving you a long coat

“Just put this on”, he said quickly, “Cover yourself up”

“Oh, hey. That's my coat!”, said the other women who was in the other dressing room

“Here, let me get you in a cab”, he said, placing his hand on the small of your back, leading you out of the store

“I can't believe this is my last day in King’s Landing”, you said softly, looking around at all the buildings, you took a deep breath, trying to memorize the… frankly… shitty smell, but to you it smell like home

“What are you talking about?”, asked Aemond, you looked at him with a smile, although he looked pretty terrified

“I've been meaning to tell you, Aemond”, you started softly, “When I leave tomorrow… I'm not coming back”, you said softly, “I've decided to move to Winterfell, to be with Cregan”

“You're leaving King’s Landing?”, he asked, really surprised

“I am”, you said, more firmly, he had this tendency of making you take back some of your decisions, but this, was something you were sure of, “It's exciting, you know, and it makes sense”, you said, “we are going to get married, and he can’t move here, he's next in line to take over the family business and...It's a whole new chapter”, you said quickly, he only looked down the street, with an uncrackable look on his handsome face, “You were amazing today, you know that?”, you said lightly, hoping to get him out of his mind. He shook his head, fixing his jacket, a smile returning to his face, although he looked constipated

“Oh, yeah?”, he asked, his voice returning to him

“Yeah”, you said nodding enthusiastically, “I had no idea you could juggle like that”

“Yeah, well…”, he said, with a proud smile

“I mean, women, yes, china, no”, you continued, he scratched the back of his neck

“Yeah, I know”, he said with his trademarked smirk,

“You're always amazing”, you admitted, “but today you were even more so”, he looked at you with a soft smile, a rarity

You were already on the street, and you tried to signal a cab to pull over and take you

“I'll see you in Winterfell soon, okay?”, you said excitedly, as one stopped and you had to say your goodbyes

“Yeah, I'll see you over there”, he muttered, faking a smile, you looked at him with your beautiful eyes, and smiled at him the way you always used to

“I…”, you started, but you stopped yourself, “I’ll miss you”, you said instead

Aemond’s smile disappeared as you got up in the cab

You didn’t tell him that you loved him like you always did…

As he saw the cab driving away, a hand went to his chest, where an aching pain had him struggling to breathe, he couldn’t breathe

“Hey, are you alright?”, someone asked him, grabbing him by his shoulder

“thank you for picking me up from the hospital”, Aemond muttered as he left his coat on the entrance of his grandfather’s flat.

“Of course son”, muttered Otto, grabbing Aemond on his shoulder reassuringly, “panick attack, uh? that’s new”

“It had never happened to me before”, he whispered, rubbing his temple, “I thought I was having a heart attack”

“Not quite…”, said Otto, serving his grandson a scotch

“I don’t even know why…”

“I think it’s pretty obvious isn’t it?”, he tried, Aemond looked back at his father figure

“She is marrying someone else”, he admitted, “I've never felt like this before. So hopeless”, he admitted, sitting on one of the designer chairs in the living room, overlooking King’s Landing

“So, tell me again why you agreed to be the maid of honor”, he passed the glass to him, and he took a short si[

“Ah, to be with her”, he said simply, “to make her happy, and to figure out some way to get her off of him”, he admitted shamelessly, he swirl the caramel looking liquor on his gatsby cut glass, “maybe that was all wrong, maybe he's better for her than me”, he admitted, making Otto chuckle, “He's Northerner, he can dunk, he's perfect”

“Nobody's perfect”, he said simply, taking a sip of his own, once he downed the liquid he took the glass in front of his face to look at it better, “Although, I tell you, this whisky comes damn close”.

“It was a gift from Cregan… He made it”, said Aemond downing his own

“Damn he IS good”, said Otto. Aemond sighed loudly, leaving the glass on the side table and rubbing his face with his hands. “I can't go. I can't watch (Y/N) marry this guy, she's moving to Winterfell, I've lost her already”, he lamented, he was throwing his own petty party and he was going to enjoy it. Otto just stopped his movements and looked at him, chuckling again, raising his eyebrows

“Bullshit”, he said, sitting on the other available leather chair

“If you love something, set it free, right?”, muttered Aemond, finally looking at him

“Said by a pussy and used by pussies ever since”, he answered, sipping his drink

“Ah come on, what about Lys? Bogie puts her on the ship”, he said

“Pussy”, Otto said simply, smiling at his grandson

“Bogie's a pussy?”, Aemond said, not believing him

“Big pussy”, he confirmed, “You know, I've only truly been in love once….”, he said, “The most amazing woman in the world, she was my best friend. But I was young, stupid, and I messed it up”, Aemond looked at him wide eye, “my great list of mistakes, that was the greatest”

“Who was it?”, he asked

“Alyrie”, he said simply, “your grandmother, she was the love of my life, she gave me two beautiful children, your mother and uncle, but I preferred to go higher on the ladder of my company instead of watching over and taking care of my family, when I realized what I had done, it was too late, I had lost her…”, a sad silence was placed before the both of them, “By the way, uh, I'm getting another divorce”

“Oh, pop”, whined Aemond, not shocked at all though

“I will not let what happen to me happen to you too, You will go to that fucking wedding, you are going to stop her from making the worst mistake of her life, and you are going to bring her home, you hear me?”, Aemond nodded, in a decisive manner, his hands tingling with excitement, “Go and get her, you pussy”, Otto said slapping his shoulder

post chapter notes: I have to say it I'M SO SORRY, but I love this movie and I want to finish this, sorry for abandoning it, but I'm here to win it! jeje

TAGLIST!

@snh96 @sagelovesreading @toodlesxcuddles @ammo23 @bananzaa @ttkttt @at-a-rax-ia @n4tforlife @spn-obession

#misguidedmade #aemond targaryen #made of honor #maid of honor #hbo house of the dragon #house of the dragon #cregan stark #aemond targaryen x reader #cregan stark x reader #movie adaptation

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oosleepyfaeoo · 2 years ago

Text

Hmm I've been thinking about doing a Baelon Targaryen x maid!reader x Alyssa Targaryen smut 😏😏

What do you guys think?

#aemond targaryen #hotd #aemond x reader #x reader #baelon targaryen #baelon targaryen x reader #maid!reader #alyssa targaryen #house of the dragon #fanfiction writer #hotd aemond #fandom #aemond one eye #hotd aegon #imagine #smut #aemond smut #george rr martin

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nebulaafterdark · 6 months ago

Text

The Rats Pt. 2

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI

Part 1

“Princess Y/N of house Velaryon.” The guard announces.

Rhaenyra’s heart skips a beat, surely he is mistaken.

“Mother,” Y/N says, racing toward her. “Your grace,” she corrects herself.

Rhaenyra wraps her eldest child in her arms. “Mother will do just fine.”

Y/N buries her face in Rhaenyra’s shoulder.

“How did you get here?” Aegon would never let her go of his own free will.

“Daemon,” Y/N breathes. Knowing that her stepfather will owe her for the half truth.

“Where are the children?”

“In King’s Landing.” Y/N tells her, “to keep Aegon’s wits about him in my absence. He wants to come to an agreement, he’s more than willing to bend the knee. I only ask that he and Helaena be spared…as for Aemond Targaryen, he is a murderer.” Y/N’s voice breaks, “we will avenge the murder of my brother.”

Rhaenyra’s strokes a hand over her hair, feeling the dark waves that remind her of Lucerys. “Aegon and Helaena will receive full pardons based on your testimony. Rest assured I appreciate what you have done on my behalf.”

“Thank you.” Y/N pulls back marginally, realizing her mother’s pregnant belly should be between them. “Where is the babe?”

Rhaenyra shakes her head.

Y/N covers her mouth with her hand, “I am terribly sorry.”

“It is no fault of yours, darling girl.”

“I should have been here with you.”

“When I offered your hand in marriage, I had no idea Aegon was capable of love. It has complicated all of this.”

Y/N nods, “speaking of my husband. I should send word that I am well, lest he take out his frustration on Dragonstone.”

Rhaenyra taps her chin, affectionately. “I will fetch a scroll.”

————————————————————————-

Aegon’s youngest son is the only one of his children to share Y/N’s dark locks. His wife insisted they name him Aegon. After my dearest love. She said.

Aegon agreed of course as he can deny her nothing. The child wails nonstop, in the absence of his mother. At all of four months old, Aegon is the only one who can quiet him besides Y/N. As such, the King is now attending the small council meeting with a babe in his arms.

Their daughter, Dahlia, the eldest of the twins will sit the iron throne one day, through his line of succession and Rhaenyra’s. At all of six, she is sitting at the table. His other children Visera and Laenor have not been properly protected under the guard, they too must stay in his sightline.

“Gods be good.” Alicent frowns at her son.

“What is it?” Aegon huffs, arching a brow at her.

“The small council is no place for children, your grace.” Alicent explains. “They would be better tended by their maids.”

Aegon nods, “right. As you all know, two nights ago, the Princess Helaena was attacked in the children’s chambers. Our heirs were threatened and Queen Y/N was taken from us. During which time, not a single guard could be found on the entirety of the royal floor! Because you were-”

Aegon looks to his children in turn, “cover your ears my darlings.” He smiles, waiting until they have done as they’re told, holding his own hand over his infant’s ear. “Where were we, mother? Oh, that’s right, no one was guarding my children because you were fucking the royal guard.”

The council members lower their heads in acknowledgement.

“The men who carried out this attack, entered under the guise of rat catching. I want them found and swiftly executed.” Aegon demands, patting his sleeping son’s leg.

“We have been interrogating rat catchers for days, thus far we have no leads.” Otto explains.

A slow smile spreads over the King’s face. “Then hang them all.”

Alicent blanches.

“Anything else?” Aegon asks, watching Visera begin toying with Otto’s chair.

“A letter arrived from Dragonstone, your grace.” Lord Tyland informs him.

“Oh?” Aegon says, “from Rhaenyra?”

“From Queen Y/N.”

Aegon swallows, “did you read it?”

“No, my King.”

“Good,” Aegon reaches for the rolled parchment.

‘My dearest Aegon,

Please know that I am well. We would like to begin negotiations to end the blockade and create a peaceful transfer of power. This will require your cooperation, I hope you will meet me at Dragonstone to discuss this matter farther.

Forever yours,

Y/N’

Aegon exhales, sharply.

“What is it, your grace?”

“The children and I are off to Dragonstone.”

“Whatever for?”

“To negotiate the terms of Y/N’s return.”

“My King…”

“And if you cannot agree on said terms?” Alicent asks.

Aegon frowns, lifting a shoulder. “To war then.”

“He is unhinged,” Otto whispers to his daughter.

“As I warned he would be.” Alicent rises from her seat. “He is quite…devoted to her.”

————————————————————————

“It has been three days since you sent word to King’s Landing. We must assume Aegon’s silence is his response.” Daemon seethes, around the drawing table.

“Give it time.” Y/N insists, “you owe me that.”

Daemon smirks, “I owe you nothing, spoiled thing.”

“Mmm,” Y/N hums. “My mother does not yet know how I came to be here.”

“And you are not going to tell her. Otherwise, my distaste for your usurping cunt of a husband will be demonstrated at length.”

Sunfyre roars, calling their attention to the nearest window.

Daemon huffs, “I’ll be damned.”

“And he’s brought the children.” Y/N rejoices, running out to join her family.

Jacaerys is already helping to unload her children from the makeshift carriage on the dragon’s saddle.

“Mother!” Dahlia and Visera charge Y/N nearly knocking her backwards.

Laenor runs after them with his little legs as Aegon the fourth, stares at her, babbling in his father’s arms.

Y/N is moved to tears, “you came.”

“You didn’t think I would?” Aegon cocks his head to the side.

“It’s a rather large ask,” Y/N explains.

“For you, the world.” He replies, with a kiss to her temple. “Now, where is Rhaenyra? We have much to discuss.”

“Her grace will join us soon.”

Aegon nods, “I request a small audience, before the council.”

“That can be arranged.”

“After which your brother might tend the children whilst you show me your quarters.” Aegon whispers.

Y/N smirks, “of course.”

Part 3

Taglist: @minttea07 @callsignwidow @fallout-girl219 @syraxnyra @vickynephilim @jeondeluxe111 @geeksareunique @arya-brooke @7minutes-tomidnight

#house of the dragon #hotd smut #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon smut #aegon fanfic

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ladystarksneedle · 1 year ago

Text

The eye of envy

Summary: A maid at the keep finds her own flame through the words of the dragon.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: implied smut, mentions of child death, burns and injuries, angst.

Prev<

Masterlist

Her body aches in ways it has never before. She has known hardship her entire life, strenuous work from dawn to dusk pushing her to the brink of exhaustion and fitful slumber. She wakes up equally restless now, deliciously sore as she gets to work hiding the bruises beneath the wimple she opts to wear. She finds his eye following her movements every time she enters or perhaps she’s more aware of his presence now that her longing has borne fruit. The sheets are changed more often with longer baths being taken together, grasping and clawing at each other till they're raw and need to be cleansed again. She finds herself visiting the sept more often, eyes on the lookout for his ardor as she begins honoring the Mother forsaking the Maiden before her. It is a wishful dream that she now lives every day, yearning for yet another part of him to hold and she’s answered soon enough.

The wails that haunt the hallways make her shrink in terror wishing for the Stranger himself. There are whispers of madness and horror floating around that make her want to retreat into herself and run away from it all. The servants are rounded up again and cast into the dungeons awaiting harsher trials as she paces around her quarters unharmed yet she knows she'll face her fate soon enough. The blood that she'd given to him so readily hasn't arrived with the moon's turn making her choke back a sob. Some part of her thinks he knows what lies within her and it is perhaps his clemency which shields her from his wrath yet every time he returns to her his touch is fierce and unyielding, punishing her with sweeter torment. He leaves with a smirk on his face and a kiss to her cheek with a lingering promise of more as she struggles in silence. The Mother seems to have confused her punishment for the son that grows within her blooms as the young princeling of six wilts and the screams only grow louder.

The days that follow are short and agonizing. She's confined to his chambers with little knowledge of what passes outside other than the whispers passed at meals delivered to her on time. The King has ordered the death of all the rat catchers of the keep along with servants who've been presumed guilty. The stench of flesh soon greets her despite the windows being shut tight. Their bars can only hold so much death.

It is a solemn occasion that greets her later as she dresses him in black. She feels him clench his jaw throughout the night in anticipation with no amount of coaxing soothing the guilt that he struggles to hide. She feels it too, a hand pressed to her womb in passing, feeling the pain she hears down the hall yet she braves it for him. He leaves shortly, assigning a guard to her door, prohibiting her leave as she's tucked into his bed with a lingering gaze. She knows the pain he carries now is for them both.

He becomes careful with her once the ashes of the little boy are strewn to the skies. His hands linger and ghost over her belly before retreating to clenching over nothing. There are days where she sees him only around the hour of the eel, woken up to being pulled close and taken in haste. There is an urgency to his movements which he tries to hide as he gives in to pleasure while not forgetting her own, yet he's gone before the sun rises leaving her locked and alone. She feels like a prisoner with more comfortable lodgings. She busies herself tidying his things yet she longs for home and the comfort of her own mother the most. It is days later when she's visited by one, clad in teal with her hands clasped in front of her. The Dowager queen looks as regal as she's spoken of, out of place next to a woman of her status as she bids her to sit. There is a sorrow that clings to her, haunting her beauty as she speaks.

“How are you doing”

“I am well your grace”

“That is good. You perhaps know why I’m here then”

“I make no demands of your grace. The prince-”

“Is quite fond of you, yes. It is why I've allowed him this fancy in the first place”

“It was not my intention”

“It never is” she responds ruefully. “The Mother has chosen to bless you child, in a time when she's tried us all” she continues fidgeting with her hands “Look after him” she whispers tiredly. She finds the woman that leaves is not the mother she hoped for but a crone gliding through the halls.

The first time she calls him by name is when he leaves for battle. She wakes up before dawn to ready him, helping him with his armour as he stares ahead. She cannot stop her tears as she finishes clasping his eyepatch in place before he pulls her to him whispering to her in the language of his ancestors. He kisses her farewell with a smile and a promise to return and that is what she finds herself praying for daily. She calls him by his name in her dreams, in the thoughts that haunt her while she kneels on stone. She lights candles for the Warrior to guide his blade and flame and for the Father to give them justice for the sorrow she sees amidst green. It is three moons later when word of victory reaches them before she finally approaches the Mother in peace.

The royal parade returns as her belly begins to swell. She hears the cheers in the distance and sees the head of the red horned beast that started it all, before seeing him fly triumphantly above. He returns to her with pride etched into him caressing her with longing burning through them both. It is only later she realizes how deeply the fire has consumed them all. The King screams in agony drowning the wails of his Queen who stares at him, pain etched into her features. She's been ushered into the room to help yet cannot stomach the sight before her. He's covered in bandages, salves and ointments lining his peeling skin, perpetually drunk on milk of the poppy to dull his senses. She sees her hold his hand and whisper something to him which is lost to the wind before she rises and leaves as the Dowager queen cries silently nearby. Aemond stands at the threshold observing it all with a blank face yet she knows what he sees. She remembers her mother telling her it is a curse to play chase with the Gods, yet as the man ahead of her screams as he's weaned off intermittently she can hardly summon any pity. Her heart lies with her lover at the threshold.

The night passes in flashes of anger with bolts of lightning illuminating the skies heralding imminent danger. She feels the empty bed next to her as her eyes adjust to the dark. It is cold as she struggles to wake up and explore. It is the last thing she should be doing but with him back she cannot feel anything but a semblance of security. She pads along the floor in her robe before making her way to where she thinks he is. She sees him stalking towards the monstrosity ahead as she lets herself in with a creak of the great oak doors.

“You shouldn't be here” he says as he hears her approach.

“Neither should you”

“It is to be mine on the morrow”

“Is it” she counters bravely “He still lives”

“Yet he's too weak to exert his will. It is I who’ll rule in his stead” he says, watching her reach him. “All of this will be ours someday.”

“In everything but name” she whispers reluctantly.

“Is it my name you still want when I have given you so much more”

“I want everything,” she admits.

“Greed doesn't become you”

“It seems to have found its place with you”

“This was always meant to be mine.” he remarks.

She sees another flash of lightning illuminate his face, silver and leather bathed in the moonlight, as she turns towards him.

“You promised me your protection as long as I wished to continue. That is all I still ask for” she whispers, taking his hands in hers.

“Do you know the story about how the Iron throne was forged” he asks “A thousand blades were melted to take its form. A thousand men fell for its cause”

“Do you plan to fell a thousand more for your own?”

She sees him smile in response as he replies “You shall have all that I have to give in time. Conquests do not yield their fortune in a day”

“Only King's perhaps” she finishes looking at him.

She dresses him at dawn with trepidation, her eyepatch now discarded for a new beginning. His sapphire glints in the dark as he clasps one around her neck.

“You are mine today for all to see” she thinks he means to tell her, as he pulls her to him from behind admiring the way it sits above her collarbones.

The ceremony is long and foreboding. She stands to the side in blue as he's crowned, curtsying with all the grace she can muster. She sees her father in the distance looking at her with confusion and her mother smiling knowingly before they bow. As the sun rises in the distance and steel finds a home atop a new head of silver, she feels the Smith at work, fashioning bonds aflame like the golden pin that glints on his collar. The doe ahead of her fumes in silence.

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy @b00kw0rmsworld

#house of the dragon #aemond fics #zae's fics #aemond x maid reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond imagine #hotd imagine #hotd fic #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x reader

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 11 hours ago

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My Fair Lady's Maid (Regency!Aemond x Lady's Maid!Reader)

Part 3: With a Little Bit of Luck

Frustrated with his grandsire's tedious and thorough process of choosing him a "suitable" bride, Aemond makes a declaration that a lady's maid could be indistinguishable from a true noblewoman so long as she was sufficiently dressed and educated in embroidery, conversation, and the like. Otto takes this as a challenge, and gives Aemond four months to turn one of Helaena's lady's maids into a noblewoman.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: none

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: Finally had a burst of inspiration for this last night, and here we are!

With a Little Bit of Luck

Miss Doolittle stood at the base of the stairs in her little basement apartment. It wasn’t really an apartment, even if she’d lived there for nearly three years. In truth, it was a cellar. The owner of the house above had graciously put a small bed in it when she first rented it, but he also continued to keep his winter stores and several chests of assorted junk there, taking up nearly half the space.

Still, it wasn’t so bad. Back then, when she hadn’t wanted to go out, see anyone, or do anything, those chests of junk had entertained her. And she loved the smell of the dried apples. Even if it was small, it was cozy. There was enough room for everything she owned in the world, which, admittedly, wasn’t much.

All of it was now stuffed into her rucksack; still, the bag wasn’t full. It likely would have been if she’d been able to buy that clock at the market yesterday, but she didn’t want to think about that now. She was already too sad.

It didn’t make sense, her sadness. She was leaving this cave to go and live in a manor house. She would never be woken by rats again, and she would have enough money to buy a hundred clocks. But this had been her home for the past three years.

She squared her chin and adjusted the strap of her rucksack. She’d started over before. It was how she ended up here. And this time… this time would be easier, she knew it.

So, she walked up the stairs and out of that little basement, hoping she had enough time to run one last errand before the cart from Kingswood came to take her to her new home.

The village green, like her apartment, could not truly be called its name. Not since the village council decided to put gravel paths all over it and plant all kinds of trees, bushes, and flowers in most of the blank spaces between the paths, while others were left empty for vendors to set up for market day. It was pretty, but it made crossing the green and finding the person she was looking for even harder.

Luckily, he seemed to be in a good mood today. All she had to do to find him was follow the sound of his fiddle.

“Egg?” she called when she came to a patch of trees and bushes that were now big enough to obstruct her view. She knew he was somewhere in there, but she couldn’t see him.

His bow scratched against his fiddle before falling silent. “Is that you, Little Girl?”

She wanted to protest the nickname but didn’t. He’d been calling her that since she was a little girl, and he was a vagabond teenage boy who played the prettiest music she’d ever heard. “It’s me.”

The bushes rattled, and a moment later, the man Miss Doolittle knew as ‘Egg’ burst into the open and hugged her so hard she nearly fell over.

“God, am I happy to see you!” He started spinning her back and forth, and several trinkets spilled out of her bag. “I thought I’d missed my chance to say goodbye!”

She finally gave up resisting and smiled as she hugged him back. “Not yet. They aren’t picking me up ‘til noon.” Which left them a little under a quarter-hour to catch up before she had to meet the Kingswood coachman in front of the church.

Egg finally set her down, running a hand over his shaved head. She’d never actually asked if he shaved it, but he was too young to be bald, and she’d seen several nicks on the back of his head that looked like they came from a razor. He immediately bent down to pick up the knick-knacks he’d accidentally forced her to spill. “If I’d known you were leaving Rosby, I would have come back sooner. Why didn’t you send a letter?”

“Where would I send it? You only stay in the same place for a week at most.” Besides, she didn’t have much spare money to spend on sending a letter. “You leave as soon as your bar tab gets too high.”

“True,” Egg admitted. He finally finished tucking her trinkets away, then strapped his fiddle to his back and offered his arm. “And it seems I’ll have to add Kingsgrave to the rotation if I ever want to see my Little Girl again, even though it’s quite far.”

She looked over at him, confused. “I’m not goin’ to Kingsgrave. I’m goin’ to Kingswood.”

He stopped suddenly, tugging on her arm hard to get her to face him. He wasn’t smiling anymore. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen Egg not smiling before. It unsettled her.

“You’re going to work at Kingswood?”

She nodded.

“What position?”

“I’ll be a lady’s maid.”

“To Lady Helaena?”

“Yes.”

He bit his lips. He wasn’t just not smiling. He was angry. His eyes had grown dark, and his brow furrowed.

“Is that bad? Have you heard bad things about Lady Helaena? I know they say she’s odd, but I haven’t heard anyth – ”

“I have no quarrel with Helaena, no. I just…” He again ran a hand over his head, his fingers digging into the skin in a way Miss Doolittle was sure was painful. He tucked his chin in for a moment and took a deep breath before looking back up. He was smiling again, but it was strained. “I’m just worrying about my Little Girl. Ignore me. Helaena is very kind.”

She sighed in relief, slumping into his side as they began walking again. “That’s good. I’ve been lookin’ forward to this for so long, I’d hate if it ended up a nightmare.”

Egg looked at her with a brow raised. “You’ve been looking forward to this?”

“Well, yeah.” His tone sounded doubtful. Did he not think she could do the job? “I know I’ve never had an actual job before, but I do now. I’ll work real hard, I swear it. I’ll be a proper lady in no time, you’ll see.”

“I’ve no doubt you can be a proper lady,” Egg said while ruffling her hair. “I just don’t know if I want you to be. I like you very well, just as you are, I’ll have you know.”

She liked herself too, mostly. Sometimes she wished she was taller or had prettier hair. Every once in a while she took a dislike to the color of her eyes, but it usually faded. Whenever she had to decide whether to pay rent or buy a nice warm meal at the pub, she wished she was someone else entirely.

But if she were taller, it would have been hard to climb down the small staircase to her cellar. If her hair was different, Harry wouldn’t have told her how much he liked it almost every time she saw him. And if her eyes were a different color, she wouldn’t be reminded of her mother every time she caught her reflection.

“I’m not going to become a whole new person,” she declared. Egg looked dubious as he led her to sit on a stone bench across the road from the church. “Just… more refined. Now stop griping at me and talk about something else!”

Egg threw his head back in a great, wide smile as he laughed. “Only since it’s your last day in Rosby, Little Girl. What do you want to talk about?”

The first topic that came to mind was the two men from yesterday, the kind one and the brute. But that was too maddening. “You know about Lady Helaena, right?” He nodded. “Then tell me about the rest of them?”

He hesitated for a long while before he bit his cheek and began. “They’re the same as all the others. The lord of the house has a stick shoved so far up his ass he can’t bend over. The grandfather is a desperate social climber. The th.. second son is something of a rake, but good-hearted. Helaena though, she’s a good girl. Strange, but good. She’s very kind, like you. I think you’ll get along. … How do you feel about insects?”

Miss Doolittle laughed. “I’ve lived in a dirty basement for three years. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Egg said with a secretive smile.

God, she was going to miss him. His humor, his music, that smile. It had been very easy to fall in love with him when she was a girl, though she’d since grown out of it. He was one of her dearest friends, but far too… Egg for her to ever truly love or marry him. Still, she was envious of how happy he always was, even with no money in his pockets.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” She dug through her knapsack to find the little coin purse she’d made from a beautiful curtain Mrs. Cunningham discarded when it was torn. She extracted the two crowns and one half-crown she had left over from what that horrible man had thrown at her the day before. “These are for you.”

Egg’s blue eyes went wide. “Where the hell did you get that?”

She thought for a moment how much to tell him before deciding on simply, “A customer.”

His surprise melted into mischief. “What kind of customer?”

“What, exactly, are you implying?”

“Nothing! Just wondering if you’d decided to sell something other than flowers, and if so, how much you charge? Because I’ll give these right back if…”

“You’re disgusting!” she shrieked as she hit him with her bag over and over until he finally held his hands up in concession.

“You have my sincere apology.” He righted his mussed clothes, then looked at her. “But really, Little Girl, why are you giving me these?”

Because just looking at them makes me want to vomit. She sighed. “Because I don’t need it – I’ll be making my own money soon. You need it, though.”

Egg’s eyes turned thoughtful and soft. It was the kind of look she would once have swooned over. “You’re too kind. I worry you’ll lose that at Kingswood. That place and those people will wring it out of you if you let them. Promise me you won’t?”

“I promise,” she whispered, dropping the coins into his outstretched hand. She wrapped her hand around his, closing his fingers around the money. “If you promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

He laughed, shaking their joined hands. “I’ll do my best. But with a little bit of luck, I’ll always have people like you around to help me out.”

She started to chide him, to warn him that he’d eventually need to learn to rely on himself, even if she knew he’d only laugh it off. But a sharp whistle and the crack of a whip sounded from the end of the street, and both their heads turned to find its source.

A two-horse cart had turned onto the main road. Not an unusual sight in itself, especially for a market town. But it wasn’t market day. And it was no ordinary cart, but one she’d only ever seen in illustrations in books. The cart of daring gentlemen and rakes. Its back wheels were twice the size of those in the front and carried seats made of green-painted wood and black leather that gleamed in the sunlight.

“Of course, they sent the fucking phaeton,” Egg murmured, giving a name to the vehicle. He stood quickly, pulling her up with him, and embraced her tightly. “Good luck, Little Girl. I’ll miss you.”

Then, he left. Releasing her from his grasp so swiftly she stumbled back a step. By the time she’d caught her breath, he was gone, without even the music of his fiddle to hint at where he’d gone.

“I’ll miss you too,” she whispered to the wind, hoping it would carry her words to him.

Only a few hours later, she was stepping out of the cart and onto the gravel drive of the Kingswood Estate.

The estate itself sprawled across half the woods, according to the coachman, Arryk, who had informed her when they officially crossed onto the property miles ago. The house, a term which seemed to Miss Doolittle to be a massive understatement, was near the center of it, within a smaller, but still enormous, gated park.

It was beautiful, with pale stone walls coated with ivy, gleaming glass windows framed with iron, and surrounded by flowers of every shape and color. And it was to be her new home.

Well, she was to be one of its servants. But still. Servants could call it home, too.

But what servants could not do was enter through the main doors. Instead, Arryk led her around the side of the house and through a smaller, much dirtier door into a stiflingly hot kitchen.

A woman who appeared to be around two hundred years old – the cook, presumably – barked orders at several kitchen maids with such ferocity it was a wonder that fire spewed only from the oven and not her mouth. As young men in fine suits filed into the room and began picking up silver trays laden with steaming food, the woman took a deep breath and started yelling at them instead.

Arryk leaned closer to Miss Doolittle. “Don’t do anything to get on Cook’s bad side,” he whispered, what sounded like genuine fear wavering in his voice. “She’ll roast you alive.”

As if she had heard him, the cook whirled around on him, her warm brown eyes blazing like hot coals. “What are you standing around for, Mr. Cargyll?” she bellowed. “And who’s this little waif?”

“Lady Helaena’s new maid.” His voice cracked like a boy’s.

The old woman huffed as those burning eyes examined her intently. “Put her in Mrs. Rivers’ sitting room and get out. I’ll not have you tracking horse shit in my kitchen.”

Arryk nodded hastily, the movement like that of a soldier accepting a command from his general. He took two steps forward, indicating Miss Doolittle should follow when he and everyone in the kitchen froze where they were.

Miss Doolittle followed their stunned gazes to the base of a narrow staircase and the two people who had just descended.

The first was a woman, neither old nor young, with deep black hair that flowed down her back in a long, silky sheet. Though she wore the dress of a servant, the keyring hanging from her waist indicating that she was likely the housekeeper, there was a certain power in her green gaze that made Miss Doolittle think the woman had been a queen in some other life.

But the thought did not last long, for her eyes drifted to the man standing just behind the housekeeper.

Shit.

The finest man she’d ever seen. With silver hair, one eye of crushing blue, one a milky white, and an angry red scar running across his face.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She hadn’t even met Lady Helaena, and she was about to be sacked.

Or, judging by the wicked delight in the man’s eyes and his crooked smile, perhaps she was about to be eaten alive.

The housekeeper turned to face the man, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Lord Aemond, do you know this girl?”

Lord Aemond.

Forget being sacked or eaten. He could simply have her executed. It may even be a mercy, to spare her the humiliation that burned within her like a thousand raging bonfires.

He turned to the housekeeper, the movement too graceful and smooth. “I’m afraid I do.” He looked back at Miss Doolittle. No, he looked past her. “Mr. Cargyll, I will not be needing you to take me to Rosby tomorrow, after all.”

Then, he did look at her, and the cold in his eyes felt like an icicle shoved through her heart. She wanted to run. To scream. To shrink into nothing just to escape him. She wanted to run all the way back to Rosby, find Egg, and beg him to take her far, far away from here.

But she remained where she was, under the hateful gaze of her new employer, unable to so much as blink as he smiled a ruthless, joyless smile. “I’ve been hoping to see you again, flower girl. I have a proposition for you.”

Egg’s joyous, carefree voice echoed in her mind.

With a little bit of luck.

He’d never specified whether it was good luck or bad luck.

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dreamlandcreations · 1 year ago

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The Impossible Choice (5)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • fem!reader]

[warnings: sex content, angst, smut, sexual tension]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm's End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

He awoke in the morning, feeling the anxiety, that had tossed him through the night. He wasn't alone. He could feel the sweet scent of her oils wafting in his nostrils, hear her soft, calm breathing. Her body heat radiated in all directions, making him feel his entire body tense.

No woman ever stayed in his bed. He never slept with anyone in the same room. Her presence, this alien being, was something surprisingly shocking to him. For a moment he just lay there, without opening his eye, feeling her breath on his face.

He opened one eyelid, the sun pouring through the windows into the room, blinded him for a moment.

He saw, that she slept, lying on her stomach, her cheek pressed against the pillow, her face turned towards him. Her hair was scattered around her head in disarray, her lips barely visibly parted, her face relaxed and gentle. She kept a safe distance, didn't touch him all night.

They didn't speak to each other, after what they had done.

After he took her virginity.

He waited for this moment impatiently. He barely restrained himself from throwing himself at her somewhere in the keep. He decided, however, that he could not tarnish her reputation, if she was to become his wife.

When he faced her, wearing only a nightgown, vulnerable, at his mercy, he felt fear. She was so delicate, petite, terrified, that he thought, that she would fall to pieces in front of his eye.

He had promised her, that if she obeyed him, he would make her enjoy it, but he wasn't sure, if he could keep his promise.

He hadn't thought about the fact, that his touch might repulse her, like his face, the lack of his eye, his scar. Like what he was about to do to her.

The perverted, lewd touch he craved, him, deep inside her, between her thighs.

She was so innocent.

When he commanded her to kiss him, she was doing it so wonderfully shy, so gently, her lips so soft and pleasurable, that he could do just that all night, teaching her how he wanted her to caress his mouth, sliding his tongue deep into her throat, tasting her endlessly.

He knew, however, that his task that night was different. He had to consummate this marriage for it to be valid, no matter whether she would be pleased with it or not. He, however, unlike his brother, took no pleasure in taking women against their will.

He watched with a kind of blissfulness as she reacted, frightened and excited at the same time, by what he was doing to her. She was so meek, so polite, trusting him implicitly, allowing him to touch every minimeter of her body.

She didn't cry, she didn't squirm, she didn't get distracted, focusing only on her sensations, on his lips sucking greedily on her soft, firm breast, on his hand between her thighs.

He felt pride and delight, as he touched her entrance and felt her moist. It made him feel more confident, he was already assured, that she liked, what he was doing so far. He wanted her to like it, he wanted her not to run away from him.

He shamelessly slid his finger into her again and again with the sticky, perverted click of her juices, massaging her where he knew, that a woman felt pleasure, feeling that little spot on her upper wall.

He teased her and listened, as she moaned louder and louder, so sweet and vulnerable, at his mercy alone. He felt like his member was going to explode with desire, he restrained himself with the remnants of his free will, to not thrust himself onto her.

Then, when he slid inside her, when she clenched on him so desperately, that she caused pain even to him, he begged the gods, that she would be able to hold on, that she would not start crying, that she would not spoil everything, that he had managed to do for them.

He could see her struggling with herself, pressing her lips and breathing deeply, trying to calm herself for him, to obey him, as he desired.

His brave wife.

And then he simply fucked her.

At first with gentle, slow movements, just to try. But then he lost his temper.

She was too tight, too warm, too wet, moaning too loudly and too sweetly, her body writhing too wonderfully beneath him.

He felt hot at the memory and realized, how painfully hard his manhood was. He breathed uneasily, as he looked at her body. He tried not to think, about the way, that her hands tightened on his shirt, as she sobbed beneath him, her face and body hot with pleasure.

Not to think, about the wonderful sound, that she made, when she came underneath him. How perfect she looked, as her body contorted in spasms, that coursed cruelly through her body.

He pretended deep down, that it didn't affect him at all.

He thought, that she was his now, whole, in every aspect. Her every breath, look, moan, thought, was to belong only to him. He swallowed silently at the thought, that he might take her again now.

Feel the wonderful heat of her body.

His wife's.

He raised himself slowly on one elbow and moved towards her under the quilt, gripping her waist, lifting her slightly, kneeling behind her. She woke up and drew in a quick breath, all sleepy. He could see, that she didn't know, where she was, or what was happening to her.

She tightened her hands on his wrists, breathing heavily, as she felt him lift the fabric of her nightgown, exposing her hips to him.

"I will not cause you pain." He said calmly, his voice sleepy and slightly hoarse.

He could feel her body trembling beneath him, terrified. He knew, that after what he had done to her last night, she was tender and oversensitive inside, her walls must have been sore and irritated. He had no intention of hurting her, as long, as she obeyed.

He grunted in satisfaction, as she slowly released her grip, placing her hands on the pillow on either side of her head, her mouth slightly parted in a startled, quick breath.

He slid one of his hands between her thighs, searching for her womanhood with his fingers. He exhaled softly in delight, feeling how warm her fleshy structure was, her entrance still wet with their shared juices and his semen.

He shivered with pleasure and lust at the thought of her, falling asleep, filled with his cum. He heard her sob softly, as he began to massage her clit in circular, slow motions.

"Shhh." He whispered, continuing his movements, feeling her entire thighs tremble before him. His free hand stroked her buttock, staring in awe at the perverted sight before him.

He was in no hurry. He didn't want her to cry, when he fucked her. He thought, that it would be a very distracting sound, and after this, she would run away from him and his touch.

Of course, it would be her duty to father an heir with him anyway.

He thought, that as long, as she didn't give him reasons to be brutal and furious, he'd show her his softer, more understanding side. That if she gave him, what he wanted, he would reciprocate. It was a mutual exchange, that suited him.

He didn't mind, that she was inexperienced. On the contrary, her behavior and sudden, lively reactions made him want her even more.

He knew, that she was dismayed, that he was doing things to her, that no one had ever told her about before. That she didn't know, what was happening to her, what he was going to do to her in this strange, unusual position, kneeling behind her. He licked his lips involuntarily at the thought.

He felt his slow, repetitive, gentle movements calm her down a bit, her breathing slowing, her chest rising steadily beneath him. He saw her fingers tighten on the pillow, as the teasing of her sweet spot seemed to bear fruit slowly, his hand starting to get sticky with her juices.

"That's it. Such a good girl.” He purred in delight, at what he could do to her, how her body responded wonderfully to his caresses. That's exactly what he wanted.

He wanted her to want it.

To come to him, asking for more.

And he, if she behaved in the right way, might give it to her.

His cock throbbed painfully at the thought. He decided, that he couldn't wait any longer. He slid his hand from between her thighs, and a soft sigh of relief escaped her lips, as if she thought, that it was over. He untied the fabric of his pants, smirking with amusement at the thought.

He gripped her hips confidently, lifting them higher, so that she was forced to lean forward, her breathing again quickening and terrified. He thought, that part of her mind already knew, what was about to happen.

He was impressed, with how patient and trusting she endured, what he was doing to her. The maids he fucked, usually asked a ton of questions, horrified, as he pulled up their dresses, before the fast rhythm of him fucking them left them speechless.

He heard her muffle a high-pitched sound, as she pressed her face against the pillow, her fingers gripping the fabric of the pillow tightly, when he guided the tip of his manhood to her throbbing, hot entrance.

He slid him in slightly, letting out a loud sigh of pleasure. She squeezed him wonderfully from all sides, making him grit his teeth and stop himself, from moving aggressively inside her.

He could feel her, trying hard not to express, how much discomfort she felt, her insides tired and irritated from their intense, first closeness. He heard her sob softly, almost inaudibly, as he slid deeper into her, pushing painfully hard against her hot, wet walls, his fingers tightening on the soft skin of her hips.

“Just a little more. I promise." He whispered and moaned loudly, when he slided all the way inside her, with one, more forceful thrust of his hips.

He stopped, feeling the effort her body was making, trying to keep from running away from him and his grip. He saw her fingers quiver all over the pillow, her breathing rapid and ragged. He stroked her hot hip with his large hand, squeezing his eye shut.

"I will take it slow." He hummed, his calming voice matching the slow, almost tender movements of his hand.

He stayed like that for a moment, not moving, breathing heavily with her, letting her get used to the fact, that he was so deep inside her again. It surprised him, how much pleasure he suffered from the sight of her.

With one hand he still stroked her hip, and with the other he brushed her hair away from her face, all red with exertion, her cheeks flushed, her lips deliciously swollen. He thought about kissing her, but decided against it.

He slid out of her slowly, only to slide back into her, all the way to the end. A huge thrill of pleasure ran through his body, at the sight of his cock, stretching to the limit walls of her entrance. It was one of the most perverted images, that he had ever seen in his life.

"− yes − just like that −" He crooned, repeating his movements with confident, gentle thrusts of his hips, holding her waist, their bodies colliding with a soft, sticky slap.

He heard her swallow deeply and let out a startled sound of pleasure, as he felt her body begin to respond to his movements, her hips coming out to meet his thrust, intensifying his sensation.

He squeezed his eye shut, panting louder and louder, her movements made him accelerate suddenly, putting more and more force into penetrating her hot interior.

His cock throbbed painfully hard inside her, as he heard her moan and pant softly beneath him, just as he did, her mouth parted in indecision, her eyebrows arched in worry, as if she wasn't quite sure, how she felt about it. He wanted to get more sounds out of her, he wanted to drive her to despair with pleasure.

He wanted her to come again before his eye.

She moaned loudly, lips parting in surprise, as his pace became more brutal and intense, thrusting so deep into her, that he felt, like another millimeter more and he would pierce her stomach.

"− gods − taking my cock so fucking well −” He gasped, delighted, immersed in his own sensations, making him feel, that his fulfillment was getting closer. She didn't have to answer him, her moans, her expression, her insides tightening on his member were enough for him, driving him crazy.

He heard her sob at his words, her hips colliding against his thighs in a dirty, wet slap with each of his quick, brutal thrusts. He watched their shared juices run down her thighs, her moans getting louder and more helpless.

He deliberately slid inside her at an angle, to rub against her top wall, to increase her sensation, to give her, what she needed. His hand slid down to her clit, teasing her further.

"− see, how wonderful it can be, when you obey me? − ah − I said, that I'd take care of you, didn't I? − that you'll enjoy, what I'm doing to you −" He crooned and felt his voice get stuck in his throat, as her whole body tensed, a loud, sweet moan escaped her mouth, her walls greedily pressing down on him because of the orgasm, that was apparently just flowing through her body.

He couldn't help the low groan of surprise, that escaped his throat. As he felt it, he involuntarily tightened his fingers on her hips, fucking her with all his might, ignoring her sobs as he stretched her oversensitive, sore walls.

"− did you fucking came already? − ah − such a greedy little thing − came before her prince commanded her to − fuck! −" He gasped in delight, moaning loudly with her, a few more thrust were enough for him, to come with a sound of wonderful relief. He cum hard inside her, panting heavily, his hot semen spilling all over her.

He felt an immense amount of relief, his whole body trembling with delight and excitement at the sensation, that he had just experienced with her. He stared at her with hazy eye, at her parted lips, trying to catch her breath, her eyes full of heat, her face, neck and hips dripping with sweat.

"You did so well." He whispered involuntarily, neither letting go nor moving out of her, wanting to stay with her in this position for a while longer, to enjoy the view.

He heard her squeal of horror, as his maid suddenly entered his chamber, apparently wanting to inform them, that their breakfast was ready to be served.

The girl was confused, when she saw them and turned her head. Aemond slid out of her quickly with a soft hiss, furious. Lady Baratheon instantly cowered and hid her hips under her nightgown, horrified and humiliated, Aemond quickly pulled his pants up.

"− F-forgive me, your highnesses…your breakfast…−" The girl stammered, apparently realizing, that she had let herself in at a very, very bad time.

"Get out." Aemond hissed, as he climbed out of bed, murder and anger in his gaze, that made the girl shiver, bowing quickly before them, and immediately left.

Aemond picked up a boot from the floor and started to put it on his leg, as he sat on the edge of the bed. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw her hand covering her mouth, shaking, tears in her eyes.

He swallowed softly, lowering his gaze, reaching for the other boot, guessing, that she was terrified, that the maid would tell his mother everything.

That he fucked her like a common whore.

He didn't think, that there was anything wrong with that, they were married in the end, but perhaps for a lady of a family like her, it could be humiliating, even if she enjoyed it. He stood up, putting on his leather jacket, looking at it expectantly.

"You can go now." He said calmly, his face and tone of voice expressionless. He saw her flinch at his words, give him a look of regret and pain, that he didn't like.

But after a while, the expression on her face changed. She lowered her gaze and stood up slowly, holding back the tears, that welled up in the corners of her red eyes.

She took one step to the floor and inhaled sharply, her hand gripping the wooden pillar of his bed, looking down at her legs in horror.

He shivered at the thought, that she had just felt his semen drip down her thighs.

She swallowed hard, lifting her head with dignity, not giving him a single look. She moved barefoot forward and with a trembling hand opened the door of his chamber. She left, closing the door behind her.

As soon, as she left his room, he felt, as if he had come back to himself.

To his cold, stony, emotionless state.

In a loud, commanding voice, he summoned his maid, the same one, who had dared to enter his chamber without warning, interrupting him in his pleasant act.

The girl went inside, terrified, knowing, what awaited her. Aemond stared at her, trying as hard as he could to contain his anger and not hit her. If there was anything, that he could boast about, it was that, unlike his brother, he never beat up a woman. He considered it unworthy. A sign of weakness.

"If you ever enter my chamber again in the morning, while my wife is with me, I will have you handed over to my brother's service." He hissed, his eye cold and hateful, ruthless. The girl fell to his feet, sobbing, her whole body trembling.

He felt the power of watching her grovel before him.

She had only served him for a month, his mother had dismissed all the women, that he had intimate relationships with before their wedding.

She didn't want his wife to see the maids, that he'd fucked before, serving him on a daily basis, as if nothing had happened. He didn't mind, he made sure, that they will not bear his bastards. He wasn't like Aegon, he didn't leave things unfinished.

"I beg of you, Your Majesty, it will never happen again!" She sputtered with difficulty, and he pursed his lips at her words.

"Excellent. You will not tell anyone, about what you saw today. If I hear, that my mother found out about it, I will cut your tongue out with my own hands."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol

Others: @dreamymoomin @thedamewithabook @dc-marvel-girl96 @zillahvathek @helaenaluvr @tssf-imagines @heavenly1927 @hiatuswhore @it-is-getting-better @linkpk88

#I'm getting beauty and the beast vibes #poor maid #poor little lady #aemond targaryen x reader #reblog

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 7 months ago

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Aemond and The Maidservant

Consequences

Commissioned from the amazing @paintb0x ♥️ thank you so much for taking my commission 🥹🥹

#paintb0x #consequences #aemond x maidservant #consequences fanart #aemond x maid!reader #dark!aemond

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irenadel · 6 months ago

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And if the devil... 8/10

Making a banner for this finally for the grand finale coming soon. Excuse to rb. Credit for the Aemond screencap goes to the wonderful Liv @barbieaemond No smut and TW: mentions of childbirth and labor pain. But in my defense, Aemond is back on his bullshit in this chapter.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Vain little thing

You had loved his hair, impossibly soft and white, heavy like rich cloth and always immaculately slicked back. What did he need a crown for if he already owned this glory? You had laughed at him. Vain little thing. With his sapphire and his perfectly fitted clothing, deceptively severe black, hugging a distractingly narrow waist and legs so beautiful they could make grown women cry. All these silly things, all this care and attention, because he didn’t know he was already perfect.

You had kissed the edges of his scar and had lied to him so brazenly. He had never been ugly, you had said, and he would never know what it was like to be ugly. You had ran one calloused finger down his forehead and nose and across his lips and he had drunk fully of you. Of your adoration for him.

What a fool he had been.

He does not falter now. If anything, he renews his zealous effort, his training, his studies. Ser Criston seems pleased and Aemond does his best to appear so as well. He does not speak of it, his royal mother having forbidden it, still too grateful that she had managed to keep one son from murdering the other to risk it again. Aegon doesn’t speak of it either, doesn’t jeer or laugh or boast, having tasted the bite of his brother’s knife, he must not be eager to sup of that bitter cup again.

Aemond as unwilling to partake of thwarted outrage as any of them almost lets Helaena and the children well enough alone.

He tries, but you have changed things irrevocably for them both. Though Helaena will not look at him, she does not turn him away either. She sits with him and doesn’t embroider. He cannot bring himself to read to her as she holds Jaehaera so close his niece squirms and protests and pushes her mother away with her fat, little arms. From the corner of his eye he can see why. He does his best not to pay attention to the ghost of you, his sister teaching you a new dance step, you soothing one of the children, sometimes their mother, sometimes Aemond himself.

Once, she crumples, crying into her abandoned thread and cloth, so wildly, so desolately that Aemond rushes to her, unable to let her be, unable to stop her tears, unable to do anything but grit his teeth and hold her. She despises his touch but endures it and Aemond endures with her. He feels cold all over, hard as ice and just as brittle, stretched out and empty. And though they are all they have left of you, he cannot bring himself to hold her again, in front of others or even in the privacy of her chambers, knowing full-well where the madness of shared grief could take them.

He tells himself he does not go to those rooms as often as he should because he is too proud to go through another fight. Another unwanted toy cast off between him and Aegon. More ground given, as he had given and given when they were both boys. He spends too many hours standing by the princess’s door wondering what good it can do to go in, what good to look at her looking for you, as adrift in your absence as he himself feels.

But it is there that he sees his brother once more. The princess’s screams had brought him to pace outside her rooms and the birth of his third child had dragged Aegon from his cups to sit, only half-sober, all nauseous, on the floor outside his wife’s chambers, little Jaehaerys in his arms, white faced and crying silently, a thumb stuck firmly in his mouth.

It was too early for the babe, the maester had informed Prince Aegon matter-of-factly, but both brothers had heard the slight panic in his voice. It had come on too soon, too unexpectedly. One moment the princess had been taking breakfast with her ladies and the next, her little babe was on the way, the pain of labor so great and sudden, the princess had been rambling about flowers blooming red on the streets of King’s Landing. No one could blame her for incoherence after the twelfth hour. This was her second birth. Queen Alicent’s second birth had been quick and easy and they had all expected more of the same from her daughter.

But when rain breaks out, Helaena begins to scream without stopping and Aemond feels like he could murder his brother, just for putting her through this, just for the sin of doing as he was told. Like Aemond himself.

They say nothing to each other, tense and tight-lipped, and Aemond tries hard to remember these are his brother’s children, his brother’s wife, his brother’s things. It does not become him to come for them, furtive and quick as a thief, just because he has been left with nothing. He is better than this (better than to do as was done to him).

Because if Aegon has begun to drink more than usual, if he has eyed Aemond’s miserable face, the set of his shoulders so rigid he seemed to be held up by wire, if he has stopped when they encounter each other, sometimes for a second, as if wanting to say something, especially now, before the door barring his brother from all the things Aegon has and does not deserve… well Aemond has no time for it. No interest in hearing excuses, from him, from you or from himself.

I merely wanted to know what color it was.

He can almost hear his brother’s wine-soaked amusement, trying to make it a lesser offense, dismissing his transgression, his theft, of the only thing Aemond had ever possessed… just because he had not known his brother truly wanted it.

You always take everything to heart, brother. I’ve had belly aches that lasted longer than her.

He can almost hear his mother’s scream and the satisfying whimper that had escaped Aegon when he’d shoved him up against the wall, knife pressed at his throat, for daring to hold your name in his mouth and your pain in his hands. He cannot hear the fight that should have followed, because his mother had held him back from what he should’ve inflicted upon his brother, who had not been so much sorry as mistified. Confused. At a loss. As unable to see the wound upon you as he had been unable to see the one upon his little brother when he’d brought Aemond back from the Street of Silk, white as a ghost and quiet for once in his young life.

And what else could he have done, if he had not been permitted to avenge you or himself, how could he have faced you with anything but scorn, if scorn and spite and death was all he had to offer. He should have come back to you with his brother’s blood on his hands instead of poison on his tongue.

But there is no mirth in Aegon now, no nervous giggle, as there hasn’t been anything but shifty-eyed embarrassment for weeks. There’s his brother’s puffy-eyed exhaustion and fear for his child. No words or apologies that could suffice for him, or you or Helaena’s birth pains.

There is no mother who can save him now.

There’s just Jaehaerys, asleep at last in spite of his mother’s crying, nestled in his father’s lap, Aegon’s hostage to fortune, shield against a brother’s wrath.

There is no Queen Alicent but there is Helaena. Her screams dying down at last, so quick that it is like music after they are gone. Aemond would have let himself crumple to the floor, faint with rage and relief, if only the maester hadn’t hoisted him up and into the birthing chamber. The princess will not take a drought for the pain or for sleep until she has seen her brother.

It is unseemly and borderline scandalous and Aemond is past caring.

The queen is there, Aegon has followed behind him, the princess’ ladies are carrying out soiled linen and Aemond finds that all he can seem to think of is that he has never seen Helaena’s hair unpinned, or her skin sallow and blotchy, soaked in sweat, for all they share blood and home and hearth.

He feels a bitter weight of loss and wasted time caught in his throat.

When she calls his name he chokes on all the unspent love you have left behind. For you, for his sister, for these children of his blood, one lustily crying out in new swaddling clothes, at the unfairness of existence, the other two behind him, somewhere he cannot reach them as he cannot reach you or Helaena or anybody who matters.

“You’ve lost a knife, brother,” she says to him through parched lips.

“I’ll get another one,” he comforts his sister unthinkingly, unable to touch her but clinging to the excuse of a pitcher and cup of water for the princess to go to her side. His mother is saying something. Maybe the Hand is being called. Maybe the King. He holds a cup of water to Helaena’s lips and deliberately avoids thinking about anything.

“The sheath,” she says as she reaches for him, Aemond unwilling and utterly incapable of not catching her birdlike hand in his grip, crushing it so hard he is afraid he will hurt her. He would curse the violence of his brutish hands except you had loved it. “You must find the sheath. The sand will bury it, the tide will take it, the crabs will feast on it, Aemond, you must…”

And he almost breaks into pieces, because Helaena cries when she cannot speak anymore and she has never liked to be touched, least of all by him, but she is in his arms, rocking back and forth. The sheath, she whimpers, the sheath and the sea and the crabs and the darkness at dusk and your wedding bed…

And there is no prying her from his arms while she weeps in shared pain and sorrow for a loss he only now lets himself feel. He would have fought them off, the maesters, his mother, even King and Hand and Ser Criston Cole himself if any had dared separate them. Aemond, the sheath and the knife and the blood… He would have slit throats and gutted knights just to hold Helaena as she cried for the girl he had not been allowed to mourn. Pale braid in the wind, wild, daring and his.

But it isn’t they who send him away. It is Helaena, still crying, still unwilling to let anyone else touch her, telling him to go and find it. Find it in the kitchens or the streets or the sea. Wherever he has to look for it but find it.

He is out of Helaena’s rooms and alone in the corridor, too dazed and heartbroken to even weep himself. He wishes to break things. Helaena’s door. Aegon’s face. The Hand’s brooch and the crown on his father’s head. He does not weep. Retreats the moment he hears other come up the stairs, unwilling to bear the shame of being seen like this. Away to the gardens where he can call on Vhagar to come take him away. Spare him this sudden solitary grief after the succor of Helaena’s arms. By way of the kitchens if he must. Not because she asked but because it is the quickest way outside and away from here.

They do not expect him there. He has rarely visited the kitchens… unlike his brother. But still he is a prince and not to be detained or disturbed and it is because he knows this and the kitchen staff know this that he finds his attention snagged when someone calls out to him, in the wrong address, with unwarranted brazenness:

“Your grace! Your grace please! You are Prince Aemond One-Eye?”

He nearly sends the guards for her head, just for how she dared to say to his face what others merely whisper behind his back. Except he hears the woman say your name and the blood freezes in his veins.

She looks nothing like you, except in the tight, pinched corners of her lips. The look every Flea Bottom resident eventually gets. She’s pure King’s Landing though, none of the Essos he had found in your Dothraki height and the hook of your nose and your ruby-red eyes. But Aemond knows who she is either way. Because he has heard enough of her from your lips and sees the woman you spoke of as she steps towards him, sturdy castle-castoff cloak dripping rain and mud from her vigil outside the gates. She comes up to him bold as you please, chewing the inside of her cheek in an anxious uncertainty you had shared but conquered and subdued ages ago… at least, around him.

Like you, your aunt does not know a prince’s proper title.

“M’lord… your grace… I beg your pardon. I’m here about my girl. I thought you ought to know. I thought someone should fetch you… I…”

And he feels himself grow proud and cold, as if you had sent this piteous envoy to plead your case for you. As if he needed to shore up resistance against you, a strong enough argument to keep you from crawling back into his insides, his ribcage, to wrap yourself around the mangled thing it holds.

He sees only your aunt’s lowered eyes, hears only her pained stutter, does not catch the careful choice of words, of a woman trying to spare a boy, royal though he may be, the unbearable pain of this loss.

“She’s gone, walked right out, m’lord. I don't right know where she’s gone but I thought, m’lord, I thought you ought to know. Whatever my husband said. I kicked the boy out. It’s a terrible thing he’s done. It’s a sin, is what it is. The gods… the gods know…”

And the queen may not have thought much of his smarts, but Aemond is his mother’s son. He may not understand it fully, but he understands enough for his gut to clench in cold horror, for his hands to tremble as he grabs this woman’s heaving shoulders and rattles the truth out of her.

“She was still bleeding when she left, m’lord, the gods know where she went and the babe… the babe—“

Aemond cuts her off, not with a word but with a noise like a wounded beast, a noise that Vhagar echoes in her fitful slumber high above the cliffs of Blackwater Bay. Aemond’s cruel hands fall upon your aunt’s face, as they had upon Helaena’s fingers, upon your own slender neck, always ready to tear it to pieces, to enact destruction so he won’t have to bear truth. He should’ve silenced her, your kin, not your blood, but your kin nonetheless. The woman whose pinned up braid taught you how to put up your own hair out of the way to struggle and toil for royal men too stupid to appreciate it. He should’ve cut off her tongue and sewn up her mouth before anything else dared tumble out of it, before he can form any clearer a picture than he already has. A picture that may have demanded he cut her down, her and all her wretched progeny.

“Where?” He hisses through clenched teeth and your aunt, heedless of kitchen gossip and keep decorum, takes a prince’s hand, a grieving, furious boy’s hand, to lead him out into the streets where your blood has bloomed red indeed.

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huramuna · 1 year ago

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a maid's folly - chapter 1.

dark aemond x maid ofc minor aemond x floris baratheon work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

previous | next

summary: a new maid from the Vale arrives at the Red Keep during a tumultuous time and becomes ensnared in the One-Eyed prince's web.

word count: 2k

i got a few requests for dark aemond x maid / servant / lowborn so here is my amalgamation of all of those! this will be a mini series!

warnings: smut (eventually, will add further tags on chapters with smut), power imbalance, dark Aemond, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, Aemond being a touch starved weirdo, possessiveness, jealousy, this is going to be ANGSTY

guilded lily - cults • christmas kids - roar

It was an eve of spring, a gentle breeze whistling through the corridors of the Red Keep. A particularly strong gust rippled the bandanna atop the maid’s head– she slapped a hand to the crown of her skull, pulling it taut once more.

She shouldn’t be getting knocked over by a mere gust of wind– in the South, no less. The newly appointed maid was a young girl of nineteen name-days passed. She was known by Rosemary; Rosemary Stone. Originally from the Vale, more specifically, she was raised in the Eyrie. Her mother was a handmaiden to Lady Jeyne Arryn– the two women were particularly close and Jeyne took Rosemary under her wing as if she were her own after her mother passed. Rosemary knew there had been a deep love between her lowborn mother and the Lady of the Vale.

Rosemary’s mother spoke little of her father, if at all– she had heard rumors swirling around the Eyrie that it was a bannerman of Lady Jeyne’s, but she paid no mind to it, it didn’t matter to her either way. She was raised as well as a bastard could be and received much love from Lady Jeyne and her mother.

“Rosemary, you must listen to me, my dear,” Lady Jeyne had said just a few moons prior, “The world is changing. You’ve grown in the safety of the Vale, but I fear that… you are unprepared for your future. You’re a young girl, beautiful and you could become something one day, something beyond your name,” she paused, taking Rosemary’s hand in her own, “You must leave the Vale.”

Rosemary blinked, recoiling slightly as if she’d been hit with a physical blow, “W-what? What do you mean, ‘leave the Vale’?” she asked, her bottom lip quivering ever so slightly, “All I know is the Eyrie— all I know is you, all I know is… is…” she sniffled, clenching on Jeyne’s hand tightly before letting go.

Jeyne let out a small sigh, getting a bit closer to her, their knees touching, “My sweet girl— that is exactly my point. I… cannot in good conscience let you live out the rest of your life here. You’re young, you have no titles, no land,” she paused, “No blood relatives keeping you here— you may see your bastardry as a hindrance and in some ways, it may be— but you have more freedom than anyone else in this Keep. More than I have, more than your mother had.”

The girl wiped the tears now pooling at her lashes, “I don’t wish to go— I don’t know anyone, and if… if I do, where would I go?”

Lady Arryn took Rosemary’s hands in her own once more, rubbing small circles on them in a soothing manner, “I’ve been corresponding with King’s Landing— I believe you may be a good fit in the Red Keep, mayhaps as a handmaiden or a servant. I will make the necessary arrangements,” she let out a small sigh, “Between you and I— I’ve heard that King isn’t well, and that it is the Hightowers who sit the Iron Throne now. The Vale is impregnable— but it is also where information goes to die. I shan’t be uninformed, up here in the Eyrie with none the wiser if a war is brewing right under our noses— I wish for you to send me letters of anything you deem noteworthy. We are safe from legions of soldiers but we are nothing against dragons— Maegor saw to that.”

Rosemary’s brow furrowed, “You wish for me to… spy?”

“In a way— think of it as your secondary goal,” Jeyne hummed, “Your priority is socializing, getting acquainted with other people and mayhaps finding a nice lover or two along the way, hm? You shan’t find any of those in the Eyrie, dear.”

The girl cracked a smile, albeit a small one. Slowly, she nodded. She didn’t wish to disappoint Jeyne. In a way, she was another mother to her, and she felt a strong desire to please her.

But she still felt a deep pit in her stomach— she didn’t know what to expect in King’s Landing.

Rosemary was pulled from her reverie by a tap on her shoulder. It was Magelle, one of the older serving ladies.

“Wake up, girl,” she whispered in a harsh tone, “Take this tray to the prince.” the older woman shoved a silver platter of hot water and tea leaves at her.

“The… prince— y-yes, the prince,” Rosemary stumbled, “Which one?”

Magelle rolled her eyes, “Do ye see wine on this tray? I told ye— the older prince only drinks wine. I’ll be rolling in my grave when that boy asks for tea. This is for the younger prince, Aemond. Remember what I told ye— no eye contact, especially with the second son. Ain’t a pretty sight none anyhow. Now get goin’.” she huffed, swatting the younger maid on the bottom, practically spurring her into action like a horse.

Rosemary stumbled through the halls with the tray, getting lost a few times— what was the point of all of these damnable hallways?

Eventually, she found her way to Maegor’s Holdfast, where the royal apartments were. She counted, Aemond’s chambers were third from last.

A gentle knock on the door was heard as she walked up to it. Her hand was shaking ever so slightly as she adjusted the hood of her kerchief , pushing up a single, errant hair. The teacups rattled on the tray she was balancing with her other hand. She was to serve the prince– the second prince, to be clear. If she were to serve the first prince, she would’ve just had to come with a decanter of wine and call it a day. But this prince– Prince Aemond ‘One Eye’-- was an enjoyer of tea, apparently. Rosemary thought it a much better choice than wine— she found the liquid to be sour and unappealing.

“Your g-grace,” she murmured, then cleared her throat, enunciating once more, “Your grace– your tea.”

“Enter.” a voice said– it was quiet, but something about it made her want to prick at her nail beds.

She opened the door with her shoulder, scurrying into the room with her head down. As a servant of the Red Keep, she was taught to not make eye contact with her betters unless addressed, especially Aemond, as Magelle had warned.

“Do you require sugar or cream, your grace?” Rosemary asked, putting the tray to the small wooden table, looking down at her feet.

She heard shuffling from her right, the creaking of leather and light footsteps growing closer. The scent of sandalwood and fire permeated her nostrils— it wasn’t unpleasant, just different.

“You’re new,” Aemond said, not even facing her. He walked past her to the table she placed the tray upon, pouring the rich brown liquid into his cup, “Are you not?”

Rosemary put her hands together, sinking her thumb nail in the soft of her palm, “Y-yes, your grace,” she replied, blinking profusely, “I’ve just come from the Vale less than three days ago.”

“The Vale?” he hummed, “Hm,” he dropped two cubes of sugar in his cup, stirring it, tasting it, before adding another two cubes.

She watched from below fettered lashes, her eyes landing upon his hands— they were large and calloused. She heard that he was a proficient swordsman and rode the largest dragon in the world— and yet he took his tea with four sugars. Quite curious.

“If… you needn’t anything else, my prince,” she bowed slightly, “I will leave you to your tea.” Rosemary began to move, eager to escape. He was quiet enough, but something about him unnerved her— as if she was being taken apart in his head.

“Wait,” his voice broke through the silence like a whip, “Come here, girl.”

Her heart stopped in her chest— she was surely dead. She must’ve done something wrong, and he was to execute her. Rosemary was not an optimistic thinker. The maid turned towards him, head bowed.

“Eyes up, little lamb,” he murmured, his already quiet voice rasping slightly, like flames licking at his throat. His hand, calloused and all, tucked under her chin, tipping her head up.

Rosemary, ever diminutive, raised her eyes to him— her two deep, brown eyes met his one violet. She wasn’t breathing, her fingertips shaking ever so slightly.

From her briefing about the royal family, she thought she was to look out for the older prince, Aegon, as he was known to be handsy with maids and servants alike. But no one had told her of Aemond except the warning not to look at him— and if they had, they said he was reserved, quiet and broody.

Magelle said that he was a sight for sore eyes— and after looking at him now, she wondered if the old bat was blind. He had chiseled features and a pleasantly shaped mouth, like a taut bowstring. She glazed over the nasty scar over the right of his face, but didn’t pay it much mind.

“Your name, little lamb?” he asked then, turning her head to the side, up and down, back and forth, as if appraising her like a slab of meat.

“Rosemary, my prince,” the shaking maid replied, so quickly and quietly that she thought that she almost didn’t speak at all.

The only indication that she had spoken was the tug of the prince’s upper lip in something akin to a grin. “Fitting. Lamb goes well with rosemary— or so I’ve heard.”

She felt a bead of sweat fall from her brow, “I don’t much like lamb, your grace.”

He snorted at that, “You valemen, or valewomen, raise sheep, do you not? My uncle once said that the sheep of the Vale are prettier than their women,” he let go of her face, but not without looking at her a bit more, “He never had any taste, truly.”

Rosemary felt her hands twitch as they came back together. What on earth did that mean? Was he calling her a sheep— more beautiful than a sheep? Was he calling her ugly? She was truly puzzled by the prince’s words, but said nothing of it.

“Thank you for the tea. You may go now.” he hummed, turning away from her, attending back to his tea.

A sigh of relief was felt throughout her body as she curtsied— it was still shaky from her nerves, but she managed to keep herself upright. “Have a good evening, my prince.” she murmured at last, leaving his chamber.

She heard him once more, emitting a small ‘hm’. She could practically see the twitching sneer on his face like before.

As she descended down the hallways, she unwrapped her kerchief from her head, her light cream colored braids falling out of their delicate shape and strewing across her back. Something about Aemond unnerved Rosemary so completely and her skin crawled as she left.

She had never met a dragon before— how could she have? — but she felt as if he was an embodiment of one, bones made of obsidian and ash. And she was just a lamb in the face of a dragon.

Descending back to her room— a chambered closet with a straw filled mattress— she curled into her bed, tossing her apron and dress aside. One of the things she brought from home— if she could even consider the Eyrie ‘home’ anymore— was a quilt sewed with thick, blue threads. It had depictions of the stars and moon, with little lambs and nightingales and dusk roses, sewn by her mother— with contributions from Jeyne— before her birth. Her hands traced the stitches, eyes filling with tears. The hem was frayed slightly from her habit of doing this very thing over the years.

It was the only thing she had left of her mother, both of her mothers. Her chest ached at the thought that she would likely never return to the Eyrie, never see Jeyne again— never have her hands held by her, never have their knees touch, never have her kiss her forehead and tell her that everything would be okay.

She was alone. A lamb alone in a castle of vipers and dragons.

How truly precarious.

Her sleep, when it came, was fitful. Tossing and turning, she dreamt of nightingales and lambs being torn limb from limb between dragons, some black and some green. Her skin was charred ash, her chest skewered by a stag’s horns until she bled out, wolves coming to feast upon her corpse.

tag list: @watercolorskyy @queen--kenobi

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sapphire-eyed-dragonrider · 2 years ago

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Oh no, oh no, it’s so sweet and fluffy! I love it! 😭🥺🤍

Servant (Part 2)

(Aemond x fem Reader)

Part 1

Summary: Aemond's absence weighs heavily on you until one night he finally works up the courage to ask you to stay and share a bath with him.

Word count: +3900

Warning: 18+ for explicit content and language. Fingering, sex in the bath tub. Reader and Aemond just taking care of each other and relieving some stress. This turned out a lot softer than I originally planned, so if comfort smut is a thing this is it, with some fluff and mild angst thrown in. There will be one more part after this one! Thank you everyone for the likes/comments/reblogs for part 1. I hope you'll enjoy this one as well ;)

***

All my fics are also on AO3

***

Ever since that night with Aemond it felt like your world was slightly off balance. Even during work you couldn’t seem to keep your focus, you had bumped into more furniture during the past two weeks than you had in the past 12 months. You kept forgetting where you put things and this morning you found yourself cleaning the mirrors in Aemond’s bedroom only to realize you had already cleaned them an hour earlier.

You were constantly distracted and on edge. And Aemond wasn’t helping.

To be fair, he wasn’t doing much of anything. Since that night you had only seen him twice and every time he was on his way out when you arrived muttering some excuse about meetings after which he’d be gone all day.

You were beginning to believe whatever happened between you two that night had been nothing but a dream, that it didn’t actually happen except inside your head.

It was that or the prince regretted that night so much he just wanted to pretend it never happened. You weren’t sure which of those options hurt the most. You just needed to put it behind you and get on with your life. You had always loved your job and life outside of work was pretty good too, with or without Aemond.

But that was before.

Now being just his maid didn’t feel like enough anymore. You craved him so badly it was starting to impact every aspect of your life, you knew it had to stop but you had no idea how to get him out of your head.

You were pulled from your thoughts when the door opened and Aemond stepped inside. It felt like so long since you’d last seen him that for a moment just the sight of him took your breath away. You needed a few seconds to find your voice.

“Good evening, your grace,” you greeted him politely and continued with your tasks.

“Good evening, Y/N.” His voice was weak and he sighed deeply while taking off his coat.

“Long day?” you asked.

“Long week,” he answered and he gave you a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked absolutely wrecked.

You had assumed he’d been avoiding you but looking at him now you realized you may have been mistaken. You recognized that exhausted look on his face that came with too many official duties and endless boring meetings. Maybe he had actually just been busy and not hiding from you.

The thought filled your heart with joy for a moment but you quickly pushed it down again and focussed on the task at hand.

“My prince, Aegon came around earlier to ask me to prepare a bath for you.”

“Oh, he did?” Aemond’s lips curled up in a tired smile and he seemed surprised by your words.

“Was that not at your request?” you asked.

“No, it was not, my brother is…I did not send him. But thank you, it is most welcome.”

Aemond was going to regret the day he told Aegon about his little crush on you, first the wine and now this, he was obviously meddling where meddling was not wanted. Aemond’s love life had always been pretty much non-existent and his brother Aegon loved to tease him about it ever since they were young. If it were up to him he’d have Aemond bedding whores every day of the week. But Aemond never cared much for sex, or female company for that matter.

When he was younger he may have thought about maybe having a wife some day, but then who would have him now? He was the scarred dark prince and he was very well aware of how most women feared him or looked at him in disgust.

But not you.

Ever since he first met you, you had treated him with so much kindness and warmth. He couldn’t help but start to feel affection for you, no matter how misplaced it was. He told himself over and over again that you were just doing your job and that he shouldn’t get his hopes up for anything more.

But that night by the fire, when you were on your knees for him, you had looked at him with so much admiration and lust it changed something deep inside of him. Suddenly he wanted things he had never wanted or needed before.

And he had no idea what to do about it.

“Your bath will be ready in ten minutes, your grace.”

Your words pulled him from his thoughts and he nodded. “Thank you, lady Y/N.”

Your eyes met his briefly and he smiled the softest, most grateful smile that made your heart skip a beat.

You were both quiet for a moment, not looking away from each other until Aemond moved and sat down on the edge of his bed.

You left the room to prepare everything and take the last buckets of water from the fireplace to the bath tub. When you were done filling it up you put down robes and essential oils and made sure Aemond had everything he needed.

“Will there be anything else, your grace?” you then asked.

He gave you another tired smile but shook his head,”No, I…um…that will be all, thank you.”

Gods, how many times was he going to thank you tonight? Aemond wanted to kick himself, for someone who had read so many books and knew all the big words he felt completely illiterate when it came to expressing his feelings towards you.

Stay. For Gods sake just ask her to stay.

But he said nothing, just gave you a polite nod as you stepped back towards the door.

You watched him move from the bed, a painful expression on his face as he stretched and started unbuttoning his vest.

You had reached the door, all you had to do was open it and walk away. But just like last time your feet refused to go.

All you wanted was to stay. Why didn’t he ask you to stay with him? You had seen it in his eye, that soft longing gaze, you couldn’t have imagined that.

You hesitated and then without thinking blurted out your next words,“Do you need my help?”

Aemond looked up in surprise and for a moment you regretted everything, but then his lips curled up into a sweet smile and this time you could actually see it reaching his eyes.

“Your help?” he asked,”To undress me?”

The teasing tone was back in his voice and you bit your lip”I…I don’t mean to overstep, your grace.”

“Aemond,” he reminded you.

“Aemond,” you repeated and you avoided his eye, waiting for his response.

His voice was soft when he spoke again,”Come here.”

You stepped forward until you were standing right in front of him, still too nervous to look him in the eye.

Aemond lifted your chin with his finger, forcing you to look at him. When you met with his intense lustful gaze you were right back to that night, willing to drop down on your knees and do anything for him.

But you sensed that was not what he needed right now.

He held your eyes and whispered,”Yes…I would very much like your help…if you wouldn’t mind, my lady.”

You stepped closer to him and carefully started unbuttoning his vest, holding eye contact the entire time, you gently pushed it down his shoulders. Then you did the same with his undershirt, taking your time. You grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it out of his pants. You didn’t hesitate to touch him as you went along, fingers brushing against the skin of his abdomen and chest.

Aemond sighed into it, a little blush forming on his cheeks.

Neither of you said a word when you started fumbling with the opening of his trousers, you slowly loosened them up until you could pull them down his legs, leaving him in nothing but his underpants. You hesitated when your eyes caught sight of the prominent bulge right under your hands and you froze.

“Did I say you could stop?” Aemond’s voice pulled you back into the moment.

He was still teasing but there was a tiredness in his voice that made your heart ache even more for him.

Your gently placed your hands back on his stomach, caressing his warm skin and Aemond let out a shaky breath. You moved your hands lower, down to his happy trail, you avoided his half hard cock as you slowly pulled his undergarments down, leaving him completely naked in front of you.

When you stood back up his gaze was dark but soft and he leaned in close until you could feel his breath against your cheek. “Stay,” he pleaded softly.

You bit your lip,”I…”

“Please. Bathe with me,” Aemond pressed his forehead against yours and gently cupped your face, brushing your cheek with his thumb,”Let me take off your clothes and bathe with me.”

Your brain seemed to stop functioning in that moment, all you managed was a small nod, but it told him everything he needed to know.

He didn’t waste any time, his hand moved from your cheek down to your neck, untying your apron and pulling it off of you. He spun you around to unlace the back of your dress. The delicate soft way his hands were touching you made your legs weak and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning into it. He took his time, just as you did before, as if he was unwrapping a precious gift.

When you were down to your underdress he sank down on his knees in front of you, never leaving your eyes. His hands trailed up from your ankles to your knees and then your thighs, taking the dress with him on his way up and lifting it over your head.

You were naked but still his eye was only on your face, holding your eyes while a soft smile spread on his lips.

He was so beautiful and you realized right then and there how utterly and completely crazy you were about him. There was no way you would ever manage to get him out of your head, and frankly you didn’t event want to try anymore.

Aemond stepped into the bath and then reached out his hand to you, helping you to get in.

You wanted to take a seat opposite him but Aemond’s hand didn’t let go of yours.

“No,” he shook his head,”Here. Close to me.”

He sat down and helped you to sit in between his legs, your back against his chest. He used his big hands to get water all over your back and your arms, caressing your skin softly as he went along. His touch was like fire and your entire body was burning for him, you prayed he would never take his hands off you.

As if he had read your mind he started slowly massaging your back. You closed your eyes and let out a long satisfied sigh.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” you breathed,”Gods, yes, Aemond.”

He smiled, relieved at your words and encouraged to continue, he moved them up to your neck and your shoulders, feeling the tension you’d been bottling up.

“You feel tense, my lady,” he noticed.

You sighed,”Yes, I…I guess I have been.”

Aemond picked up on the sadness in your voice and he leaned forward, putting a soft, lingering kiss on the back of your head.

“Let me remove everything that hurts, ñuha riña,” he whispered. My lady.

You melted.

He continued massaging your neck, putting a little more pressure there than before until he felt your tension seeping away and you relaxed completely under his touch.

“Will you let me wash your hair?” he then asked in a whisper.

“I’ll let you do anything you want,” you breathed out without thinking and instantly bit your lip.

Aemond smirked at your statement. “Hmm, good to know.”

He reached out to the small table next to the tub to grab one of the oils and poured some of it into his hands before putting it on your hair. His fingers softly massaging your scalp and you couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this relaxed. Or this turned on.

Aemond took his time washing and rinsing your hair and when he was done he wrapped both arms around your waist and pulled you close, his head resting on your shoulder. You wanted to die in this moment.

Your hands moved over his and you laced your fingers together.

“Tell me what else you need,” he breathed and placed a few soft kisses in your neck.

You were struggling to form a coherent thought, mumbling pieces of words that didn’t make any sense. Aemond smiled affectionately.

“Show me,” he then breathed into your ear.

Your hands were still covering his and you guided him to your breasts. He didn’t need anymore guidance once there, massaging them softly and letting his thumbs play with your nipples while he continued to kiss your neck. No more chaste kisses this time, he licked your skin and sucked just hard enough to bruise. Your whole body was starting to tremble with need.

You moved his other hand down over your stomach and in between your legs. “Touch me,” you begged,”Please, touch me.”

He didn’t let you beg for long, his fingers brushing over your clit, making perfect slow circles while his other hand kept massaging your breast.

You had ached for this for so long now that it was happening it was almost overwhelming. You were embarrassingly close to falling apart already.

Aemond smirked against your skin, relishing in the way your body reacted and surrendered to him.

He moved his fingers over your folds, teasing your entrance while keeping his thumb pressed on your clit.

“Tell me what else you need, ñuha riña” he teased you, gently biting your earlobe,”Use your words.”

You moaned softly, biting your lip and trying to stop yourself from grinding into his hand,”I want your fingers…inside of me.”

Aemond moved his hand from your breast up to your neck, making you gasp when he grabbed your throat and simultaneously pumped two fingers deep inside your wet heat.

“Like this? Does that feel good, my sweet girl?” he growled into your ear while pumping his fingers in and out of you, thumb rubbing your clit and his hand putting pressure on your throat, trying to keep you still and close to him.

All you could do was whimper and push back on his fingers, your orgasm quickly building.

“Yes,” you breathed heavily,”Yes…”

“You look so beautiful like this,” Aemond whispered into your ear,”So tight and so wet…Seven hells….I can’t wait to fuck you properly.”

That did it, your eyes rolled back in ecstasy and you clenched and clenched around his fingers until you were completely spent, your body collapsing against him. Aemond released his grip on your neck and pulled you into his embrace again.

For a few minutes you just laid with him, your heartbeat steadying and your breathing slowing down as Aemond softly caressed your hair, letting you come down from your high.

“Was that to your satisfaction, my lady?” he then asked, a little smirk on his face.

“Yes,” you breathed into a smile and moved out of his arms to turn around in the bath tub, finally facing him.

His face was completely flustered, his eye hooded with lust and as he was licking his lips you realized you hadn't felt his mouth on yours yet. Suddenly his lips was all you could think about.

But you had other plans for him first.

Your hand gently cupped his face, letting your fingers brush over his eye patch, slowly, while looking into his other eye.

“May I?” you asked softly.

You noticed the nervous twitch of his lips but he nodded. You carefully removed the patch from his face, revealing the sapphire eye underneath. You had seen the prince without his eye patch before, but never up close, and he was always quick to cover it up when he noticed you were in the room.

You couldn’t look away and Aemond sighed deeply, breaking eye contact.

You let your thumb caress his scars and you leaned forward, gently pressing your forehead against his.”You’re beautiful, my prince, every inch of you is beautiful.”

He softly whimpered at your words and leaned into you. You placed sweet lingering kisses all over his scars while Aemond’s hands caressed your back, nails scratching at your skin as he slowly pulled you closer and closer to him. His breath was warm and heavy on your cheek, his lips inching closer and closer to yours.

It took every last bit of your willpower to stop him and lean back.

You reached for the oils next to the bath tub and poured some of it in your hands while you carefully straddled him. His cock was hard and pressing against your inner thigh but you would have to ignore that for now.

“It’s only fair,” you smiled at him and he returned it with a soft, sweet smile of his own, making your heart swell up with affection for him.

“Lean forward,” you ordered him.

He obeyed immediately, letting you put the oils all over his hair. You spread it over his long blonde locks and then gently massaged his scalp. Aemond sighed into your touch, his hands softly resting on your hips as you continued washing his hair. You were working deliberately slowly, feeling Aemond’s cock twitch against your thigh from time to time, his breathing speeding up, growing more needy with every touch of your hands.

You rinsed his long hair thoroughly and when you were done you pushed it back over his head, eyes meeting his again and he cupped your chin, brushing his thumb over your lip before he spoke softly,”Come closer to me. I need to feel you, all of you.”

You did as he asked, placing your hands on his chest while you straddled him.

Aemond nuzzled your cheek and whispered hot in your ear.”Come sit on my cock and ride me.”

The hunger in his tone was undeniable and it awakened the fire in you instantly. Your hand moved in between his legs, slowly wrapping around his length and pumping him a few times before guiding him to your heat. Aemond’s head fell back in a blissful grunt at your touch. You teased him some more, dragging the head of his cock over your folds, from your clit down to your entrance and back up again.

You were moaning softly at the sensation and Aemond joined you, his hands gripping harder at your waist, fingers digging into your skin.

“Take me,” he moaned into your mouth,”Please…take all of me, ñuha riña.”

You couldn’t hold back any longer and you slowly sank down on his throbbing length, knocking the air out of both of you for a moment.

“Fuck,” you breathed,”You’re so big.”

Aemond laughed against your neck,”There is no need for flattery right now, my lady.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as well and you carefully tried to take him in all the way. Aemond watched you struggle and grabbed your chin again, looking deep into your eyes.

“Slowly, my sweet girl,” he whispered,”We don’t have to rush.”

The lustful heated gaze on his face told you differently but he kept his hips still, leaving you in control. His hands caressed your back and tangled into your hair, holding you close to him while he started kissing your neck again, open mouthed wet kisses that had you melting in his arms while your body got used to the feel of having him so deep inside of you.

You had never felt so full in your life and the initial painful sting quickly changed into bliss. You slowly started to rock against him, feeling the delicious stretch his cock offered you.

“Aemond,” you whimpered.

“Hmmm?”

“Move.”

He obeyed immediately, lifting his hips to slowly fuck into you.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close as you possible could. Aemond’s face was buried into your neck, his breath and moans hot on your skin while his hands sank down to grab your ass.

You wanted to cry with how good it felt to have him like this, your bodies completely intertwined, clinging to each other as if you were made for him and he was made for you, a perfect fit. Aemond quickly found a satisfying rhythm that left you both lost in the other.

“Aemond, I’m close,” you breathed into his ear after a while,”I’m so close.”

His hands moved up to hold your neck, bringing your face close to his,”Look at me, Y/N.”

The use of your name in this moment somehow felt so intimate and when you met his soft gaze your heart soared.

Gods, you loved him. It was stupid and way too fast and you knew it couldn’t lead to anything good but you loved him all the same.

Aemond couldn’t take his eye off you, his hands kept caressing your hair and your face as he slowly fucked you closer to your climax.

He wanted to cum so badly but he also never wanted this moment to end. He had never enjoyed sex all that much before but this was not sex, it felt like coming home every time he buried himself deep inside your heat.

He was safe here, and wanted, and loved.

It was stupid, he knew that. He barely knew you and you two came from totally different worlds, yet right now he could not imagine his world without you.

“Aemond,” you softly moaned against his lips, letting your hands run through his long hair and leaning your face against his. The look in your eyes so hungry it only made him need you more.

“Kiss me,” he breathed,”Please kiss me.”

Your lips found his in a soft but heated kiss, you sighed happily at finally feeling his soft lips on yours. His tongue licked into your mouth, finding yours, kissing you so deep and so slow, as if he wanted to savor every inch of you. When he moaned into your mouth you soared to new heights.

Your orgasm was building, your walls started to clench around him, there was no slowing it down.

Aemond started fucking you faster, harder, still continuing to kiss you through your moans, neither of you wanting to come up for air but both unable to stall it for much longer. You were falling, seeing stars and you had to stop yourself from screaming out his name for the whole castle to hear when you finally came.

Aemond’s moans grew louder and louder and he bit down on your shoulder when he finally released inside of you.

When it was over he held you in his arms and you clung to him. You never wanted to let him go again and suddenly tears filled your eyes, caused by both the impact of your release and the realization of your feelings for him. Aemond kissed your forehead, whispering soft words of comfort in your ear.

“It’s okay, ñuha riña, I’m here with you,” he sighed deeply,”my sweet beautiful girl, I’m right here.”

There was so much more he wanted to tell you but he couldn’t. Not now, not yet.

He didn’t want to overwhelm you or chase you away so he just held you close to him, biting his tongue and putting another soft lingering kiss to your forehead, hoping to stall the end of this night for as long as he possible could before you would inevitably leave him again.

#fic recs #st-eve-barnes #aemond x reader #aemond x maid!reader #smut #I can't wait for part 3!#so excited!

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barbieaemond · 6 months ago

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Religion

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: mild angst, misogyny, banter, pregnancy, childbirth, oral sex, p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, dry humping, overstimulation, brief lactation kink, breeding kink, manipulation (to get some), some good ol' tying up, slandering of the Gods lol

Author's note: this is the third and final part following And I dream of a grave and A curse for a curse but can be read as a standalone. Just keep in mind that Aemond did not cheat on his wife while in Harrenhal. He used Alys only for her visions.

Word count: 13k. Ye have to suffer for your smut darlin'

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language.

taglist: @multyfangirl @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @darylandbethfanforever9 @zaldritzosrose @alphard-hydraes-blog

Her mother had come to King’s Landing three days after she gave birth. Peering through the door, the Princess didn’t know if the woman was more surprised to finally see a baby safely tucked between her daughter’s arms or to witness that she was still breathing. She had chosen to believe both.

Since she was a little girl, she had been instructed in what was coming, for her and all the girls like her: how to serve men, how to serve the Realm. She knew pregnancy could be a time of great distress, physical and otherwise, and for her, it turned out to be nothing more than that.

She spent the first moons plagued by sickness, glaring at the Maesters who told her that morning sickness was perfectly normal. It would've been, if only it had lasted the hours the sun was at its highest. Instead, she couldn’t keep down her breakfast, just like her lunch, or dinner. She had lost weight, she couldn’t stand any kind of smell with the risk of rushing to her pot and empty her stomach.

Then, on one fine morning, while she was walking the gardens with two of her maids, she had suddenly bent over, hissing with pain while clutching her maid’s arm, dreading the trickle running down her thighs.

The Maesters said occasional bleedings might happen, that she only needed to rest and take some tonic to strenghten her body. But that day signaled the end of her peace and the beginning of her confinement.

Because clearly, at the first sign of something going wrong, slipping out of his control, Aemond would panic, albeit showing none of it, standing as tall and stoic as ever and somehow more than he’d ever done now that the Conqueror’s Crown weighted on his head. But she knew better. She knew how to look through all his walls. She knew he was scared—for her, for the baby, for his sister, for his whole family. It was simply too much for a single person to carry all of that on their shoulders. And it was precisely for that reason that she didn’t object to any of his orders. After all, she couldn’t. He was the King now, even if he didn’t choose to style himself as such.

Thus, her chambers became her prison.

Cobwebs didn’t have time to grow because she was quick enough to point them out to the servants. She was aware of the slight drop in the stone tiles just behind the terrace, as of the strategic point where to linger to gain some cool breeze from the sea. She knew the baby liked to sleep upside down in the early afternoon, occasionally kicking hard as he, or she, settled comfortably in her womb.

Aemond had picked some books for her, mostly about history, having her yawning at the third page. She had tried needle work, putting all her good will into it for the sake of doing something, and she had deliberately chosen to believe she was undeniably good at it. But that was a very generous lie.

“What is that supposed to be exactly?” Aemond asked one day, peeking over her shoulder as he reached her on the terrace.

She didn’t look up, keeping her eyes fixed on her embroidery tambour, working the needle in and out. “Isn’t it obvious?”

He leaned down until she felt the long silver strands tickling her head and even without turning, she could feel him grimacing. “A bird?”

At that, she had raised her head, reading all the disbelief on his face. “It is a dragon. For the cradle.”

Aemond had simply furrowed his brow, unable for the life of him to consider what he saw as something even remotely resembling a dragon. But he thought better than to anger his pregnant wife, given her late sour spirit, but especially in light of how fiercely she had started to stick the needle in, likely picturing to stick it into him instead. He had built the most fake pleasant smile he could master and said “Very well. Excellent work, my love.”

“Thank you, husband.”

The trouble was that, as time went by, she only became sourer. She grew more and more uncomfortable, too tight in her own skin. Her back hurt, her breasts hurt, and she was starting to believe she was carrying a real dragon, with fangs and all; she had no other explanation for how hot she constantly felt, forced to lie in a thin white chemise all the time, despite the winds carrying the winter.

But maybe there was another reason why her spirits were so low and sour. She had come to learn that pregnancy affected every aspect of her life, including the most pleasant one.

She would grow wet for a kiss. She would close her legs and rub them together upon seeing him rise from the bathtub. She would moan into his mouth if he so much as grazed her nipples with his knuckles. But as she grew bigger and bigger, along with the discomfort, kisses and some intimate brushing were all she would get from him. Aemond had grown distant, not only with his presence, due to all the duties he had to fulfill wearing the Crown, but even when he was there, in their chambers, sleeping next to her, she felt him leagues and leagues away.

“Pregnancy is a very hard time for a woman.” The Dowager Queen had said to her “It is overwhelming to think that you are never alone and yet...somehow you are.”

She’d never understood what her good mother meant until she was confined to her chambers, alone with her thoughts and her fears. She didn’t expect Aemond to do something, this was women’s business. And she knew his reluctance to lie with her rested solely on concern and love for her.

No matter how much he craved to take her, he had decided to put his husband’s rights away for the delicate final moons until the baby was born. He still felt guilty, for Harrenhal, for the witch, for forsaking her only to get drunk on visions and prophecies. Yet, those visions turned out to be true. He had shut that voice in his head and tried to make amends. But they didn’t have the time to mend themselves together, to knit all the distrust and suspicions into something good; the baby was coming, and it seemed he or she did nothing but grow them more apart.

He saw how tired she was, how some days she couldn’t even get out of bed. And how useless he felt when he would catch her crying, like that night when he found her all alone on the terrace at the hour of the owl.

She was sitting on her chaise filled with cushions when Aemond walked around her. Given the state of his white shirt and hair, he had likely just awakened and hadn’t found her beside him.

“What are you doing out here? You will catch a cold.”

“I cannot sleep.” she had kept her eyes far, on the Black Water Bay, far from him. But he saw them anyway, her reddened eyes.

“You cannot stay here in your condition.” He said almost tiredly, but when she didn’t even blink at his words, he called her name, with the tone he used in the Throne Room.

“Aemond, please.” She whispered, turning her head. “I—” she bit her tongue, unwilling to put this on him, but she knew he wouldn’t let go until she was safely back in bed. So, she said “I don’t want to hear her.”

It took him less than a moment to understand what she meant. Helaena. Helaena who lost a child, who saw her flesh and blood horribly murdered before her eyes. Helaena who couldn’t stop wailing in the dead of night.

She had looked at him, seeing that torn thing, broken and raw like a split wound; shame and guilt and rage all at once. Then, he lowered himself onto his knees until he took her cold hands and squeezed them tight. His mouth opened, but she was faster. “Don’t say it.”

You cannot keep such a promise, you cannot keep us safe. No matter how many times you say it. But she wouldn’t take that solace away from him, not that plainly. The more he said it, the more he seemed to believe it. So be it.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, and there was a beautiful, heartbreaking desperation in his hushed voice. “Tell me what to do.”

She had built a convincing smile, running her hand through his loose hair and pushing some strands back. “Go back to sleep. I’m fine.”

Her spirits during the day would slightly improve. And between the Council and some hearings in the Throne Room, he always saved some time to go visit her in their chambers. She didn’t seem to enjoy being watched like a toddler, but deep down she cherished his concern. She cherished the way his hands would gently hold her own, or caress her hair, her belly. She found it hard to believe those hands could bestow such reverence and violence at the same time. And even in his absence, he managed to ensure she always had anything she needed. Even blackberries in early autumn.

“Myra, where have you been?” She asked in a late afternoon, when one of her most loyal maids entered her chambers after disappearing for the whole day.

The young girl had an awful look. She seemed exhausted, as if she had walked the entirety of Flea Bottom, twice. “Apologies, my Princess. It took me quite a while to find blackberries.”

“Seven Hells, it is only a craving. You did not have to go all the way through King’s Landing to find me blackberries.”

"No, I-I ought to.”

The Princess paused, frowning at the young girl. “Did someone else tell you that you ought to?”

“Well…yes…” the maid said, sinking her gaze to the floor “The King—uhm Prince Regent.”

She sighed deeply, and with heavy steps, she walked towards the terrace; her maid was immediately at her side to help her. “What did he tell you?” the Princess asked as they reached the chair outside.

The girl waited for her to sit, slowly and awkwardly given her big belly; then, a little timidly, she said “He…ordered me to go look for blackberries and not to…bother coming back if I didn’t find them.”

The Princess rolled her eyes in quite an unlady-like manner, “How in the name of Seven did he know about it?” She asked, grimacing as she desperately tried to find a comfortable position. “I have barely seen him this morning.”

The young maid helped her, fixing some cushions behind her back and whispered “The White Cloak at the door…I suspect he reports everything to his Grace.”

The notion didn’t seem to strike her that much, or maybe she was too tired, too uncomfortable and too hot to comment on the matter, or even scoff at it.

She grabbed a fan from her maid’s hands and unceremoniously shook her shoes off, placing her swollen feet on the cool tiles. Closing her eyes, she basked in that small relief; the floor was cold, the sun was about to set, and the baby was sleeping.

According to the Maesters, her time was close. She was eager to meet this little person but in truth, she just wanted it to end. She hated having no control over her body, her spirits, her marriage. She missed being a wife and being treated as such, not just as the mother of his child. She had come to think that, deep down, any woman felt that way, but they were forced to hide everything behind a joyful smile while sinking to their knees to thank the Mother. Wasn’t that the sole purpose of any girl in the world? To bleed on a birthing bed? Wasn’t that the way men measured women’s value?

She swallowed hard as the question spun in her head. Am I finally worthy of you, Aemond?

She wouldn’t dare ask him.

“What is it? Are you unwell?”

She was too lost in her thoughts to even hear his footsteps on the terrace. As her gaze flew up, she read the deep concern on his face, all lumped in the steep furrow between his eyebrows. He must’ve seen her grimacing, thinking she was in some pain. She was, but she was too much of a coward to tell him.

She resumed her fanning, averting her gaze and stretching her legs out further on the floor. “I feel like I’m boiling.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He deadpanned, raking his eye over her disheveled state; sprawled on that chair with her legs slightly open, her white chemise all crumpled and unbuttoned, and a bead of sweat on the forehead, in the crevice of her swollen breasts. He thought the times when a mere look at this woman would make him hard were gone once the novelty of having a wife, someone rightly and thoroughly his, had dissipated. He was wrong.

“I’m well aware of my lack of decency.” She replied, seeing how he was staring, the little inquiring curve in his eyebrow. “I’m afraid I care very little about decency at this moment. Blame it on your son.”

His lips curled up, watching her gather her loose hair with one hand while she kept fanning herself quickly with the other.

“Are you still inclined to believe for certain that it’s a boy?”

“I know it’s a boy. Only men can be this insufferable.”

That little smile on his lips lingered, deepened, and then he moved, going to stand behind her. “Let me.” He said, and took her hair between his hands. She couldn’t see what he was doing but got the gist as she felt his deft fingers moving and her neck free to get some air. When he walked around the chaise to sit beside her, she saw that his hair was loose. He had tied her hair with the black lace he always wore to prevent the silver strands from ending up in front of his eye.

She loved to see him like this: hair loose, eyepatch lost somewhere in a drawer, sitting next to her, even without saying a word. The sapphire seemed to match his eye, glowing a soft violet under the setting sun. She felt that familiar lump in her throat, as she stared at him, a restless thing flowing through her whole body, demanding to be released only to be trapped under her teeth, biting down her lower lip, starved and yearning.

“A little bird told me you put a hound on my trail.” she said at one point, shutting her little fan.

Aemond didn’t look surprised to acknowledge that she knew. He had actually ventured with himself about how long it would have taken her to realise he was spying on her every move.

“You are well aware of my duties now.” He said, turning his head to look at her. But not quite. His eye seemed to linger everywhere at once, fleeting, snatching a look here and there, her legs, her sweated neck, her belly…his own testament, as if she wasn’t one already.

You left your mark on her just as she did on you. Those were Alys’ words, at which he had ugly sneered. And she had laughed at the sight, eerily, as someone who owned the truth. I’m your spoil of war and yet, you speak to me ten paces away. What are you afraid of, Kinslayer? That your skin would burn like brimstone if you touched another woman?

“Besides,” he resumes “any lady would be flattered by her husband’s genuine concern.”

“You could flatter me in different ways.” was her prompt answer and she moved incredibly fast, given her impediment, getting close to him until she filled his nostrils. She smelled different since she was pregnant. A thick smell, musky. She tasted differently. Sweeter and somehow sourer. He swallowed at the mere memory. “We have talked about this.”

“And I’ve talked to the Maesters.”

His head spun around, forcing her to stifle a smile at his ever strictly reserved nature.

“They said there’s nothing wrong, or remotely dangerous, if we…engage in our conjugal duties.”

He tried to ignore her hand, her fingers traveling up his arm like a spider’s legs. “Did you need the Maesters to learn that?”

“No, but you do. You hang on their lips…I wish you hung on mine.”

Aemond heard her voice dropping a tone, and dropped his chin down, looking at her hand roving on his chest, shamelessly slipping beneath his dark green doublet, skin to skin. She glided on his planes slowly, making sure to trap one of his nipples in the little hollow between her index and middle.

“I don’t need them to know about my private matters.” He said mindlessly, trying to hold a grip on his thoughts.

“Seven Hells. It baffles me to witness how prudish you desperately want to appear while I perfectly know how debauched you really are, to the bone.”

“My debauchery is confined to these four walls.”

“Oh, is it? What about that time on our way to the Grand Sept?” She tilted her head, so she was talking almost in his ear. “Do you remember?”

Her hand on his chest was burning, or was it his own skin? His own flesh simmering wherever she touched him.

“Don’t do that.” She whispered when she saw his long legs cross. “Let me see. You have condemned me to do nothing else.”

His eye chased her hand as she grabbed his knee and pushed to uncross his legs, so that she could see, the outline of his cock through the breeches, see how he ached for her. “Do you remember what you did in the wheelhouse?” She asked again, looking at him; the sapphire was the only thing flashing violet now. His eye was pitch black.

“You put your hand beneath my gowns…” she said and her hand slid up against his thigh “you grabbed me, harshly.” And she did the same, forcing his mouth open and a shallow breath out of his throat. “And you grinned…because my garments were soaked.” he closed his eye for a moment, perhaps recalling, or maybe because her hand was moving, palming all his length through the breeches.

“And then you slipped your fingers underneath…” and again, she did just so, unbuckling his belt and sinking her hand in. He opened his eye, and basked in what he saw: that sort of silent, desperate plea in the little wrinkle between her eyebrows, in her heaving chest, in the way she was rubbing her legs together.

Thus, just when she was about to grab him, he grabbed her wrist instead and crashed his mouth against hers with a low growling sound. She could do nothing but moan, giving him open room to slip his tongue in and taste every corner, driving his body closer and closer, but not too much as to crush her.

She, on the other hand, felt free, finally, to roam, to rummage. Her hands grabbed and pulled everywhere, at his doublet, the collar, the buttons, the thin white shirt underneath it all, until everything was loose, and she was free to touch him, all the while making the sweetest wanton sounds, close to desperate whines. “Please, Aemond…” she begged freely, holding his face “just this once…please…”

He shushed her with another harsh kiss and with a free hand, he clutched her white nightgown into his fist, pulling up, enough to stick his arm between her legs. She spread them for him, panting with anticipation, and stopped breathing altogether when he cupped her core with the large palm of his hand. Aemond trapped her lower lip with his teeth, biting softly upon feeling how wet she was, dripping on his fingers, so much that he wished to fall on his knees and wipe it clean with his tongue.

“Please…” she breathed, barely rocking her hips to urge him to touch her.

“Hush.” he said, and curled his fingers, brushing his fingertips against her centre, gaining a delicious wince from her. “Tell me of the wheelhouse.”

She smiled breathlessly, her eyes hungry and heavy, full of lust. “It was the first time I wore green.” she started to tell. “We were still betrothed. I wanted to impress you.”

“Hmm. You certainly did.” He remarked, watching her closely while rubbing his index pad against her entrance, teasingly, making her squirm. “Go on.”

She felt like burning, her face hot for the sun, the baby, the ache in her lower belly, stirring and coiling. “You told the White Cloak to take another round…” she said, breathing with her mouth open. “You grabbed my waist and forced me on your lap.”

“And you pushed me away. Twice.” he’d laughed, flashing a grin that made her willing to shove him away, to pull him closer. “What a farse you put on.” he continued, leaving a chaste kiss on her neck that resulted in her writhing some more, pushing her pelvis against his hand. “I had to cover your mouth for your mewling. You were so fucking loud.”

It was then that he finally granted her some mercy, slipping one finger inside her drenched lips, spilling a long gasp from her.

“No. Not quite.” He observed cruelly and slid another finger, this time gaining a proper loud moan. “That’s more like it.”

His two fingers started to pump slowly, and yet she was making the lewdest sounds he’d ever spilled from her, arching her back as far as she could, scrunching her face almost in pain and pulling at his collar, twisting, as if he were torturing her instead of giving her pleasure. She made his cock stir painfully, his teeth grind for the ache, for the fact that she was coating his whole hand. “Easy now…” he warned her, his tone all husky. “You don’t want to come already, do you? ‘Tis the only thing you’ll get from me, sweetling…you better make it last.”

She whined in annoyance, forcing another grin on his ruthless lips, and with that same ruthlessness, he slowed his ministrations, only to cup one of her breasts with his free hand, squeezing softly until the thin, silky fabric slipped down, revealing her pink, swollen nipple. “I must say…I’m relieved you will summon a wet nurse…so these will be all mine.”

She had to stifle a breathless laugh at that. “Being jealous of your child is a bit too much, even for you…”

“Oh, my love” he crooned, freeing the other breast “I am jealous of the clothes on your skin.”

Wasting no time, he wrapped his lips around her nipple, causing her to arch against him once more, one hand flying down his shoulder, fisting his doublet, twisting it as he swirled his tongue and hummed with delight dripping from his tone, as if he were tasting honey, and the sweetest ever made.

His fingers resumed their frantic rhythm, sinking deep inside and stretching, hitting that special spot that made her sight go black, reduced to a mess of sweat coating every inch of her skin and a string of moans growing hoarse and high-pitched.

“Are you close? Hmm?” he rasped “How about another? Can you take another for me?”

He slipped a third finger in, causing her to wince and cling to his shoulders with her mouth open in a silent scream. “Good girl.” He praised at the sight. He wished he could savor it for a little longer, he wished to keep doing that again and again, until the sun went down and rose again, until there was nothing but ruin around them.

But she was so close now, he could feel it in her tensed arms around his shoulders, in her clenching walls around his hand, and quite frankly, the ache in his breeches was unbearable, twitching at every moan and squelching sound of his fingers inside her flesh.

She came loudly, curling her ankles on the ground and writhing in his hold as if in a delirium. He kept her still, his hand buried inside her, feeling the quick pulsing that rivaled the one in her heart. And he watched her, gasping for air and throwing her head back, utterly spent, hair all sticked to her forehead. In his eye she had never looked this beautiful.

He pulled his fingers out, making her wince slightly, and brought them to her mouth, smearing her spent desire on her own lips, like the final touch to a painting. And then he kissed her, humming at her bittersweet taste. He held her face gently, grabbing her jaw and angling her head to taste her better, eliciting a blissful sigh from the back of her throat that made his hardness throb. As if she had felt that, her hand had slipped between them with purpose, sinking past all his layers and taking hold of him.

She rejoiced in the little whimper he gave her, and started to work her hand up and down, making it impossible for him to kiss her any further, if not for a sloppy and panting mess of spit and teeth.

Given the unbearable pressure building past his navel, he knew he wouldn’t last long. And she knew that too. But she didn’t want to have him this way. Awkwardly, she stood up and spread his legs to make herself some room, but as soon as Aemond, despite the lack of blood in his mind, caught her intentions, he stopped her, grabbing her arms firmly.

“No…” he croaked. “Not on your knees.”

She couldn’t help the little surprise on her face. Aemond had never been this considerate, especially in bed. He could be gentle in his own way, subtly. Little hidden things in the way he would run his fingers through her hair once she had reached her peak, the way he would regain air once he’d spilled inside her, breathing into her neck and running his lips lazily against her skin. But most of the times, he was very diligent, all focused in giving her and himself the pleasure they both craved; he was somehow harsh, ruthless, a mirror of who he was outside the bedroom, possessed by some kind of urgency that would break her in the most beautiful and cruel way and put her back together at once.

But then again, she imagined the promise of his heir living inside her was affecting even one of the most ruthless of men.

She sat down again and watched him stand up, his breath labored and open-mouthed as he looked down at her, working the few laces of his breeches still tied. She didn’t need an invitation, an order, a mere tilt of his chin to sit upright and put her hands alongside his snatched waist.

She looked up, and he found himself swallowing hard, cursing silently at the sight of her looking straight into his eye with his cock a breath away from her, all hard and glistening on the tip. Shamefully, he thought that would have done it for him.

A coarse grunt left his lips as soon as she wrapped her mouth around it, teasingly swirling her tongue on the slit without ever averting her gaze from him. He hissed painfully when her lips started to travel along his length, trying with all his might to hold back and not spill into her mouth so soon.

She, on the other hand, seemed eager to watch him come undone, just as he had done to her a few moments earlier. She started to suck him eagerly, like a starved creature, because on all those nights and days when he had taken her apart, learning every inch of her and how to bend it to his will, she had done just the same.

She knew how to make him wince and moan openly, while on her knees on their bedroom floor or on a fucking terrace during a late afternoon, with likely anyone to walk on them at any moment. With the Gods watching.

She didn't care. The Gods didn't care for them anyway. Let them see to whom she fell to her knees.

He couldn’t stop looking, how pretty she was like this, swallowing him whole, up to the hilt, hitting her throat with a gagging sound. So lecherous, so holy.

He was so close he had to bite his lip to restrain himself, letting out a string of curses until he felt the pressure growing stronger, and then, he thought, he might as well have it his way.

“Stop…” he croaked, grabbing her cheek but delicately, slipping out of her mouth and running his thumb over her sore jaw. She closed her slicked mouth, a drop of spit running down her chin and she looked at him, with such devotion he thought he had nothing to envy the Gods.

“Let me…” he pleaded, wiping her chin clean with his finger. “Let me fuck your mouth, sweetling. Would you?”

A question that needed no answer. Indeed, he wasted no time and grabbed the back of her head, tilting it slightly up for a better angle. He sheathed himself all the way in, gasping deeply at feeling the hot walls of her mouth, her cheeks hollowing.

His fingers curled into her hair, but never in a hurtful way, enough to keep her still as he started to move his hips against her face back and forth, his open mouth quivering as the pleasure began to build where it left off.

“Fuck—” he cursed once, and then twice, fucking her mouth faster to chase his peak, pulling ever so slightly at her scalp until he went still altogether, pushed his waist hard against her, and grunted loudly, in a pretty uncharacteristic way, as his cock twitched and spilled down her throat until the last drop.

Panting harshly, he pulled himself out and watched her close her mouth, eyes fixed on him, working her cheeks and making no mystery of the white essence on her tongue before swallowing it, thoroughly.

Aemond let himself fall on that chaise and she watched, she drank that sight: his hair all disheveled and damp with sweat, a shade of pink on his cutting cheekbones as he slowly pulled himself together, breathing through his open mouth while buckling his belt and breeches.

“I think I’m going to take a bath.” She said at one point, clumsily standing up. He had mumbled something in return, still caught in the throes of what they had done, but before she got back inside, she turned and said “Oh, just so you know…all of this was a ploy.”

She smiled cunningly at his frowning. “I never had any cravings. And I knew about the White Cloak at the door since the first day you put him there. You are not as subtle as you think you are, my love.”

A man of few words, but loud actions.

Her pains came during a peaceful afternoon.

In haste, nursemaids began their frantic rounds in and out of the Princess’ rooms like soldiers, carrying hot water and boiled rags. The Dowager Queen abandoned her perch beside Queen Helaena, or what was left of her, and went to assist the Princess. Having borne four children, she had quite a bit of advice to dispense, things she had learned on her own skin, things that any Master would never have told her because oblivious and convinced they knew what happened to a woman's body at such a delicate time based on how deep they had buried their nose in an old dusty tome.

Alicent helped the Princess rise from the bed, clutched her arm firmly and helped her walk. She said it was vital to walk, that it would ease her pain and help the baby come sooner. She told her to squat when the pain hit. She rubbed her back and wiped the sweat off her face as if she were her own daughter. It felt like that. Even though the Princess seemed to face it all with a stiff lip, Alicent could see that she was scared and in terrible pain, that she probably wished for her mother to be there. She had wished the same, no matter how many times she had faced it.

“Your Grace?” The Princess asked after another wave of pain had come and gone.

“Yes, child?”

“Do you think your son would forgive me If I said this one is both the first and the last?”

The Queen had smiled at that. “If the Gods bless you with more children, it will be easier, I can assure you. The first time is always rough. But it shouldn’t be long now.”

Well, her good mother turned out to be wrong. Because the pain plagued her for a full night, giving her no peace. At the hour of the nightingale, the nursemaids forced her to bed, and she gladly went. She was exhausted, she could no longer walk without hissing at every step, and by that time she was so used to the pain she no longer whined or anything, only scrunched her face and ground her teeth.

The servants stripped her bare and replaced her sweat-soaked nightgown with a fresh one. They dabbed her face with a wet cloth, but she could barely register anything, floating into unconsciousness only to be brought back to the present as another pain choked her breath.

“Perhaps some Milk of the Poppy?” One of the nurses said at one point.

“No.” the Maester said. “She may need to start pushing any moment now. We need her vigil.”

Her heavy-lidded eyes opened, wandering helplessly around the room. Useless research, for she knew he wouldn’t be there. She didn’t expect him to be. The birthing bed was no place for men, save for the Maesters, although she was starting to doubt their real usefulness when all they could do was pull her nightgown up, take a close look and shake their heads. They might as well let Aemond be there.

She imagined he must’ve been waiting outside, or in the Council, and yet she ached to see him. She closed her eyes and searched for him in her mind, clutching the sheets in her fist as if she could clutch his hand instead. And then she felt someone’s hand closing around her own, loosening her grip. Alicent, smiling down at her, and holding her hand tight.

It was holding her good mother’s hand that, at the first light of dawn, she gave birth to her child. A boy, healthy and all screeching as soon as he was out of her womb, clad in blood and grease.

Aemond had decided to name the child Aenar, if it was a boy, after the first Targaryen Lord, and she couldn’t quite believe her eyes or force her tears back when he was finally admitted to their chambers and took their son in his arms for the first time.

Alicent was beaming at the sight, squeezing his arm. “Congratulations, my son.”

But Aemond didn’t seem to even register her mother’s words, or presence, utterly enraptured by his little creature. He cast a look at his wife, a secret little look that told her how proud he was of her, how relieving it was for both to have come this far after all that happened, to have this little thing, this little ounce of peace amidst all the chaos of war.

What she didn’t know at that time was that Aenar was not exactly a peaceful child.

She had believed there had finally come the time when she could be herself again. But from the earliest days, Aenar proved not to be an easy child to deal with. The newborn cried and cried for hours, plagued by belly aches, and seemingly able to calm down only when in his mother’s arms. They had obviously called on a wet nurse; highborn ladies did not feed their children themselves, let alone a Princess. But Aenar had categorically refused to latch onto his wet nurse’s breasts. Alicent had proposed to summon another one, but as they dawdled and wavered, the Princess felt her heart break into pieces each time she held her little baby in her arms, all red in the face, hungry and in pain, turning his head towards her cleavage, desperate for her milk. Thus, she had put aside ceremonial court and all of that and chose to feed him herself.

But it was a strenuous task. The Maesters had warned her it would be tiring, sleep depriving, but she really had no choice. She had to do it every three hours, sometimes less, because being latched onto her breast seemed the only thing that would prevent the baby from screaming at the top of his lungs all day long. The nursemaid had recommended fennel and chamomile for belly aches. And, instantly, Aemond had ordered an astounding amount of both to be delivered to the Red Keep’s kitchens.

Queen Alicent taught her to hold the baby on his stomach, to rock him, but not too fast. They told her to take several breaks during breastfeeding, to make the baby belch often and prevent air from his belly. In the first week after Aenar was born, her mind was all but a vessel of do this, do that. No, not this way. Don’t ever wake the baby when he’s sleeping. Try to sleep when he does. Don’t eat spicy dishes.

In the midst of all of this, Aemond turned more and more suffocating in all his well-hidden, self-consuming concern. A handful of white cloaks, the most trusted by Ser Criston, were constantly guarding the door, day and night. He had a secret passageway that led to his rooms walled up, and she could swear he slept with his dagger beneath the pillow. Evidently not at peace with such extreme measures, he had the cradle moved to his side of the bed, within his reach, so that every time she had to wake up because the baby was wailing, she had to walk around the bed and pray that she would not tumble to the floor in the dark.

However, she was at least grateful to have Aemond’s support, for the little he could do. If he wasn’t occupied with warfare or hearings, he spent all the time he had with her and their child. And in those moments, no matter how exhausted she was, she would always find the strength to smile at the view when he held their baby, tracing his long fingers over the velvety grizzled skin of Aenar’s small hands; even when he’d speak to him in Valyrian, at which she had frowned at first.

“You do realise he’s one week old?”

“”Tis never too soon.”

“Mh. What’s next? Bring him to the skies on dragonback?”

“I’ll have you know Vhagar is perfectly safe to—“

“Over my dead body.”

He had smiled and stood up, going to place the baby in her arms. Aenar immediately began to fuss, whining and turning his head against her chest. She had started to unbutton her chemise but then stopped, looking up, where Aemond stood still like a sentry, and watching.

She raised an eyebrow. “Am I putting up a show?”

“Usually, you do.” He drawled. “Am I not allowed to watch? It seems my son and I already share a few interests.”

She looked away, smiling, and then she freed her left breast, watching as the baby immediately latched onto it. A moment later, Aemond took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. He stared at her, and she saw that familiar glint his eye.

He trailed his thumb over her lip, barely breaching inside. “Soon?” was all he asked.

“Soon.” Was all she answered.

The soreness and the bleeding were reducing, and she was back in her tight flesh.

But the Gods must have cursed them some more, because that “soon” never seemed to become “now”.

The sickness didn’t seem willing to leave the poor child alone, along with his parents and the entirety of the Red Keep who had to suffer through his heartbreaking cries day and night.

The Princess had started to feel hopeless and guilty, no matter how many times the nursemaids, and even Queen Alicent, told her it was not her fault, that it was natural. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself they were right. Her heart broke any time the baby cried, wriggling desperately in her arms, in Aemond’s, in the cradle. She would end up crying too as she tried to soothe him, caressing his back with her cheek resting on his timidly silver-haired head.

She was working herself up to exhaustion, often falling asleep with the baby still latched onto her breast. It was Aemond who would take the baby to the cradle, it was Aemond who would button her chemise and pull up the blankets.

She hit rock bottom two weeks after Aenar’s birth, when she realised she hadn’t bathed in four days. Even Aemond, she could swear, was starting to look a little ragged around the edges. You don’t want to be King and take decisions in the middle of a war only to come back to a screaming infant at night.

But then, like a curse lifting, the sickness stopped. Amidst all those days she had stopped counting or even being aware of which was which, Aenar stopped crying. She was ashamed to admit that the first night he slept peacefully in his cradle, she had gone to check on him five times, to see if he was still breathing.

She began to gradually return to her former self, able to enjoy motherhood with a more rested mind, at least. Physically, she still felt worn out, given how much time she spent breastfeeding or rocking the baby to sleep. But now she was strong enough to take the baby out, walking the gardens with her maids and smiling proudly as the court ladies stopped to congratulate themselves and say how beautiful her baby was.

By doing this, though, she also became aware that she had lived in a bubble for so long that she had almost forgotten there was a war raging, there were battles being fought across the realm.

Reality hits her one day when Alicent goes to visit her and her grandson, bringing the news of a very important victory near the Honeywine, a large river flowing in the Reach, thanks to Prince Daeron Targaryen who had arrived all victorious on that very morning, riding his blue scaled dragon, Tessarion.

The news stuns her for a moment. She had no idea of it, partly because she had been too caught up with Aenar, but also because Aemond had not told her. Yet her family came from the Reach, they lived there, not very far from the Honeywine; her older brother fought for the Green Army. Still, not a word from Aemond.

Taking advantage of Aenar sleeping and the fact that Alicent offered to watch him, she leaves her chambers and heads for the Council. There’s a bustle of lords coming out of the door when she gets there, barely paying her any attention as they hastily babble about armies and supplies and men; always more men to be sent to slaughter.

She stops at the door, widening her eyes at the silver head crossing the threshold, one she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Prince Daeron.”

The youngest son of Queen Alicent and late King Viserys was nothing but a boy. But war had taken its toll on him too. He stood like a man, a Prince, and more than anything, a skilled dragon rider.

“Princess.” He says, tilting his chin down.

She curtsies and sees an immediate gentle smile softening his Valyrian features. “I believe some congratulations are in order.”

“Well, in all fairness, you shall be the most celebrated, my Prince. I’ve just heard of your recent victory.”

His gentle smile lingers, but loses its sparkle. “I must say I much prefer to celebrate life…rather than…the death of innocent men and women.”

There can’t be objections to such a statement; she just nods and casts a distracted glance inside the Council.

“Please…” the Prince says then, making room to let her pass “I won’t keep you away from my brother.”

She turns her head and smiles, tightly. “I’m afraid it is your brother who keeps himself away from me.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the Crown.”

“Indeed.”

The Prince bows to her and leaves.

Closing the door behind her, she glances at Aemond sitting at the head of the table, in the King’s chair, with such effortlessness that he seems to have been born exclusively for that purpose.

“I thought I heard you.” he says absent-mindedly, scribbling down a small piece of parchment. She slowly walks to the windows, casting a single furtive glance down, but she can’t possibly make out what he’s writing, or to whom.

“How’s—"

“Aenar is fine.” She cuts him off. “He’s with your mother, sleeping.”

He stops scribbling, glancing up for a moment. Her voice is tight, cutting. He knows that tone. It’s the same one she used in Harrenhal, as if he should have fallen to his knees and be grateful for the mere fact that she was speaking to him. But he doesn’t have time today to circle around her like a coiling snake, so he goes straight to the point. “Is something the matter?”

“You didn’t tell me of the Honeywine.” She says after a moment, gazing at the Bay.

Aemond sighes, a sign that he was expecting such a question. “You were looking after our son.”

“And?” she’s quick to rebut, quick to reach him at the table and stare down at him. “You didn’t deem it appropriate to inform me of a battle raging in my family lands?”

“I am your family.” He says, stoically, as if common law, and she has to stifle a bitter laugh. The nerve of him. “That is a very lovely concept. Strange how it got lost on you in Harrenhal.”

“Enough!” he barks, and the sudden harshness makes the quill pierce through parchment. “I thought I’d made myself clear.” He warns. “I don’t want to hear another word about the witch. Ever.”

She obediently looks down, regretting having said that, but not entirely. Perhaps she has spent so much time beside him that she, too, can’t let go of her grudges.

“I did not tell you, for I did not want to upset you.” He says, resuming his collected tone. “You were worn out by the baby, I didn’t want to put more weight on your shoulders.”

She knows he’s sincere. Still, her nod is stiff as she looks away, biting her cheek. She is just so sick of it all. Of being regarded as a cunt to be bred at first and now a weakling nailed to a cradle with an infant sucking the life out of her. She knows she’s not the first, and she won’t be the last.

Aemond leaves the quill and stands up, circling until he’s close to her. “Your family is fine.” He tells her, lingering behind her. “Daeron spoke to your brother this morning.”

She keeps nodding, keeping her gaze down on the table, all scattered with maps and little dragon-shaped tokens, some black, some green. She frowns, letting warfare soothe her petty spirits. “What is this?”

“Our next move. A defense plan…which happens to be an attack plan too.”

“A pincher?”

She turns just in time to see the little surprise on his face. “My brother talked of nothing else when we were children. He slept with warfare books as pillows.”

“Hmm.” He muses, and takes a step closer, slipping his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her collarbone. “Show me.”

She shudders at his sudden proximity, at his breath blowing on her neck. She shudders at anything these days. A hand on her back, his legs fumbling beneath the covers and casually brushing against hers. She’s tight as a fiddle string.

“A pincher is nothing else but a decoy.” She explains. “You let your enemy believe they have you trapped…” and in saying this, she grabs his hand and moves it across the map. “And then…at the right moment…” she makes him hold a green token between his fingers and brings it near a little division of black ones “you strike on both flanks.” And with a swift flick of her wrist, his hand scatters all the black tokens across the table. To do so, she must lean over the table, accidentally brushing her lower back against his bulge. He’s not hard, yet, but it thrills her to feel the lightning quick effect she has on him.

“Hmm. Good. Very good.” He praises next to her ear as she withdraws her hand; his voice is so low it makes her spine shiver. But she keeps herself grounded and asks “When will this happen?”

“Soon.” he whispers, placing his hand flat on her stomach. “There’s another Small Council shortly but Aegon wanted to be present. They went to fetch him.”

“Well, then I shall retire to my chambers. I feel a bit lightheaded from all the thinking.”

He ignores her jab and keeps her still by the arm when she tries to move. There’s a little sly smirk pulling at his lips. “I have some time to spare.”

“And how do you propose we spend it?”

“Enough with your pantomimes. I can feel your legs squirming.”

Curse him.

He slips the other hand straight into her corset, cupping her breast and humming with delight at how full she is, how it fills his large hand entirely. “Are you wet for me, my love?”

His teeth sink down her lobe, and at the same time, he pinches her nipple between his thumb and index, forcing an indecorous whine out of her. “My, my…” he laughs darkly, torturing her sensitive skin until he feels something wet on his fingertips, probably milk. “I could make you come just by doing this.”

Powerless, she yields, leaning completely against him, rubbing her lower back for some friction. “What if someone enters?”

“We’ll make it quick.”

“But I don’t want it to be quick.” She pants, grabbing his hand on her breast and squeezing; the other crawls behind her back to try to feel him through his breeches.

Hissing, when she starts to palm him, he says “Then we let them watch. They get to see how pretty you look when you come on my fingers, or my cock. Which should it be?”

“Both. Anything.” She answers hastily, pulling at his collar to bring him close enough to kiss him. He hums contentedly when she does, twirling his tongue around hers. It soon gets messy, each of them fighting for dominance, winning and losing in turn, until he spins her around, so he can look at her and with both his hands, he seizes her gowns and pulls up, furiously rummaging through them.

“How many fucking layers have you on?”

“I’m not pregnant anymore.” she points out, unbuckling his belt.

“Pity. Perhaps I should fuck another one into you to keep you in your skimpy robes.”

“Don’t you dare, Aemond—”

“Gods be good, brother! That eager to make another one?”

They both startle like little children caught doing something naughty, turning their heads towards the door, where two servants are carrying King Aegon on a chair. Aemond sighs annoyingly, letting go of her gowns as she does with his belt, trying to compose herself.

“My King.” She says, greeting her good brother with a tight little smile.

Aegon’s appearance has improved since Rook’s Rest, just as the burnings, but he carries with him the smell of Milk of the Poppy and rotting skin everywhere he goes.

“Good-sister. What are you doing here? Apart from being ravished by my brother... should you not be breastfeeding?”

Aemond gives him a level stare and then looks at her, hoping she will not take the bait. Aegon and his wife never got along well, to say the least. Things had only escalated with time, to the point that whenever they found themselves in the same room, one of them would wisely leave, his wife most of the times, lest they start to hiss at each other like two cats fighting for territory.

“What if I intend to stay and attend the council?”

Aegon giggles, as the servants put down the chair, and after a quick glance below her neck he says “I’m afraid you would be a little distracting. And my brother is not one for sharing.”

Before she can ask what in the Seven he is blabbing about, Aemond takes her arm and makes her turn, shielding her from his brother and the Lords coming through the door.

“You should retire.” He curtly says.

“Are you taking his side again?” she asks, wriggling her arm to free herself from his hold.

“You’re leaking.” He informs her, flatly.

At that, she frowns and dips her chin down, watching the front of her dress practically soaked in milk. “Oh.”

“I shall join you when I’m done here.” He tells her, and lets her out through the side doors.

Aemond did not join her.

The council lasted until the evening, a recurring thing when Aegon attended. Aemond was stern and concise in his decisions. Aegon liked to laze around, enjoying the wine in his cup, rattling his younger brother’s nerves. Deep down, she was convinced that Aegon did not really want to attend the Council because really interested in what to do, but only to remind his brother that he was still breathing and that the Conqueror's Crown on Aemond's head was a temporary measure.

But it didn’t matter. She would join him for the banquet in honor of Prince Daeron.

She was thrilled to go. It was not a proper feast. Since Helaena had fallen into grief, the atmosphere within the walls of the Keep had become rather austere. But a banquet still meant an occasion for conviviality, and after weeks and weeks spent locked up within four walls, the Princess was eager to spend some time outside her chambers. She had felt like a terrible mother at the mere thought. She loved Aenar, how could she not? But she also loved herself, her family, her marriage, Aemond. Especially Aemond.

Once she had put the baby to sleep, she had ordered her maid to prepare one of her favorite dresses, a green one, and to tie her hair in an elegant braided bun. When she had looked in the mirror, she had almost grunted. The scarce and troubled hours of sleep were all evident in the dark circles under her eyes, but it was nothing a little egg-white couldn't temper.

When she arrived at the banquet, Aemond was already there, standing in his usual soldierly stance, intent on talking to his mother. She approached them from the side, Aemond's blind side precisely, so that when she announced herself, he had to turn his shoulder to look at her. He cast a glance at her hair, ran his eye over her entire figure. She wasn’t expecting any kind of sappy words, and certainly not in front of his mother, nor did she desire them. She could feast on that look alone.

Queen Alicent excused herself to give order about the banquet, and they were left alone, while some musicians gathered in a corner of the hall.

“You said you would join me. I thought they abducted you.”

“More or less.”

“Ah. Yes, I'm sure it must have been so hard for you to listen to the lords snapping like little soldiers at your command.”

“It pains me to acknowledge how little you know me, when you think I'd rather talk war with those wimps who can't even hold a sword than fuck my wife till dawn.”

“That was your plan?”

“We have some unfinished business, don’t we? And don’t play dumb. You’re wearing green. You’re not as subtle as you think you are either.”

“Good. I’m sick of subtleties. So, are you going to ask me to dance?”

Aemond rolled his eye and gave her a stare that told her he’d preferred to walk barefoot on lava.

“Still not fond of dancing, eh?”

Prince Daeron suddenly appeared between them, with his cheerful manner and his head of silver curls, dressed in dark green just like his older brother. “Strange. You were the only one listening to the lessons when we were children.”

“Yes, because you and Aegon acted as court jesters the whole time.”

“I’ll have you know, brother, I have refined my dancing skills in Oldtown. So…may I dance with my good sister?”

Aemond gave him a simple nod, and Daeron bowed to her gallantly, raising his palm up.

She kindly accepted the invitation and placed her hand on his. “Don’t sulk too much.” She whispered to her husband before following his brother.

Aemond watched closely as they started to dance, stealing all the attention, and despite that little primitive tug at the sight of his woman dancing with another man, even though that was his brother and there was absolutely nothing malicious in his or her intentions, he was glad to see her like this, spinning and twisting around instead of lying still in the cold with dread eating her alive.

When the dance ended, Daeron escorted the Princess back to Aemond and took his leave. “Remind me again,” she asked as she watched the young Prince leave “How is it that your brother is still unmarried?”

Aemond sighed deeply and took her arm to escort her to the table. “I’d give you one week before you’d get bored of him.”

While they waited for dinner, the lords and ladies of the court were obviously very eager to hear Prince Daeron. Alicent in the first place, after so much despair, and after being separated from her youngest son for years, seemed to smile with her eyes every time she heard him speak.

“Hear, hear!” one of the lords cheered after listening to Prince Daeron’s retelling of the Battle of the Honeywine. “A brave soldier and a brave dragon rider! I propose a toast.”

At once, everybody stood up, raising their glasses. “To Prince Daeron, to House Targaryen!”

“And to House Hightower.” The Prince proudly stated, raising his glass towards his mother.

As they sat back, the Queen ordered the servants to serve the dinner. The table was gradually filled with a great variety of dishes, many of them Prince Daeron's favourites, specifically ordered by his mother to make him feel at home. It had been weeks and weeks since such a banquet had been seen at King's Landing. Prince Daeron seemed very pleased and grateful, as did all those present who watched the rich dishes crowd the table, and lastly, the huge tray of fresh fruit that a servant laid in the middle.

“I can’t quite believe my eyes. Blackberries? This far in the season?” said Lady Bracken.

“I’m afraid that is entirely my fault.” The Princess chirped, catching Aemond’s attention from across the table.

“I had a sudden craving, while I was carrying Aenar.”

“I had one too with my first.” Lady Redwyne joined in. “Plums, specifically.”

“Did you find them agreeable, Princess?”

“Oh, very much indeed.” She stated, casting an innocent glance around, but lingering for just a moment longer on her husband. “I devoured so many…I still feel the taste on my tongue.”

Devious woman, he thought, fighting back his cursed smirk. He had half a mind to excuse themselves and retire to their chambers, if he managed to endure it all the way and not take her in the middle of a hallway.

She seemed able to read his mind, judging by the way she was looking at him, unfurling a napkin on her lap. He knew her well enough to foresee when she was in a teasing spirit, and he was all in for it.

But then, just when they were about to start eating, her trusted maid came in, going straight to the Princess. “Apologies your Grace.” she said to her ear “but the Princeling is awake.”

Aemond saw the concern instantly widening her eyes and then a shadow passing over her face. “Yes…” she said, and stood up talking to all the present. “My apologies. I must retire.”

“See?” said Lady Bracken as Aemond watched his wife leave the hall. “This is why I refused to breastfeed. No matter how my second would scream…”

By the time she had done breastfeeding, her chest hurt so much that the maid had to place some rags soaked in cold water directly on her nipples; the instant relief had made the Princess close her eyes and almost moan. She had planned to go back to the banquet as soon as Aenar had had his fill but as she gained relief by pressing those wet rags to her breasts, she realised her son wouldn’t let her get away that easily.

As soon as the maid had taken him, trying to put him to sleep, he had begun to fuss and wriggle, whining in what she knew would soon turn into a high-pitched, deaf inducing crying.

Perhaps he’s cursed too. She had thought exhaustingly, promptly kissing his silver little head.

She gave up on her plan to go back to the banquet and rocked the baby herself, pacing before the windows while whispering sweet soothing words.

As soon as he had dozed off, she put him in his crib and absent-mindedly grabbed a book from Aemond's desk, lazily leafing through it while rocking the cradle with the other hand.

Aemond finds her like this when he opens the door on his way back from the banquet. She looks up from the page and sees him striding purposefully towards her, snatching the little book in her hands and throwing it on the bed.

She’s shocked, to say the least. One might say he treats books far better than his subjects.

“What—“ she tries to say but he takes her hand and pulls, forcing her to stand up and follow his steady gait.

“Aemond?” she asks down the corridor, a girlish grin climbing on her lips. “Where are you taking me?”

He doesn’t bother to answer but she doesn’t have to wait long to find out. They stop before a door down the corridor opposite to their chambers, Aemond pushes her inside without so much grace and shuts the door behind them.

She looks around briefly; the room is warm, the fire in the hearth is lit, as the candles scattered all around. This is all familiar. “These are my old chambers…” she says with a little frown, turning to him.

“Quite the observer, wife.” He drawls, and takes a few steps. His stride is different now. Slow, contemplating, as his gaze raking over her, as if he in the first place doesn’t know why he brought her here and he’s assessing what to do. A war map, and he knows where all the faults lie.

“I thought we could spend some time together” he starts, walking past her to go sit near the fire “Alone.” he adds once he leisurely sits down, crossing his long legs and resting his hands on the armrests. “What better place than a vacant room? No one will come looking for us here.”

She tries as hard as she can to stop the little smirk at the corner of her lips; she walks closer, stopping right in front of him, staring down. “They might hear.”

“Hmm. And that is much of a trouble for you, isn’t it?” he asks with the most fake genuine tone, taking a cup from the nearby table, and then “You sucked my cock on a terrace and begged me to fuck you in the Small Council…I thought I told you to quit your act.”

She smiles openly now, watching the wine pouring in the cup, his eye fixed on the liquid as his eyebrow shots up. “Besides, I know exactly what to do to muffle your noises.”

“You should be proud of my noises.”

“I am.” He says, taking a sip of wine, his eye piercing through her above the cup’s brim. “But for once, Aegon is right. I’m not one for sharing.”

His arm moves to put the wine aside but she takes it, only to feel his hand pulling the cup away from her. “You cannot drink.”

“Fine.” She concedes, leaning on him. “I’ll have it my way.”

She holds his face and with her left hand she glides her fingers on the left side of his face, delicately but with purpose, pushing the eyepatch off. And then she kisses him, eagerly, licking his lips and then breaching inside to taste the wine on his tongue, on the roof of his mouth.

She sighs deeply when he locks his tongue with hers, and feels his lips curling.

“Did you hear it?” He says breaking the kiss, breathing into her mouth. “That one is my favorite.”

“Your favorite what?” She asks mindlessly, chasing his lips but to no use, because he tilts his head back, his cursed smirk ghosting.

“Noise. It’s a little thing…” he tells her, locking one hand around her neck “in the back of your throat, close to a sigh but not quite…” his fingers trails against her throat, chasing her swallowing “It tells me you’re dying to.”

“To do what?”

“Fall on your knees for me. Be a supplicant.”

She grabs the back of his neck, driving his head close and looks down at his arched mouth “You cannot live without God, can you?” She looks up, her mouth open to breathe “Seven of them seem to have cursed me. I had to find my own.”

His eye widens at that. He looks straight into her eyes, so devoted, so raw. She’s right. The Gods would curse her some more if they saw she looks at him the way she should look at the Gods.

“Then do it.”

“What?”

“Flatteries don’t work on me, sweetling. You should know that.” With his hand on her neck, he slightly pushes her away, making some distance between them. “You will have to show me.”

“What would you have me do?”

His hands let go of her completely, resting on the armchair. The gemstone glints blue, and yet it’s nowhere near the bright cursed thing in his eye. “Get on your knees for me. Now.”

She should be ashamed of the pull in her bones, the muscles willing to move on their own accord and fall to the ground. But why, why does it have to be sin? Why can it not be religion?

When her knees hit the ground, she sees his chest rise, his long fingers spreading flat on the armchair. But her eyes fly back to his face as soon as he speaks, as soon as he commands. “Take off your dress.”

His eye sinks down, watching her hands work the corset, steadily. It’s the only sound in the room, this tugging, at the dress. But she tugs at his cock too. She tugs between her own legs.

When the dress is nothing but a pool of green on the ground, she goes to pull down her white chemise, but she suddenly stops. Aemond uncrosses his legs and the air hitches in her throat as his hands go straight to his belt, unbuckling it.

He revels in the little lump in her throat. Perhaps later he will let her have what she’s craving, but not so soon. “Give me your wrists.”

“My—”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Swallowing, she keeps her eyes on him and raises her hands, like an offering. Aemond takes off his belt and leans forward, enough to take her hands and cross her wrists. She shudders at the sharp tug when he wraps the leather around, tying them tight.

“On your feet.”

And up she goes, testing her hands briefly but finding soon that she cannot move them, at all.

“Come.”

It takes one swift movement of his leg, bending the knee while the other rests loosely on the ground, for her to get the gist and walk closer, sitting on his knee, sideways.

“No. Like this.” Quite harshly, he grabs her hips and turns her so that she’s straddling his thigh. He can hear her little gasp when he pushes his thigh firmly against her core. He can feel her warmth through the fabric, stirring his cock. But he pays it no mind, for now.

“What now?” She asks, poised precariously on his thigh.

Aemond tilts his head, and he just looks at her. In the spur of a moment, a boyish one that doesn’t sit well with how he’s built, he thinks he might be quite contented by merely looking at her. Because she’s beautiful and mine, mine, mine.

But his hands are burning, they might fray and wither if he doesn’t touch her. He unties her hair, running his fingers through them as they fall around her shoulders. The Maiden. The Mother. And yet something better, something worse. Because her eyes are hungry, her mouth is starving for air, for his flesh.

“You must toil to find God.” He says, and then he grins. A savage thing, full of promise. “Bring yourself to come.”

A flash of thrill lights up her face, darkens her eyes and Aemond tilts his head again, biding all the time in the world, for he knows she will.

Tentatively, she pushes her body down, against his thigh, feeling a timid shot of pleasure traveling up from her core, ending in a short, labored breath.

That noise, that might be his second favorite.

Soon, her hips start to move back and forth, each time trying to push herself down as hard as she can, making little breathless cries each time she fails to give herself the friction she needs. She has little balance due to her tied wrists, so she rests her palms on his chest to gain some leverage. And that seems to do the trick.

She tilts her head back, moving faster, doing little jumps on his thigh, panting harshly as sweat lumps on her forehead and pleasure coils in her belly.

Aemond hikes up her chemise, watches her cunt brushing back and forth against his leg, leaving a trail of wetness on the fabric of his breeches. He has to choke down a growl. “Gods, you’re soaking me…”

She looks down at him, her cheeks pink, her lips open in a little o. He can’t help himself. He sticks two fingers inside and how relishing it is that she waits for no invitation or order. She laps, twirls her tongue around his fingertips, sucks them.

“Look at you…” he croons, taking his fingers out, leaving a trail of saliva down her chin. “But you can’t, can you? Perhaps I should fuck you before a mirror, so you see. You see how pretty you are when you’re desperate for me.”

His hand travels down her neck, tossing her hair back and then grasping the strap of her chemise, pulling it down, revealing her swollen, turgid breast. He leans forward immediately, cupping it in his hand, and takes the nipple into his mouth, crooning contentedly and then some more when he feels her wince and cry out loud.

Her tied wrists writhe in their merciless hold and he stops her, gripping both her hands with one of his own, keeping her still, lapping and sucking at her nipple until he feels something wet and saccharine on his tongue, humming all the better. He grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud, and she cries out again, bucking violently against him, turning sloppy and frenzy as she feels the fall close.

He feels it too, feels her thighs trembling around him, and that’s when he takes her hips in a tight hold and forces her to stop altogether.

“Did you think I would make it so easy?” he asks spitefully, seeing her dazed expression. Wasting no time, he holds her firmly close to him and stands up. It takes him only two of his long steps to reach the bed and place her above. In a moment of illusive freedom, her tied wrists fly to his breeches, to his evident hardness, but he’s quick to stop her, bringing her arms above her head, keeping them there with a firm hold. “Stay still.”

“Aemond—“ she pleads.

“Hush. Spread your legs.”

She obliges, eager for him to do something, anything to stop the aching. Aemond wets his fingers on his tongue and brings them down, breaching inside her with two of them, watching her gasp, arch her back and twist her wrists in his hold, uselessly. “Easy…” he cruelly laughs “I have just started.”

But she hasn’t. She’s a few steps away from the precipice of her previous denied peak, it would take him so little to push her over the edge. Instead, his torture is so slow that the whole coiling in her belly falls apart and she must climb her peak again.

His two fingers slip in and out ever so easily, their wet sounds echoing through the room, mixed with her panted breaths and his own. He aches for her to touch him, he aches so much that his cock is pulsing, painfully, but this is just too thrilling. Now he knows exactly how she felt in Harrenhal, when she had him chained up to a chaise.

Her hips rock frantically against his hand, trying to speed him, to get there faster. Mumbling nonsense, her legs tense like iron, her cunt clenches and sucks his fingers in like a vice. “Yes…yes, please…Aemond…please don’t stop—‘m so close…”

And just like that, he slips his fingers out; a dark pleasure dances on his candle-lit features as she writhes and whines for the loss of his fingers, swinging her lower back and forth, desperate for the barest friction that would end her misery.

“Aemond, please…” she says, and even with only one eye, he can’t mistake the tears of frustration at the corners of her eyes.

“What, my love?”

“Plea—” she’s cut off by his hand, pushing his sticky fingers inside to make her clean up her mess.

“We said enough with subtleties, did we not? Speak. Tell me…what you need me to do?”

“Let me come please…please…”

At that, he finally lets her wrists go, and she almost winces in pain, for the time she had them tensed above her head. He stalls for a moment, unsure, running his eye over her whole body, sweating and feverish, and so beautifully plump because of motherhood. He unbuttons his doublet, and then his shirt, his breeches. He bares himself completely, catching her eyes following his deft hands everywhere, breathing heavily.

He kneels between her legs, spreading them. And it’s embarrassing, really, the way she tumbles as soon as he puts his tongue flat against her drenched folds. If only she cared.

It takes only a couple of twirls of his tongue around her lips, and she comes undone, shaking all over, canting her slit against his face. He helps her ride out her climax, by not stopping at all. Instead, he doubles his efforts like a man possessed, pushing his mouth open against her cunt as if he wished to devour it, sucking harshly until she whimpers hard, choking on a loud sob. “Aemond—wait—I can’t—”

She cannot take more so soon. But he’s utterly deaf to her complaints.

He feasts on her, lapping and dipping his tongue in, parting her folds to go as deep as he can, humming while drinking all of her; his voice reverberates through her flesh, it makes her bones rattle.

His long nose rubs against her bud and he looks up: she trashes about the sheets, cutting herself as the belt leather scratches her skin. She tries to push him away with her tied wrists, to no use. She clamps her legs around his head, in a desperate attempt to chase him away, sobbing for the unbearable stimulation. And yet…and yet her hips move on their own whim, bucking with sharp jolts until the wave starts to rise, higher and higher, and she drowns in it, letting go a high-pitched cry, clutching his scalp with both her tied hands, scraping, pushing him against her as she rides her peak against his face.

He swallows everything, licking her clean, moaning softly at feeling her pulsing on his tongue.

“Enough…I—Aemond you have to stop…” she rasps breathlessly.

“Why?” he asks, finally rising from where he had perched himself; he climbs on her, until he speaks to her face. “I am only making up to you. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

She can smell herself on him, she can see herself, glistening on his mouth, chin, even his cheekbones.

“Answer me.” His hand grips her jaw “You said you wanted everything.”

She chokes down a whimper when he leans completely on her, feeling his cock against her cooling flesh, while he’s hot and hard and heavy.

“I will give you more.” He says, brushing a strand of her sweat-soaked hair from her temple. “I will give you another child. Keep you all aching and wet for me while you swell with my child. Do you think I don’t know? How you ached for me? D’you think I didn’t?” he presses himself down, so she can feel it thoroughly, furrowing her brow as her body already answers to his call.

“I can feel you in our bed…” he keeps rasping “rubbing your legs together. And you know how much that bothers me. Your pleasure is mine to take…and to give.”

Her lips part, gasping roughly. She was so hung on his lips that she hadn’t even registered that he had taken hold of himself, bending her knee on his left hip, and guided himself in.

She arches against him while he slowly sheathes himself all the way in, moaning with long-awaited relief. He stays still for a moment, adjusting, but also because he takes her wrists and sets her hands free.

Thrilling as it was, he wants her hands on him, he craves her touch.

He wants her to cling to his shoulders as she always does, digging her nails down.

He wants her to clamp her fingers on the back of his neck, scraping and pulling his hair to keep him close enough to moan into his mouth.

He wants her hands on his back, sliding down, to push him even deeper while rutting inside her.

And she does all of that. She finds God.

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