#aemond x wife!reader

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Nūmioītsos

19/12: Future & Face Sitting - Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 1.5k~ | Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, oral (f receiving), prince regent aemond A/N: This is in the Pearl of The Realm Universe!

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

It's something he'd dreamt of, but never really envisioned. Perhaps he'd never allowed himself to. With Aegon severely wounded by dragonfire, the conqueror's crown would no longer sit atop his head with ease, so now it sat on his.

It was lighter than he imagined it would be. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He was not King. But it was the closest he'd ever be to it.

The aura was strange at the Dragonpit, very much akin to Aegon's in that sense. 

He remembered standing beside Helena as she'd pressed her lips together and curtseyed before her brother-husband, who had become her king and made her his queen. Remembered how she had that distant, forlorn look in her pale violet eyes. Like she knew hardships were coming.

And as Aemond turned to his little pearl to see what expression she wore, he felt his heart ache for her like he had done for his sister.

She was visibly nervous. Clasping her hands at her front, and squeezing for dear life. Her eyes were trained on the space before her, away from anyone else's. He could not blame her. She married a second son. Who would inherit nothing but a name.

She never expected this responsibility, and in a way, above the power that the crown gave him, he felt awful that he could not give his wife, who deserved the world, the peaceful, calm life she always expected.

Not a word was spoken between them, until they reached their chambers, and the doors shut with a heavy thud, like he wanted to shut out that feeling.

“I am sorry…” she whispered suddenly, standing in the middle of the room.

He was transported in his memory back to their wedding night, when she'd apologised, for maybe not being as pretty as he wanted her to be.

She had come a long way, but she still always apologised too much.

He saw her throat bob before she continued, “I could not find the right moment to tell you…”

“What is it, my love”, he replied softly, moving a waved strand of hair from her face with all the sincerity of a husband so irrevocably in love.

Her eyes lifted to meet his gaze, leaning slightly into his hand before she took his one hand in her two small ones, leading it flat to her stomach.

And then he understands.

Her nerves. Her silence.

She was terrified.

And with child.

His face softened instantly despite the incessant weight of the conqueror’s crown on his temples, his violet eye searched her nervous face, as if trying to see what she was thinking.

“I am frightened, Aemond…” she uttered quietly, her cheeks pink and lips pressed together, trying outwardly to stop herself from falling apart and becoming hysterical.

His hand almost entirely covered her belly and he sighed as he rubbed it lovingly, his child inside her made him feel all hazy on love.

“Afraid of what, wife?”

She swallowed thickly before she raised her head, “Afraid of…what this all means for us now,” she replied, her eyebrows arched in worry, “for our child.”

He understood entirely what she meant. And he saw her eyes close contently as his palm rested against her cheek, brushing her hair away, “Oh, my little pearl. I will not let anything happen to you, or our babe.”

When their gazes met, she knew she had nothing but her belief in him. She had to believe him. Though her eyes were moist, with tears rimmed in them with fear of their future, she gave him a gentle smile, choosing to put her faith in her husband entirely.

“I will not have you go to sleep crying”, he whispered, softly running the backs of his fingers over her cheek, seeing her nod weakly.

“Unless you are crying my name”.

She gave a watery laugh, a pleasant smile stretching on her delicate features. And when she met eyes with him again, the smile faded into a blush, finding that her husband was in no mood for shallow promises as his hand drifted from her stomach to that sensitive spot between her legs, even above her thick skirts, she felt herself become warm.

“I-I thought…lords did not lay with their wives if they were…”

Aemond smirked, quite forgetting the crown placed atop his head when he leaned down to lay open-mouthed kisses to her neck, making her shiver.

“It is fortunate that I am no lord then, little pearl”.

His words made a warmth sink between her thighs, clutching onto his doublet tightly like he might disappear in a moment.

She sighed, eyes slipping shut as Aemond kissed and marked at her neck, not noticing that Aemond’s deft hands were undoing the laces of her dress and prying each section apart. It was only when his warm hands chased the curves of her hips and back that she lifted her eyes to him again. 

“Aemond-”

“Hush - do you not wish to please your King?”

The words make her mouth go dry, a chill settling on the little baby hairs on her arms as he tugs the heavy dress off her, like he was desperate to see what was underneath. As if he had not seen her bare since the day they were wed.

He tugged her close to him as he sat on their bed, his face level with her breasts which he mouthed over lovingly, taking one of her nipples between his lips and suckling gently, both his hands tight on her hips.

“Aemond…”

He still loved that, the way she said his name so breathily and needy like that. 

He fought the urge to grin, teasing the stiffened bud with his warm tongue before trailing it to the other.

“Hm - Oh, little pearl, I can hardly wait to see you fat with child - and these so full…”

She gasped in pleasure, a warm feeling sinking to the apex of her thighs. 

And Aemond did grin widely when she squeaked with surprise as her husband laid back on the bed, pulling her on top of him, with her legs either side of his waist.

Being on top was not something she'd done before. And being entirely naked on top of her entirely clothed husband, makes her head spin dramatically.

“Aemond, I…I don't know-”

She shivered as his warm hands traced the outline of her body, “I have not seen that lost, blushing expression in so long, dear wife. Are you nervous?”

She nodded softly, her eyes looking away, wanting to cover herself but knowing that if she tried, it would only inspire him to tear her hands away from herself.

“My sweet, innocent wife…I only wish to taste you.”

Her eyes widen, “Aemond, I do not want to hurt y-”

“You will not hurt me. I want your cunt on my lips, now.”

She could feel her stomach flipping with nerves as Aemond guided her higher, her cheeks aflame with the idea that all this was arousing her in the most forbidden way.

“Relax..”

She could do about anything but relax as Aemond tugged her hips down, a high pitched moan slipping out when she felt his warm tongue part her slick folders and dive in, his moan vibrating through her core as he moved his lips with passion.

He hummed into her womanhood, his fingers sinking into her flesh to keep her flush down to his mouth as he feasted on her. He is sure he could spend forever between her plush thighs, almost forgetting the weight of the crown slipping from his moonlit head as he tasted his queen.

The crown almost slipped all the way off as he hand grasped his hair, her hips moving atop his tongue in micro-movements, “Gods - Aemond-”

With his one eye looking up at her body, he squeezed her thighs tighter, increasing his movements and shifting his tongue up to suckle at her bud, enjoying the way she moaned breathily and tipped her head back.

He happily sucked every bit of release that came from her as he felt her trembling atop him, her fingers tightening in his hair almost painfully as she rode out her high by fucking herself against his needy mouth, prolonging her sweet rapture by sliding his wet muscle through her quivering walls.

She jolted when he placed open-mouthed kisses to her sensitive cunt, his hands soothing where he'd been gripping at her.

Equally, she whined when he pulled his lips from her, looking down at him with flushed cheeks and dreamy, misty eyes. Her husband grinned up at her, as if in victory, the conqueror's crown laid upside down on the bed above his head from the effort of his lust.

She briefly worried she'd upset him by nudging the crown from his head.

And her heart thudded with excitement, as did his, when she leaned down, to place it back atop his head.

Aemond was sure, he had never been more hard in his life at that moment.

And he smirked with mischief as he leaned up, making her sit astride him, still trembling from her release, and unlaced his breeches. 

It may take all night, but gods, he'd make her feel like a queen by the end of it.

Like his queen.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[sapphire-writes]

Wildest Dreams ~ Aemond x Wife!reader

request: an arranged marriage between yn and Aemond, where he has married her to win the favor of her house, but the war is on and he meets Alys and yn hears the rumors and when she hears Aemond talking about Alys with Alicent she understands that she is not a simple lover, she talks about it with Aemond and he has a certain affection for her so he tells her to have adventures if she wants to and she is heartbroken, but she does not take the offer, but Aemond thinks that eventually he will and continues with Alys until at a ball he sees yn talking to a lord of a noble house and is jealous that she eventually took up the offer. Happy or sad ending, you decide, I just want to read how you develop it. Thanks for your work! ~anon word count: 1.8k warning: angst omg, some spicy themes nothing explicit, jealous & possessive Aemond note: I really liked writing this, especially exploring the relationship between the reader and her sworn protector 🫣 you can read more of my work here 💚

My lady, my Alys.

That name haunts you. It slithers through the halls of the Red Keep. It lives in the pitying eyes of those who look upon you, the forgotten spouse of Aemond Targaryen. His wife. His princess. What a horrid sham it was now. 

You knew Aemond to be a man of duty, you knew this when you married him. Though you hoped his affection for you would grow with time, you had never expected him to stray outside the marriage. He simply did not seem the type of man to do such a thing.

Until the war. Until Alys Rivers. 

You knew the people of court were aware of the affair your husband was having with the so-called witch queen of Harrenhal. 

It only became more apparent when he returned to court on Vhagar’s back, with his paramour securely against his back. Though you haven't seen your husband in months, as soon as you spotted her with him, you excused yourself from the celebrations around his return. 

You ran to your chambers and hurriedly pushed by your sworn protector Ser Cassian who stood outside your door. 

“My lady?” he asked, with a concerned look on his face as you made your way inside. 

He noted the tears on your face. For a moment he hesitated with his hand on the door handle, preparing to close it as he heard your sobs from within. Instead, he released the handle, stepping inside your chambers. 

“It pains me to see such a lovely lady crying,” Ser Cassian says as you face away from him. 

“Yes well then I would advise you to avert your eyes,” you snap, bitterly.

Ser Cassian does not heed your advice, he simply stands in the doorway. You feel guilt begin to curl its way into your stomach, under your skin. You turn your head to him.

“You must forgive me, Ser,” you begin, keeping your gaze low, “that was unkind.”

Ser Cassian moves to close the door, and you hear his heavy footsteps make their way over to you. 

You turn completely to face the knight, who now offers you a piece of cloth. Shame rolls through you at his act of kindness, as you offer him a small smile dabbing at the wetness that pools beneath your eyes. 

“There is no need for apologies, my lady,” he tells you. 

“Then you are too kind a man,” you tell him, eyes glassy with tears.

“I only wish for your protection and happiness, my lady,” he tells you, as you hand him back his handkerchief. 

You confront Aemond later on, in the privacy of his chambers. 

“Now you bring her to court to humiliate me further,” you accuse, blood running hot with anger. 

Aemond rubs the scarred skin above his eyepatch. 

“I’ve no wish to humiliate you, dear wife,” he assures you. 

“Then why?” you demand, “why parade her at court, in front of all these people?”

Aemond stands still, his mouth a tight line. He refuses to answer you, causing you to scoff. 

“I understand you love her?” you ask your husband, unable to meet his eyes. 

There is a moment of silence between you, the weight of your question hanging in the air.

“I do,” he says firmly, confidently.

You did not know your heart could break more than it already has. 

“I wish for you to be happy,” Aemond says, coming closer to you, “I am still your husband, I shall give you children to love and cherish.”

You make an offended noise at his words, cheeks heating up. How romantic a notion, being your husband’s broodmare. 

“You may do as you like,” Aemond assures you, “as long as you bear only my trueborn children, take pleasure in whatever you wish.”

You look at him, not believing the words he speaks.

“You do not mean that,” you tell him. 

The man you married may not have loved you right away, but there was a possessive nature about him beneath the surface of his cold exterior. 

“I do,” he tells you. 

“I have no wish for anything else. For anyone else,” you tell him.

“You shall, in time,” he assures you, “you have been lonely too long.”

“You think a lover would fix that?” you snap at him.

Aemond does not answer, he simply leaves the room to go to her. 

You spend a long time in the gardens, finding solace in the flowers, bathed in moonlight. The air grows cold around you but you would rather be out here than in the castle. You swear you can hear their pants and moans from your chambers. Your husband is taking another woman. Over, and over again. 

“You should be inside, my lady,” Ser Cassian tells you, watching as your teeth chatter in the cool night air. 

He removes the cloak from his back, placing the gold cloak across your shoulders. Your shoulders drop at the weight of it. 

“Allow me to escort you inside,” Cassian murmurs, hands lingering on your shoulders. 

You meet his gaze, nodding. 

You summon Ser Cassian to your chambers the following night, hearing his knuckles rap against the wood of your door just as you exit the bath. Your lady’s maid holds a dressing gown for you to step into, covering your wet, naked form. 

“My lady,” he says, clearly flustered by your state, the dressing gown barely covering your slick body. 

“Leave us,” you tell your lady who nervously scampers towards the door, shutting it behind her. 

Your hair is damp, sending rivers of bathwater down your neck, traveling through the valley of your breasts. 

“I can return when you are decent,” he manages to choke out.

“There is no need,” you assure him, “I am quite comfortable in your presence.”

Ser Cassian does not know where to look, he does not wish to offend you but is finding it increasingly difficult to focus.

“You once told me you wished for my happiness and protection,” you told him, “the latter is true. How are you supposed to assure the other?”

Cassian blinks slowly, eyes focused on your lips as you speak those words, the shimmering of water that rests on your upper lip. You look as though you are a river nymph who has come to seduce him to a watery grave. 

You begin to walk towards him, hands fiddling with the straps that tie your dressing gown securely around your waist. 

“I shall do whatever my lady commands,” Cassian says, eyes cast toward the floor. 

“I do not wish to command,” you say softly, “I wish to offer.”

Cassian meets your eyes then. He is very handsome, with dark brown eyes that match his curly locks. 

“You need not offer anything, my lady,” he assures you. 

“I want to,” you tell him. 

“If you do not wish this, that is fine,” you tell him, “I only ask you to leave and forget this conversation and we shall go about as we once were. Though I shall admit, I will feel rather foolish.”

Cassian watches the blush bloom across your cheeks. 

“Otherwise, you need only take my hand.”

You stretch your arm out toward him and for a moment he does not move. For a moment, your breath catches in your throat and you are sure he shall turn on his heel and leave your chambers. Then you shall be left alone once more. 

But he does not.

Instead, he places his rough hand in yours and allows you to guide him toward your bed, replacing your dressing robe with his lips, his tongue, and his hands. 

You have been happier as of late. Aemond has taken notice. You walk with a skip in your step, a flush on your cheeks. 

The maester has been said to visit your chambers weekly with a special brew. 

Aemond knows you have taken a lover. The knowledge curls in his stomach like a hissing snake, though he attempts to deny it. How hypocritical is he, to deny his wife happiness when he has found his own in another woman’s bed?

It isn’t until Maelor's name day celebration does he realize how furious your endeavors make him; the fire it ignites beneath your skin. 

The feast is a grand affair with singing and dancing, and several lords and ladies visiting from across the seven kingdoms. 

Aemond and you arrive together, but you quickly let go of his arm and make your way into the crowd. 

Alys is not present, as Alicent will not allow it. A paramour at court is scandalous in itself, she will not subject you to feast with her. 

Aemond keeps his eye on you, as you begin to dance. He watches the dreamlike look on your face, the way your cheeks redden and you cast your smile toward the floor as someone joins you.

He is a goldcloak, and Aemond recognizes him. The knight smiles down at you, entrapping you in a dance. Your smile widens as he whispers something to you, and your cheeks darken. Aemond feels a fire in his belly as he watches you dance with the knight, a strange sense of possessiveness flooding through him. 

Aemond moves through the dance quickly coming to your side. His hand finds yours dragging you toward the center of the dance floor. You struggle to keep up with his demanding pace, your wrist stinging from how tightly he holds you. 

The dance continues around you, people hardly noticing Aemond’s predatory circling of you.

“Is that who you desire?” he asks, voice low.

Your furrow your brow, a confused expression on your face.

“Is he whom you invited into your bed?” Aemond growls. 

“I did not think it mattered to you,” you quip back, anger evident in your tone.

“You choose a whoremonger for a paramour,” Aemond says sneering, trying to bait you. 

“And you a witch woman,” you snap, causing Aemond’s face to darken, “who I choose to spend my time with is of no concern to you.”

Aemond growls at this, an animalistic noise that comes from deep within his chest, that causes you to back up slightly. 

“You cannot have it both ways,” you tell him, noting his genuine anger. 

Aemond is breathing heavily, looking down at you, his mouth twisted in a sneer.

“You cannot have me, and her,” you continue feeling brave.

Aemond juts his chin out. 

“What makes you think I shall allow you to keep him?” he says referring to Ser Cassian.

You smirk then, stepping closer to him. 

“I shall just find someone else,” you tell him bitterly.

Aemond snaps forward, wrapping his hand around your throat and pulling you flush against him. The action sends a wave of warmth into your lower belly. You know you should be terrified, you should try to run screaming. But you do not. And when he brings his mouth to yours, you kiss him back.

When he leads you to your chambers, you let him.

When he roughly tears your dress from your body, you assist him. 

When he makes passionate love to you, nipping and biting your smooth flesh, you allow him to.

Aemond stays with you that night. 

Alys Rivers vanishes from the Red Keep before the sun rises. 

note: ooof im sweating 🥵

[just-some-random-blogger]

may i request for somewhat of a aemond x wife!reader crackfic? i just cant get the thought of aemond's wife suddenly going "if you really love me, catch me" and she just randomly jumps off a window or cliff or smth, knowing fairly well how sturdy she is and that she'll survive with a few broken bones max. but aemond doesn't know that and so he prince-charming-style-on-a-dragon saves the stupid lump that is the love of his life and goes "i do not appreciate these tests to measure my loyalty and love for you. first the question of whether or not i would love you as a worm. and now this stunt? what's next? make me choose between you or something very absurd?" "now that's an idea."

The Test Of Love

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: There is a saying that people do crazy things for those they love... Aemond has come to terms with the fact you're simply crazy.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: fem!reader, wife!reader, mom!reader, exasperated!aemond, 'dear gods its genetic' -aemond, crackfic, fluff, typos, etc."

A/N: THIS IS SO SPECIAL BECAUSE THIS IS MY FIRST AEMOND REQ HIHIHHHIHIHI HI NONNIE TYSM FOR THIS I HOPE YOU LIKE IT NONNIE MERRY CHRISTMAS ps i didnt name the child cos it seemed like too much responsibility nvm i felt bad for keeping him nameless also i used a translator for the high valyrian dont come for me if its wrong i like to imagine this gif is the moment aemond realized his wife is crazy and he's like 'aw shit' HAHAHHA Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda

"Kepa, kepa!" a small voice calls, alerting Aemond, who had been in his study, going through some papers.

Aemond turns to the little boy, eye roving over his wide violet eyes and short, stubby legs, deciding in that moment, he was not injured or harmed.

"What is it, my love?" Aemond asks in High Valyrian. He straightens from his seat, lips curving into a soft smile as his son makes it to his side.

Aemond brings him to his lap. He brushes Aurion's hair back with one hand while the other is secured around the side of his soft belly.

"Mother is-"

The sound of his father humming cuts Aurion off. Aemond's brow quirks as he looks at his child.

Aurion sighs, placing his tiny hand on his tiny face, correcting himself, "muña."

"Kessa, muña," Aemond nods in confirmation, continuing in High Valyrian, "very good, my boy. What about mother? Is she calling for me?"

"Muña ivestretan nyke..." the boy starts as he racks his head, thinking of the next words to say.

Aemond hums, translating his Aurion's words, word per word, "mother told you..."

"Naejot ivestragon ao..."

"To tell you," Aemond trails off.

"...bona ziry's jumping hen se jimy."

"..."

Aurion turns to his father, watching his kepa's eye widen at the information he relayed. Aurion blows air out of his lips, making buzzing sounds as he shifts in his father's lap.

Aemond is tense as his Aurion places his clammy hands on his father's cheeks.

"Say that again, boy," Aemond knits his brows.

"Muña--"

"In common tongue."

Aurion stands on his father's lap, stroking his kepa's long hair as he mumbled, "she said she was going to jump out the window, papa."

Aemond grabs his son's hand, making the child draw his eyes upon his father's worried one.

Aurion is indifferent as he continues, "she told me you were going to catch her before she f-"

A loud fit of laughs rip through the room when Aemond grabs Aurion and practically teleports outside, exactly where their bedroom window would be.

He didn't need to see to know you were there, as there were a bunch of worried servants outside, looking up with worried faced, making him worry ever more.

Aemond does not miss how one of them says, 'thank the gods the prince is here.'

Aemond drops his giggling son as he cranes his neck up.

I break into a wide smile and look over my shoulder when I hear my name being barked out, "hello, my love!"

Aemond's breath is extremely taxed as he walks beneath the ledge I was standing on, "GET INSIDE RIGHT NOW!"

I roll my eyes, not even turning to the open window as I opted to hammer on the stone wall before me. It was a bit difficult, seeing as my breast was pressed against the surface, as I did not have much room to walk on. Still, I pressed on so I could hang the twig figure my son made in a place it would get the attention it deserved, "I'm busy."

Aemond clenches his jaw, arms going out to the side in fear, ready to catch, if ever his extremely poor in decision making wife falls.

Aemond calls my name out again, more worried, less threatening.

I release a sigh and hang my child's creation on the nail, "Aurion, what did you tell your father? He's worried sick."

"That you were going to jump," the princeling plainly, making the servants around him exclaim in worry and horror.

I furrow my brows and snap my head Aurion, "that's not what-"

Alas, I do not get to finish, as my quick movements make my feet slip. I helplessly descend from the height. I grip the hammer tightly, not wanting it to crash on my husband's head.

With a huff and a heave, I find myself in Aemond's arms, Aemond, who is incredibly relieved and livid all at once.

"Hello, my lo-"

"You told him you were going to jump?!" Aemond quips, eye narrowing.

I raise a brow, throwing my arm around his shoulders, discarding the hammer off to the side with a loud thud, "I did not. I told him that if I fell, you would catch me."

Aemond's nostrils flair as he turns to look at his son, barking out his name impatiently, "what is the meaning of this?!"

Aurion shrugs, "I wanted to see mama jump."

Aemond eye twitches.

I scold him for this, but Aurion is all but affected by it. I turn to my husband and snort, kissing him quickly on the lips before jumping out of his arm. Aemond is frozen in his spot.

I beckon my son over. When he does, I point a finger at him, "what did I tell you about distorting the truth?"

Aurion sucks in his lips as he rolls back and forth on his heels. He avoids the question by saying, "you jumped anyway!"

"She did not jump, she fell," Aemond quips, stern expression moving from Aurion to me.

I knit my brows at him, "I chose to fall, because I knew you would catch me."

Aemond feels his false eye rattle in skull as he words darkly, "chose?"

"Oh, please," I roll my eyes, "I used to jump down from trees much higher than this as a child, Aemond."

"Mmm, right!" Aemond says tightly, "and you landed on a field of grass, not cold, hard, concrete!"

I shake my head at his words, "what does it matter? All this proves is that I was right."

"Right with madness?!" Aemond raises a hand, "right with what?!"

"That you would save me no matter what." I raise my chin when I say this.

Aemond is practically vibrating in anger, his stomach wound tightly with worry. It all evaporates when a hand goes to his face.

I smile at Aemond, rubbing the scar on his cheek.

He sighs, utterly defeated. He opts to lean into the affectionate touch.

I utter causally, "this reminds me of the time I jumped off Vhagar."

"YOU JUMPED OFF VHAGAR," Aurion exclaims with excitement and wonder

Aemond grabs my wrist as he pulls away, "I still have nightmares of it."

"Oh, please, you told me it was okay for me to do it."

"I DIDN'T ACTUALLY THINK YOU'D DO IT!"

I huff, pulling my hand away, "that was your mistake."

"I WANT TO JUMP OFF VHAGAR!" Aurion calls, jumping up and down.

"NO!" Aemond barks, pointing a finger between the two of us, "no one will ever jump off anything ever again!"

Aemond grunts where I laugh when Aurion dashes over to him. The boy crashes against his leg; the man reels back slightly. I snort when my husband looks away, knowing he was not strong enough to behold the puppy dog eyes that was surely being thrown at him.

"Pleaaaassseeee, kepa!" Aurion whines, "I'll promise I'll study High Valyrian even harder!"

Aemond scoffs, then peers down, eye narrowed, "say that in High Valyrian then."

Aurion scrunches his face in thought. He begins to turn a shade of scarlet. He slams his head onto his papa's thigh, "no fair..."

Aemond huffs, crouching down, gathering the boy into his arms, "I will not hear of this nonsense again, child."

"Kepaaaaaaa!"

"Enough," Aemond dismisses, turning to me. He reaches his hand out and I gladly take it. He sighs as he pulls me close, placing a kiss on my temple. When I lean into him, he shuts his eye and mutters, "kepa will not know what to do if anything ever happens to you and muña."

Our son makes a sound in protest, "but you will catch me if I fall, just like mama!"

I smile at the sentiment, reaching out to my child's cheek.

Aemond turns to his son, leaning his forehead onto his, "do me a favor and not follow into your mama's footsteps."

I snort, pulling away from Aemond.

"But mama's fun!" the boy pouts, "you're not."

Aemond presses his lips into a line.

I break into a fit of giggles, stopping in my tracks to bend over in amusement. Aemond is snorts and swiftly grabs me, cutting my laughter off. I am, without warning, manhandled over his shoulder. I shriek when my stomach is folds over him. I grab onto his back without much else left to do.

Hearing my sons giggles makes chuckles find their way out of my lips again.

"Spank your muña's bottom," Aemond commands. My son does not hesitate.

"Aemond!"

"You have been naughty," he quips, beginning to walk off, "and deserve every bit of punishment I will inflict on you tonight."

I am silenced by his words.

"Papa no!" Aurion exclaims, "mama's a good girl."

I bite my lips at the defense of my child.

"Mmm," Aemond hums, "we'll see about that."

[bl4ckph0enix]

Daybreak

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: You've tried to help your husband. Yet, you are forced to watch the wrong person getting crowned...

Wordcount: 1.9k

A/N: So, maybe many of you cannot relate to this. The idea came to me while I listened to the song 'Daybreak' by Dimash Qudaibergen. But I just had to write this because as someone who has to fight with very intense emotions, I can relate to this so unbelievably well. My heart broke for both Aemond and Aegon during the crowning scene. Aemond may be the villain of House of the Dragon, but it wasn't really his choice. No one gets born this malicious, one is made this way. And even when it actually is a deliberate choice at some point, growing up in a family like the Targaryen's only means that this attitude is forced upon you without a real chance to escape it.

English isn't my first language, please forgive any mistakes!

Stiffly, you stood together with your family-in-law on the podium in the Sept. Thousands of citizens were gathered in the hall, squeezing each other in order to get in to be able to see the crowning of Aegon II Targaryen. Your facial expression was completely blank and shock cursed through your body, causing to numb every emotion and dull every sense, and coldness slowly seeped into your bones. It's been three years now since you got married to Aegon's younger brother Aemond Targaryen. The both of you hadn't had a great start. Mean words and accusations had been thrown in both directions and you had actually hit him one or two times. He was the only person in this world that could get you riled up this much. And he also was the only person that you loved more than your own life.

You hadn't been able to avoid to fall in love with him. The both of you had partially been forced to spend time together and over the course of months, you had come to know Aemond better. You knew of his favorite things, of the things he hated, of his doubts and dreams. Especially his dreams. They were ones you shared. Having spent three years in his family, you knew as much as Aemond that he was a better man than his brother. He should be the one to be crowned today. Instead, he stood next to you, as stiffly as you yourself, his eye looking over the crowd with no emotion. Your fingers were intertwined with his and you could feel the warmth of his hand on your palm. Normally, it was reassuring and calming. But today, it did nothing to you.

You felt completely numb as you watched the kingsguard enter the Sept and build a corridor in the crowd for Aegon to go through. The tips of your fingers became cold and your breath slightly hitched in your throat, barely audible. One second later, you could feel the gaze of your husband on you, almost burning the right side of your face with its intensity. Of course he had heard you – he would always hear you, no matter where you were or how far away. It was your special bond that you both shared with each other after your Valyrian marriage; a bond that had developed with hate and rage, pain and tears, and that had turned into care and happiness, passion and love over time. The surroundings receded into the background, only noticeable at the edge of your field of vision as your empty eyes followed Aegon walking through the crowd. Somewhere distant in your mind, you registered that he seemed as unhappy and desperate as you felt right now deep down.

The events passed you by in a blur. You vaguely heard the Septon speak from far away, not able to follow the words that were spoken; you saw Aegon accepting his fate, the crown on his head, and you barely managed to hold yourself together as the searing pain that you had buried deep within you for today began to rise to the surface. But you held on. Because you knew that right now was not the time to lose it. You knew the pain Aemond held within himself that he never allowed to be seen. You knew of his childhood and youth, full of the bullying from his siblings and nephews, the lost of his eye, the expectations especially his mother had with him which he hadn't been able to meet, and his burning wish to follow his father on the throne after Viserys' death, to prove himself. Your hand that still held Aemond's became completely cold, even his warmth couldn't prevent it as you saw your meticulously detailed plan going down the drain right in front of your eyes. You knew that Aegon didn't want to be king, as much as Aemond and you didn't want him to be.

You couldn't explain when it all had started to go down the hill. Everything had been perfect. A few days before this important day, you had spoken to Aegon after having gone through everything with Aemond beforehand, how you wanted to do it. You had explained it in detail to Aegon and he had not hesitated to give his approval. One of the preparations had been to bribe the right people who you knew would support you to make Aegon disappear. They had agreed to help you because they had been able to see in Aegon's face and attitude that he did not want to be king. After everything was prepared, everything had gone smoothly today, almost as if everyone around you just wanted to play into your cards. Aegon had disappeared to hide above the dragonpit where no one would suspect him and would just have waited for an opportunity to board a ship to leave Westeros. Even when Aemond had come to you to tell you that his mother had sent out Ser Criston in order to search for Aegon, you had known that this wouldn't change anything.

And yet, here you stood, helplessly watching how the wrong man got crowned.

You could feel tears bubbling up in your throat and swallowed hard to keep them at bay. Still not the right time. You were thankful that Rhaenys Velaryon freed her dragon and disturbed the crowning ceremony, causing utter chaos and pain as her dragon hurt and killed people. You barely registered Aemond pushing himself in front of you to protect you, his hand on the right side of your hips to reassure himself that you were in fact behind him. You saw Rhaenys escape with her dragon as they tried to close the doors to prevent both her and the people from fleeing. But what happened next, you didn't know. You had a few flashing pictures of the kingsguard escorting you through the Red Keep to your chambers, which you shared with Aemond. The door was quietly closed behind you, but you didn't react at first. You still felt eerily numb, though the ripping pain was lurking beneath the surface, and you couldn't quite comprehend what had just happened during the last hour in your life.

Your gaze wandered out of the window at an extremely slow pace while your heartbeat started to quicken as your brain tediously began to catch up with what had happened. You knew that your emotions would nearly kill you the moment they would start to devour you. You tried to hold it back, to give yourself more time to maybe prepare a little bit for what was about to come. But you couldn't. The first sob escaped your throat mere seconds after you felt the barrier that you had built around your feelings begin to crumble down. The quite rustling of clothes somewhere beside you drew your attention and you saw Aemond standing a few feet away from you as your gaze flickered over to him, looking completely desperate, pained, and defeated.

It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair that the man you loved with every fiber of your existence had to suffer this much.

Something finally snapped somewhere in your mind. Burning pain ripped through you, hatred for Queen Alicent and her father melted your intestines and rage flowed through your veins like liquid fire. The first chalice crashed against the wall with a loud noise, accompanied by your furious scream. Everything had been perfectly planned, even Aegon had agreed to your plan and had supported you. And now, here you were, damned to see your soulmate suffer. The next chalices, glasses, and plates were thrown through the room, clattering to the ground and crashing against the walls, splintering into a thousand pieces just like your soul did at the sight of Aemond. You weren't able to hold yourself back; blankets, pillows, cups, plates, chairs, and books were thrown through the room by you while you simultaneously screamed your throat raw. For you, it was the only way to handle this all-surrounding pain, rage, and hatred within you that chewed venomously at you and devoured you whole. Tears were streaming down your face and your silver-blonde hair was an absolute mess, the long strands completely tangled, but you couldn't care any less.

Nothing was anymore where it had been before. Even the table had got toppled over by you in your rage. You didn't even really notice that you grabbed the glass vase that stood on the windowsill with pretty flowers in it – a gift from Aemond's mother yesterday. Now it seemed to mock you. Before you could do something more, your knees finally gave way due to exhaustion, but that didn't stop you. As soon as you were sitting on the ground, you slammed the vase onto the stone with your hand still attached. The physical pain that shot through your hand as a big piece of glass cut deeply into your palm, was what brought you finally back a little bit. Your voice went quiet and soundless sobs shook your whole body, big tears still streaming down your cheeks and dropping to the ground and on your dress. You could see the dark color of a pair of breeches as Aemond knelt on the ground next to you, carefully taking your injured hand into his own.

“Please,” you sobbed. Your throat was sore and hurt, your voice hoarse and raspy, cracking at the end and almost swallowing the next words you choked out, “Please, Aemond, make it stop. It hurts so bad.”

Another wave of tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him. New pain tore your heart to shreds the moment you saw the wet shimmer staining his beautiful face. “I know,” he whispered, his own voice breaking and thus barely audible. He looked down at your hand again, turning it around and inhaling sharply when he saw the large shard of glass that stuck in your hand, drawing blood that already started to drop to the ground, accompanying the new tears that streamed down your cheeks.

“It hurts,” you breathed. There was no need for you to explain to Aemond that you didn't mean your hand. Your other hand came up and the tips of your fingers grazed his hairline and the upper part of his forehead, lovingly and soothing. “I am sorry,” you whispered, causing his head to snap up again to look at you. “I have failed you, my love.”

You could see the pain in his eye as you said these words. “No,” he contradicted you and shook his head. “No, you didn't fail me, Y/N. You gave everything I could have asked for, and even more.”

“Avy jorrāelan, ñuhyz zaldrīzes,” you said weakly and finally started to calm down, exhaustion slowly settling in. “So much that it hurts.” (I love you, my dragon.)

“I know,” was all Aemond said to this. “I can feel it.” He grabbed the shard of glass carefully and started to pull it out, causing you to contort your face in pain. “We will fix this, byka mēre, I promise you.” (little one.)

“Okay,” you sniffed and wiped the tears from his cheek. All that you wanted was to see him happy, truly happy. It had become the center of your life the moment you realized that you loved this man that was still a broken little child deep down. You knew that sitting on the Iron Throne with that crown upon his head was what would make him truly happy.

And you would give everything to get him on that throne. In the end, even your own life.

Maybe one day, I'll write another part, but I just had to get that off my chest.

[hoteldreamss]

Aemond Targaryen || imagine

Метки: флафф; беременность; читательница жена Эймонда.

Слов: 606

Ты не сильно рада тому, что твой муж стал принцем-регентом. Он безусловно получил то к чему стремился, но власть предполагает ответственность и увеличение врагов. Когда тебе пришлось стать женой Эймонда, ты успела услышать в каком ты не выгодном положении. Твой дом рядом с королевской семьёй, но не с короной. Второй сын, всегда второй. Но ты была рада этому, предполагая, что наличие короны рядом, а не на голове, уберегает от многих проблем, теперь же ты нервничаешь. Тебе нельзя нервничать.

— Ты не наденешь что-нибудь более... праздничное? — голос Эймонда разносится позади тебя. Он, как обычно, появляется тихо.

Повернувшись к нему, отвлёкшись от выбора украшений, ты оглядываешь своего мужа.

— Это не праздник, Эймонд.

— Ты вступаешь в Малый совет. Некоторые готовы на очень многое, чтобы получить там место, — произносит он своим укоризненным и одновременно спокойным тоном.

Ты глубоко вздыхаешь. Конечно ты не рассказала ему о своих мыслях про корону и не смогла сказать, что не хочешь быть в Малом совете. Он желает заменить тобой свою мать, и ты не хочешь подставлять своего мужа отказом. К тому же, может это позволит тебе быть ближе к нему, учитывая как часто он уже пропадает решая королевские проблемы.

— Я рада этому, Эймонд, — произносишь ты, но твой голос выдаёт твой истинный настрой.

Твой муж делает несколько шагов, приближаясь, встаёт рядом и кладёт ладонь на твою поясницу.

— Дело в ребёнке? — его голос становится тише, будто твоя беременность это секрет, но ты подозреваешь, что дело в неловкости, которая между вами появилась, когда твоё тело начало меняться.

— Нет. Я в порядке, ничего что не было бы раньше, — произносишь ты.

Эймонд хмыкает и еле заметно кивает, ненароком опуская взгляд на твою уже более заметную и полную грудь от беременности. Платья уж слишком подчёркивают твои изменения. Эймонд глубоко вздыхает отходя от тебя и больше не прикасаясь.

Ты предполагаешь, что твой муж просто не может воспринимать тебя теперь в таком виде. И сейчас, когда твоя беременность почти подходит к концу, он сходит с ума больше, чем ты. Отдаляясь от тебя немного, но с явным чувством вины. Но к��к бы ты не пыталась поговорить с ним об этом, Эймонд отнекивался из раза в раз. Он продолжал говорить о своей любви к тебе и уважении к твоему телу. Тебе ничего не остаётся как вестись на его ложь. Но и ему тоже. Если беременность стала для тебя поводом лишний раз понежится в постели, то и была поводом улизнуть от некоторых обязанностей или честных ответов.

— Просто я беременная женщина, твоего возраста, — произносишь ты. — Никто кроме тебя не будет воспринимать мои слова всерьёз, сколько бы языков я не знала и сколько бы книг не изучила. Алисента была там из-за нездоровья Визериса, а затем из-за его смерти и Эйгона. Там больше нет женщин. Я буду единственной. Они будут коситься на меня... — Ты можешь предположить как звучишь, но это лучше, чем сказать мужу, что ты не поддерживаешь его стремлений к трону и победе над истиной королевой. И частично твои слова правда, просто чужое мнение не сильно волнуют тебя, не на столько насколько подумает твой муж.

Эймонд задумывается, он что-то решает. Ты даже чувствуешь заинтересованность к предстоящим словам, не предполагая что услышишь. Скажет ли просто не переживать и не думать об этом, скажет что ты можешь не быть частью Малого совета или придумает что-то более извращённое и жестокое.

Твой муж снова приближается к тебе. Он гладит твою щёку, пока ты с ожиданием смотришь на него.

— Если они хоть слово скажут о своём недовольстве или не так на тебя посмотрят, я вскрою их животы. — Эймонд касается своими губами твоего лба, оставляя ласковый, нежный поцелуй и отстраняется. — Тебе не нужно ни о чём переживать, любовь моя.

Ты киваешь, немного нервно глотая, но что-то в тебе даже трепещет от такой привязанности своего мужа.

[noirrose21-blog]

Loving Care

Note ~ So I was sick with hay fever or a flu or allergy something. My nose is blocked, got a headache and practically on fire and with the heat (I live in Australia and it’s hot from December-February) and I thought of this. Enjoy! Also reader is female as it’s easier for me to write females TBH. I’ll try and venture into the gender neutral and male readers perspectives in the future but for now my sickfic.

Your head aches as if someone’s kicked it during the night. The notion of looking at the sunlight gleaming in irritates you. You wince and hide your eyes and face under your hand, little did you know your wince woke your husband, Aemond.

When you and Aemond had gotten married, people were talking about the poor girl marrying the one-eyed dragon with a short temper, but Aemond proved those tales wrong but getting to know the woman he was marrying. He was pleased to know you preferred reading as opposed to doing what other ladies did. They worried about what dress to wear, you worried about what book you could read next. The minute you were pronounced man and wife, he resisted the urge to take you in front of the High Septon and all the wedding guests. Thank gods his father agreed to no bedding ceremony,

Aemond was an attentive husband. He made sure you felt pleasure before preparing you for the main event of the bedding ceremony, he even believed you thought his scarred eye and eyepatch repulsive, only to feel warm when you instead stroked the scar and expressed that you swore that you’d love him, and that included the scarred eye and eyepatch. It was at that moment, Aemond decided to say those three magical words.

“I love you.”

Now, it’s 3 weeks after your wedding, and you’ve unknowingly awoken your beloved husband from his rest. He had been reading up on all politics, although he would inherit in the event of his older sister Rhaenyra, her sons by Harwin Strong and Daemon, Aegon and his twins little Jaehaerys and Jaehaera would all meet with a tragic end that would place Aemond on the Iron Throne.

As he loved Jaehaerys and Jaehaera as they were his niece and nephew by his sweet yet strange sister Helaena, he hoped they’d live long lives, as much as he hated Aegon, it was better than Rhaenyra, who had whored herself to Harwin Strong, cucking her husband, Ser Laenor Velaryon, and having three sons obviously not of Velaryon descent, as well as having children with her uncle Daemon who had lost his own wife Laena around the same time your Prince lost his eye.

Aemond opened his eye to see you, his precious woman, shielding yourself from the light. He pecked your cheek, alerting you to his presence

“Good morning, my love.” He spoke softly, brushing his fingers in your chest-length hair. It was one of many of Aemond’s touches that you loved and he knew it.

You replied quietly ���Hi. Did I wake you?”

He nodded sideways, feeling your forehead “My love, you’re burning up. I’ll summon the maester!”

And he did. The maester decided you simply had a fever and needed rest. Aemond, being the sweetest husband he could be for you, he asked the maester how best he can take care of you and practically mothered over you.

Blankets, coldest drinks, the best meals and even the the finest medicine was all given to you, his precious wife.

“Honey, you need to save some things for everyone else. I can’t use it all!” You giggled and sniffled.

Aemond shook his head “Yes I do. You are my wife, I made a vow before the gods, the people and my family to love and take care of you. I will not shirk my husbandly duty. You are the love of my life, my light in darkness, my world.”

Aemond picked up your hand and kissed the knuckles. You blushed, Aemond climbed into bed and held you against his chest. He grabbed a book from the side table and began to read a few pages aloud when you fell asleep. Soon he kissed you on your head as you both fell asleep.

As soon as you got better, Aemond got sick, and you thought it fair to help him recover the same way he helped you. Alicent applauded your dedication to nurse your husband back to help, and as soon as you were both back to good health, Aemond showed you how much he loved you.

Note ~ Sorry if this sucks.

[afictionalwhor3]

Our Little Family

Dad!Aemond has been in my head for weeks. I didn't even find him attractive during the show, and of course I came to Tumblr and they changed my mind. So here's a little blurb of soft dad!aemond content.

Word Count: 596

Warnings: None

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Aemond knew that he was supposed to want sons. They would carry on the family name, they could inherit your lands, and they could honor you in war. But as soon as he laid eyes on his little girl, with her silver hints of hair, he knew that this was the biggest blessing he could ever ask for.

"Okay but kepa, how come uncle Aegon said I can't hold a sword, but I almost hold it better than him," Viserra asks as she walks with her father through the halls of the Red Keep. He holds her small hand in his. Despite her young age, she questioned things grown ladies are afraid to say out loud.

"Well, one thing is you should never listen to anything uncle Aegon says," Aemond says making his daughter giggle. He gets down on one knee to make himself eye level with her. "And secondly, there are going to be a lot of people who say there are things you can't do just because you are a lady. And to that I say, they must not have a daughter as fierce as mine. Because my little dragon can do whatever she puts her mind to" He says kissing the top of her head.

"Look what I found," You smile your voice carrying down the hallway. The two of them look at you and Viserra runs in your direction. She laughs as her silver curls fly wildly behind her. You bend down and when she gets to you, you pick her up kissing all over her face.

"Muna!" She yells laughing and you laugh with her groaning at her weight. Aemond stands up and walks over slowly so he can watch you two. A rare smile takes over his face as he watches the two most important women in his life.

"I know you're excited but you can't yell my love. We talked about this," You say standing up and looking at her.

"Well kepa said that I can do anything I put my mind to," She says as you raise an eyebrow at Aemond when he finally reaches you.

"She took that out of context," He says as you glare at him and he sighs in defeat. You smile and kiss him with Viserra sticking her tongue out. It's your turn to glare at her and she smiles.

"Well, since you can in fact do whatever you put your mind to. Can you put your mind toward food? I'm sure thinking so hard takes a toll on such a little body" You say and she nods.

"Well, can kepa come?" She asks as you look at him skeptically. Aemond keeps a stoic look on his face as you hum,

"Yes. He may join us." You say with a smile and he kisses you resting his forehead on yours,

"Thank you, lady wife. I will forever be in debt to you. How can I ever repay you?" He asks looking at you.

"You already have," You say with a smile placing Aemond's hand on your stomach which would be getting significantly bigger soon. He looks at you his eyes wide and you nod your head holding back tears. Viserra rests her head on your shoulder ignorant of the information both her parents just learned. Aemond squeezes your waist and presses a searing kiss to your lips. He rests his chin atop your head overwhelmed with so many emotions. In this quiet hallway of the Red Keep, you enjoyed this intimate moment with your little family that was about to get a little bigger.

[sapphirehearteyes]

I need help finding an Aemond x reader fic!!

So in it I believe it’s an arranged marriage and I’m not sure if the marriage is consummated because Aemond is very nervous but come to find out Aegon is trying to help Aemond woo his wife (who’s unaware he’s in love with her) and Aemond is just besotted and kinda not doing so hot with the wooing….

Does anyone remember who wrote this/which story??

[barbieaemond]

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.

[entitled-fangirl]

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Back to Main Masterlist

Cregan Stark

Cregan Stark masterlist.

Robb Stark

A change of sigil.

Jace Velaryon

I won’t burn you. SMUT

I can't promise that.

Unknown.

Staying warm. SMUT

Aemond Targaryen

I hate you.

The middle of war. Part 2

Thunder.

Reading late.

Chance. Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

The crown.

Gwayne Hightower

Lady Hightower.

Cheeky. SMUT

Never happier.

A good father.

Benjicot Blackwood

Devotion.

Violence through his veins.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Pearl of The Realm | Sneak Peek

Story Warnings: arranged marriage, canon-typical sexism, smut, 18+, loss of virginity, oral sex (f receiving), fingering

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

A/N: This story has some wonderful art done by @aegonx which will be available to view alongside the full fic when HOTD Big Bang is in full swing 😙 in the meantime, enjoy the teaser!

He knew that he would eventually have to marry someone, but it did little to take the sting away from it. Often, while his mother talked at him, he looked down at his boots, shifting his weight from his right, to his left, and to his right, again, batting little thoughts in his head.  What his mother didn’t know is what those ladies at court said about him while they supposed his back was turned. That he was of a violent disposition with a quarrelsome temper, one wrong movement or something as simple as a word spoken out of turn and he would dare not speak to the person in question for however long he deemed fit. That women thought of him as incapable of feeling something as beautiful as love, or even affection, given the sullen look he always wore, with barely-contained anger lurking beneath and an unexpressed pride in his position.  Aemond would never show that such words would have any effect on him with earnest. Sometimes it is better to not say anything at all, he concluded. This method had so often proven successful, it seemed little use to him to stray from it now.  He merely hoped that this woman his mother spoke of with such respect, was not one of the ladies at court. 

Coming to @hotd-bigbang in November '23!

[cambion-companion]

can you do a pregnant!wife with aemond talking to her belly in valyrian (she doesn’t understand it, only some thing he has taught her) maybe to calm the baby ‘cause they’ve been kicking all day or something? you write so good btw!!! love to see you writting for aemond so soft ☺️🤍

Oh my gosh thank you guys so much!

I live for sweet father-to-be Aemond moments, especially after that last artwork I posted of him with his baby I'll never get over that.

And yes I paraphrased that line from Alys

Aemond x pregnant!reader | fluff | High Valyrian | peek into domestic life with dad Aemond

You smoothed your hands over your skirts, feeling the growing bump of your belly beneath your fingers. It was time to tell your husband.

"Aemond, are you in here?" Your feet had found their way by habit to the library, where Aemond often decompressed after a sword-training session.

"Is something the matter?" Aemond had already risen from his seat at one of the dusty tables, several scrolls of parchment spilling to the ground as he moved to take your hands in his own. "Why have you sought me out at such a late hour?"

You took a moment to bask selfishly in the light of his concerned violet eye, his prominent brow furrowing, those plush lips of his pressing downward as he scanned your features.

"I have something I wish to tell you." Hiding the way your lips twitched with a duck of your head, you sidestepped your husband and sat on a rickety wooden stool.

Aemond followed your movements with a turn of his head, the rest of his body remaining still. "What has happened? Your face looks pale. Is there someone who has wronged you, my wife? I will exact swift vengeance if need be."

You laughed softly, raising your hands out to him. "Nothing so drastic, my dragon." You hesitated a moment, waiting for Aemond to uproot himself from where he stood and take your hands again. "I am with child."

"Where?"

You tilted your head, a bemused huff escaping your parted lips. "Excuse me?"

"Where is the child?" Aemond looked searchingly around the darkened room.

You brought the palm of his hand to rest against your abdomen. "For a man of such intelligence you can be downright daft at times. It grows inside me, Aemond. I can feel its fires licking my womb."

Aemond's eye swiveled to your face where he held your gaze a long, breathless moment.

"You..." He seemed to be grasping for words that would not come as he sank slowly to his knees before you.

You nodded, tears pricking your vision, parting your knees, allowing Aemond to lean into you, pressing his ear against your swollen belly.

"Rūs zaldrīzes...īlvon." He murmured as you ran your fingers through his silken hair.

"Yes." You agreed, looking down at where he lay against your body. "Ours."

Aemond turned his head, kissing the fabric of your dress that draped over where your baby grew. "Ao issi nykeā zaldrīzes." He spoke reverently, his hands coming to cup your pregnancy bump. "Bōsa emagon īlon jeldan ao."

You listened to him speak in his mother tongue, enjoying yet not quite understanding. When Aemond looked up at you, his hands still placed reverently on your body, the look on his handsome face took your breath away.

"You will be a wonderful father, Aemond."

An unreadable expression flickered across his face. He rose to kiss your lips, pressing his chest flush against yours, feeling the curves of your body through his clothes.

The embrace quickly became heated, fingers tangled in hair as tongues and teeth nipped at delicate skin. You were glad the hour was late, and the library had long since been emptied of all other persons. Aemond had never been a patient man, and he would hear nothing of waiting to return to your bedchambers.

(Aemond Valyrian lines translated: "A hatchling. Ours." "You are a dragon. Long have we wanted you.")

[sapphire-writes]

Disobedience

pairing: Aemond x Wife!Reader request: Hello there! Would u mind doing aemond x wife! reader(the reader has the same attitude and personality as Anastasia Steele from fifty shades if that’s possible) where her husband, aemond punished the reader in his playroom (if possible tho) because she sneaked out to the city all by herself when aemond told her not to bc she could get herself in danger but she’s so stubborn and then her guards found out about it and told aemond straight away and bring her back to the castle and punished her. Pleaseee and thank you. LOVE LOVE LOVEE YOUR FICS BTW! ~ anon note: okay i took some creative liberties with this request but I hope you enjoy!! 💚 warnings: 18+ NSFW ~ spanking, oral (m-receiving) word count: 1.7k masterlist

“You did not have to inform him,” you say to Ser Criston Cole, a deep frown marring your face. Your husband Aemond stands with his back towards you in your shared chambers, as he leans over his desk. You can see the tense muscles of his back. He is angry with you. No.

He is furious. 

Ser Criston looks to the floor, clearly uncomfortable with the energy in the room between the couple.  

“Princess,” he begins, choosing his words carefully, “it was Prince Aemond’s wishes that he be informed of any of your…. indiscretions.”

You scoff, crossing your arms across your chest. Of course, your husband would be this dramatic. 

“Going to the clothier is an indiscretion now?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow at the knight. 

You had simply wished to see some new fabrics that had arrived at your favorite clothier in King’s Landing all the way from Myr. 

Ser Criston gives you a pained look.

“I am simply following order, princess,” he tells you, desperate to leave. 

“You may go, Cole,” Aemond says, his voice icy. He does not turn. Ser Criston gives you a bow before leaving you alone with your husband. 

Your eyelashes flutter furiously as you wait for your husband's wrath. In truth, you knew Aemond would not be pleased with your adventures into the streets of King’s Landing. But you had been so very careful, taking only one of your ladies in waiting with you to the clothier. But Cole had found you all the same. 

You had begged him not to tell Aemond of your journey, but of course, the knight did not follow your commands. 

“Husband,” you softly call, as Aemond remains still. You walk over to him and place a hand on his back. 

“You could have been killed,” Aemond says quietly, finally turning to face you, “or worse.”

You take a deep breath. You know Aemond’s fury comes from a place of dearest love and adoration. 

“I am fine,” you assure him, picking up his hand and placing it on your cheek. Aemond’s lips part as he lets his thumb caress your cheekbone.

“Do you know the horrid things men think of you when they see you in the streets?” Aemond tells you, bringing his other hand to cup your face. 

“I am braver than you believe,” you tell him, as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth.

“It is not about being brave, it is about following orders,” he tells you.

“From you?”

“Yes, me,” he says.

“I simply wished to see some new fabrics.”

“I shall bring any fabrics you require, here, to the castle.”

“I am not a bird Aemond, I do not belong in a cage.”

“It is my duty as your husband to keep you safe, why do you make it so difficult?”

“Aemond, come now-”

“Do not use that tone with me,” he says harshly, causing your breath to catch. The look in his eye has changed to something predatory and primal. 

“Do you think this can go about unpunished?” he says, violet eye boring into yours. You hate the way you squeeze your thighs together at his words. 

“Hmmm?” he asks, hands moving down to your neck. You lower your gaze.

“No,” you answer, as his grip tightens on the back of your neck.

“No what?” 

“No sir.”

“I agree,” he tells you, leading you towards the chair before releasing his grip from you and sitting down.

“Take off your stockings,” he says, bringing a finger to his lips, and running it over his enticing pout. 

You know you should not keep him waiting, that would only prolong your punishment. You do what he asks. 

“And your small clothes.” 

You do this as well, clothes hitting the floor. Your cheeks are burning as you feel bare beneath your skirts. 

“Over my knee,” he says, motioning for you. You stand before him, wide-eyed.

“Aemond-”

“I do not wish to repeat myself,” he snaps.

You lay across his lap and feel the Aemond move the fabric of your skirts to reveal your arse to him. He squeezes the soft flesh of your bottom, causing you to gasp. 

“Do you remember your High Valyrian?” he asks, still squeezing and massaging the flesh. 

Your face grows hot. Aemond had been teaching you certain phrases, some numbers. It was not something that was very easy to pick up.

“Some, I suppose,” you tell him, clenching your thighs together. He hums at this.

“I shall make you a deal,” he croons, hands splaying over your arse, “if you can continue to count in High Valyrian during your punishment, I shall grant you your release.”

Your heart beats erratically in your chest. You could do this. Not so hard. After all, Aemond is a very good teacher.

“Yes sir,” you tell him, and he brings a hand down hard, delivering a stinging slap to your cheek. 

“Skoros iksos bona?” he asks. What is that?

“Mēre” you answer immediately and he hums with approval 

You nearly make it, answering after each slap. Feeling yourself grow wetter with each strike against your soft cheeks. You bite your lip, sharp cries leaving your lips and tears leaking down your face. 

Seven hells. What was eleven? 

Your brow furrows, and nearly cry out with frustration as you feel Aemond’s fingers slip between your soaking folds. He gives you no relief, just tantalizing strokes with his long fingers grazing against your sensitive pearl. 

“Hembar?” he asks, amusement evident in his voice. Next?

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying, as he delivers another harsh slap to your behind. 

“Gōntan ao ojughagon ūñagon?” he questions, delivering another slap. Did you lose count?

You let out a whimper, convulsing with his next slap. Unconsciously your thighs clench together, until you feel Aemond’s hand move between them, forcing them apart. 

“Such a naughty girl,” he purrs, in the common tongue, hands splayed on your aching ass. Aemond moves one to your hair, pulling your lolling head up. 

“How did I manage to have such a wicked wife?” he taunts, your back arching as he tightens his grip. 

“I am so good to you,” he murmurs, lips near your ear, “I even offer you a chance for release, after being so irresponsible. Do you think you deserve the mercy I grant you?”

A breathy moan escapes your lips. You can feel the sharp curve of his nose press into the sensitive spot below your ear, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine. 

“I’ll be good,” you whimper, fingers clutching the hard muscle of his thigh, “please Aemond I’ll be good.”

Aemond hums against you. 

“Show me,” he commands, harshly releasing you. You pull your body from his lap, sinking to your knees in front of him. You can see how hard he is, straining through his leathers due to the punishment he awarded you. But you are still being punished. You look up at him through your lashes, eyes watery. 

Your husband’s gaze is hungry, and he takes his bottom lip between his teeth as you undo his laces with shaky hands. His cock never fails to impress you, no matter how many times you have seen it by now. How it slaps against his stomach whenever it is released, the vein underneath pulsating with every breath Aemond takes. 

“Go on then,” Aemond encourages, and you wrap your hand around him. Aemond hisses at the contact, as you swipe the precum that gathers on the tip before placing him inside your mouth. 

You hum with satisfaction as Aemond jerks his hips, ramming his thick cock down your throat. You bob your head up and down his shaft, hollowing your cheeks as he tangles a hand in your hair. 

You release him with a pop, running your hand along him, before using your tongue to caress the vein that runs up him all the way to the tip. You flatten your tongue along the slit, the salty taste of him making you drunk with need. You press your thighs together, taking him fully in your mouth once more, saliva dripping off of your chin.

“Look at you,” Aemond coos, as you meet his violet eye. His lips are parted, cheeks flushed. 

You hum again, bringing your hand to fondle his balls. You know he loves it when you give him this attention and you are rewarded for your efforts with a moan from the one-eyed prince. 

The sounds in the room are lewd and wet as you gag on his length. You move your head furiously, as tears leak from your eyes as he nudges the back of your throat. 

You can feel his cock pulsating in your mouth and know he’s close. Aemond drops his head back, his seeing-eye scrunched shut as he releases into your mouth. You suck him down greedily, eager to please. 

Aemond’s moan turns into a rough hum as he strokes your head while you release his softening cock. Only then does he open his eye, looking at you moving his hand under your chin. You swallow, knowing what he’s waiting for, and open your mouth presenting your clean tongue to him. 

He gives you a proud half-smile, using his free hand to replace his cock back in his trousers before standing. You remain on your knees in front of him, his hand still firmly on your chin forcing you to look up at him. 

“There’s my good girl,” he says affectionately, his rough voice washing over you like a sensual caress. Aemond tugs on your lip, before letting his hand drop from your face completely, striding towards the door. Your eyes widen with confusion. 

“Aemond-”

“Hm?” he says, turning on his heel. Your lips open and close, a small whimper escaping your lips. The ache between your thighs matches that of your stinging backside. 

Your husband tilts his head to the side.

“You didn’t think I would give you release after all that?” he asks, clicking his tongue. A dark chuckle leaves him and you feel your lower lip begin to tremble.

“No, my dear wife, I am afraid not.”

You pout, as hot tears run down your cheeks. You know better than to fight him unless you want a repeat of your punishment. You look away from him instead, towards the floor. 

Aemond watches as you pout at the floor, a defeated expression on your face and the muscles in your back relaxing. Something primal comes alive within him when he finally has you in submission. 

“Do not cry too much, my love,” Aemond calls, opening the door. 

“There is always tonight.”

note: hope you enjoyed! also absolutely living for the three requests I get the most for Aemond: soft, smut, or angst literally love all you readers so much 😂💚

[xxnymeriatargaryenxx]

being aemond’s wife consists of sitting on his lap and stroking his hair while he comes up with battle strategies 💜

also — the way this chair is designed is kinda perfect for riding him…. dont you think?

[peachysunrize]

Owned ⥃ Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen

Summary: After nearly following Silverwing to Dragonstone mindlessly, Aemond comes back to the keep to posses you, his Queen once more.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! A tad bit dark!Aemond! There is noooooo plot, brainless smut, absolute filth and dirt and fucking, rough Aemond, possessive Aemond, READER IS AEGON’S WIFE!! public sex! Balcony sex inspired by Aemond’s scene s2e7, breeding, no prep, Aemond is mad and angry, very very rough sex, please tell me if I’ve missed something! English isn’t my first language<33

Word count: 1.5k

My other works

A/n: no words. No plot full of porn. Enjoy my freaky folks! Thank you @thekinslayed for feeding my delusions🤭 Reblogs & comments are appreciated🩷 also not a word is beta-ed.

You watch the buzzing city silently from the council room’s balcony, sighing when the large shadow of Vhagar looms over the sight, her screech cutting through the air with force. You can feel the restlessness in her, it must be Aemond who is raging from inside as he guides her outside the city towards the hill where she rests most of the time. 

You look down at the castle’s grounds; the chill in the air has become a nuisance for the gardeners, bringing the flowers to their deaths faster than expected, just like how the infection spreads through your husband’s body.

With another sigh, you look at the hill Vhagar lands on, the ground shaking beneath her heavy weight. You know it will be some time until Aemond arrives at the castle, but the idea of him being enraged with how a dragon was claimed and the Blacks now have the upper hand makes you worried; you do not know how to calm the wild dragon within him.

You wait until you crane your neck and see him returning on the horse, barging through the castle gates before he jumps down from the saddle, taking long strides towards the entrance with fury bursting through his veins.

Fiddling with your hand, you hear his rushed footsteps approaching the council room, each step has your heart racing — with what? You do not know, or you do not wish to acknowledge it. After all, this silly little affair that the council has bestowed on you to produce an heir has turned into something more, or at least the numbers you have warmed each other’s beds cannot be counted with fingers anymore.

Your head snaps towards the direction of the door, watching as Aemond walks past the guards, ordering them to go out with bark in his tone, fists clenching and unclenching as he tries to keep his anger at bay, but ultimately fails, and the next thing you know is the heavy chair of the council is being thrown and Aemond slams his fists on the table, groaning in anger and frustration.

“They have more dragons,” he whispers, but you hear the sound of his rough breathing, “they can end this war if I do nothing!”

“My prince, you should—“

“I should what?” He looks up from the marble table, glaring at you with his good eye, “Listen to your advice? Letting my council run the realm while I do fucking nothing?”

“Maybe you ought to put your arrogance aside for once—“

Aemond walks towards you on the balcony, his face hardening as he grabs your jaw tightly, smirking as he sees your lips quivering not in fear, but more in determination to show you are more than what the council wants you to be. And with your pretty thighs rubbing together, he knows how every minor actor of his has you putty in his hands.

“My arrogance, My Queen, is the only reason the walls of this castle haven’t fallen yet,” he leans down, his nose brushing against yours roughly as he whispers against your lips, “Not everyone can sit prettily in a gown and wait for her prince regent to come and fuck an heir inside her.”

“Your arrogance and bruised ego are why they have more dragons than us. You could have kept your ambitions from blinding you at Rook’s Rest, maybe then, our King would be able to fight with you at the battlefield—“ you are cut off by a gasp as he turns you around and bends you over the balcony stones harshly.

Your chest comes in contact with the cold stone and you slap your hand on your mouth as a loud moan erupts from your lips when Aemond presses his entire body to your backside, feeling the hard bulge in his pants rubbing against your covered thigh.

“My ambitions are why your filthy inappropriate fantasies have come to life,” he leans over you, his teeth finding their way to the sensitive skin of your neck, sinking into the flesh without a single thought, “did you not tell me you wish it was me taking you every night instead of my brother? Yes, yes, it was you. Just as it is you who will take my cock until my seed has taken root, and my babe — our future King —  licks at your womb.”

You bite down on your fingers hard, grinding your hips back into his crotch as soon as he pushes the layers of your gown up to your waist, chuckling when he sees you shivering the moment your bare heated sex is exposed to the open air.

“We should not be doing this here! What if someone hears?” You ask Aemond, throwing your head back when he swipes his fingers through your wetness, humming before he reaches for the loops of his belt, pulling his pants and breeches down before he grabs his cock, stroking it a few times to full hardness.

“Let them hear, let them hear their queen doing her duty. There is no better way to show them how the heir to the throne was conceived,” he replies, one hand bracing himself on your shoulder blades to keep you completely bent over and unable to move while the other lines up his thick leaking head with your entrance before he enters you swiftly with one smooth stroke.

“Aemond!” You cry out, your fingers falling from your lips as he sets his pace, fucking you recklessly and with abandon, not caring if anyone hears you, or better, sees you. 

“Yes, My Queen? Already screaming my name? I almost pity my brother, almost. Gods know if you have not screamed “Aemond”  in his ears,” he smirks to himself when you grab the edge of the stone, your body moving with each thrust.

“Fuck, fuck—“

“Yes, that’s right—“ he groans, his hand gripping your hip tightly, “you were always mine, fucking mine. Even when you shared his bed, you were thinking of me, wishing and praying that one day you will be owned by me.”

“Yes, My Prince, yes!” You moan, not thinking if anyone would hear you, it did not matter anyway since the words of your affair and marital activities have reached the whores of the Flea Bottom.

“Oh, sweet Queen of mine, I have possessed you; first with words, now with my cock. We only need a babe to seal our bond,” he reaches around your body, finding your pearl in seconds as he starts rubbing quick circles on the nerves, making you arch your back and meet his thrusts as best as possible.

You can only nod at his words, truly succumbing to his and your desires once and for all, the pleasure only adding to his determination to fuck you, and you to show your devotion to him.

“They have more dragons, I have a cunt worth dying for. I guess I shall win this war.”

Suddenly, the doors to the council room open, and the cupbearer drops the jar of wine on the floor when he sees the two of you on the balcony, you moaning and Aemond fucking you. 

The sound catches Aemond’s attention immediately, pulling out of you slowly before he waltzes towards the balcony doors, looking the man dead in the eyes and cock out before he demands; “Out, now,” and slams the doors shut.

He comes back, his fingers wrapping around his dick before he sees you straightening your back a little. He has no time for silly little games, his balls are aching and the image of your swollen cunt is too much for him to let you go and find a better place to resume your activities.

“Aemond—“

“Hush you,” he pushes you back down, bending you over once more before he thrusts his cock back into your welcoming cunt, groaning in sync with your shriek as your warmth envelops his length, “just take it, yes, take it. No one can stop me from taking what’s mine. I will fuck you day and night for fortnights to come, I will have you, mark you as mine until everyone smells me on you.”

Even the idea of it has you shaking and trembling as your peak hits you hard and fast, the pleasure rushing through your veins as you gush around his cock. Hands bracing your body on the stones, you cry out his name, drawing Aemond closer to his high.

He follows not long after, grabbing your waist with both hands before he hammers himself into you roughly, stilling his hips harshly against yours, caging your body between his and the balcony stones as he empties his balls inside you, ropes of his cum painting your inside while he throws his head back, chest rising and falling rapidly.

There is no doubt in your head anymore, that Aemond has possessed you in more than one way, more than one place. After all, he will go to war barehanded if he can come back home to you and your heavenly cunt.

[hoteldreamss]

Aemond Targaryen || imagine

предыдущие 1 часть и 2 часть (не обязательны к прочтению для понимания этой части)

Метки: ревность

Слов: 1 255

Зал Харренхолла большой и переполнен всеми людьми, которых смогли загнать в него люди Эймонда. Вся прислуга, малые лорды, леди и другие люди обитающие здесь, теперь стоят перед небольшим подиумом, где стоит трон, который гордо занял Эймонд Таргариен. Они дрожат от страха. По приказу Эймонда, армия уже расправилась с некоторыми протестующими. Кровавые следы до сих пор остались на сером каменном полу.

— Следующий, — произносит Эймонд, сидя на троне.

Ты сидишь рядом, на подлокотнике, к счастью широком и поразительно удобном. Твой взгляд внимательный, пронзительный. Ты не одобряешь кровавые методы своего мужа, но ты знаешь, что перечить ему при людях будет глупо.

— Имя. — Кристиан останавливает темноволосую женщину с не самыми миловидными чертами лица. Он выставляет меч, не позволяя ей подойти ближе.

— Элис Риверс, — произносит она, слегка задрав подбородок, так будто все знают это имя и должны удивиться её присутствию.

Но ни ты, ни Эймонд не поражены. На ваших лицах те же эмоции.

Молчание, повисшее в комнате, заставляет женщину продолжить.

— Я могу быть полезна тебе, мой господин. У меня есть дар, который ты сможешь использовать.

— Какой дар?

— Я обладаю предвидением. Думаю, вы могли слышать о том, что я ведьма. Слухи не врут.

Ты внимательно смотришь на неё. Это то, что мелькает в её взгляде, и ты понимаешь, как что-то сковывает твою грудь. Она заставляет неприятное чувство поселиться внутри тебя.

— Прояви себя. Докажи свои таланты, — произносишь ты, кажется впервые что-то говоришь за всё это время.

— Я могу сделать это в более приватной обстановке.

— Почему не здесь? — интересуешься ты, моментально.

— Боюсь, вам могут не понравиться мои слова.

— Мне или принцу?

— Вам двоим.

Ты пожимаешь плечами, оглядываясь на своего мужа. Он встречается с тобой взглядом. Эймонд заинтересован, конечно, его сестра обладает даром, которым все пренебрегают, кроме него. Поэтому он склонен верить женщине перед вами.

— Думаю мы переживём, — произносишь ты, и переводишь взгляд на Элис.

— Показывай, — приказ Эймонда откатается от стен, эхом разносясь по залу. Элис понимает, что у неё нет выбора.

Она смотрит на Кристиана, в немом свете жесте интересуясь можно ли пройти.

— Могу я подойти ближе? — интересуется ведьма, когда Коуль не отвечает.

— Да. — Даёт своё разрешение Эймонд.

Она ступает по каменным ступеням, всего две, и она приближается прямо к тебе. Эймонд не отрываясь следит за темноволосой женщиной, боясь, что та может что-то проявить, навредив тебе. Ты также насторожена, но стараешься не показывать этого. Твоя прямая спина и благородный, гордый вид заставляет понять всех присутствующих, что ты не просто жена будущего короля.

Элис осматривает тебя, твой не длинный, застёганный плащ намного удобнее платьев, большинство из которых ты оставила в Красном замке, твоя обувь виднеется из под него, на шее красуется ожерелье с несколькими синими сапфирами блестящими даже в небольшом свете мрачных Речных земель.

— Ты не получишь, того чего боишься. Тебе не придётся отдавать жизнь за продолжение себя и твоей любви.

Ты хмуришься, не совсем веря в слова женщины перед тобой. Но тебе не нужно больше слов, чтобы понять, о чём сказала Элис.

— Скажи лучше, то что я могу опровергнуть или подтвердить, — ты кидаешь ей вызов.

Элис вздыхает, заглядывает в твои глаза. Но затем она переводит взгляд на Эймонда, кажется что-то решая в своей голове. Он не выглядит заинтересованным, ему наскучил этот театр, это пустая трата времени. Даже если эта женщина ведьма, единственное, что она сделала, это вызвала раздражение. Она медлит и это действует на нервы.

— Ты так часто предавал своих близких, что Боги однажды ответят тебе тем же, заставив самого близкого человека вонзить клинок в твоё сердце.

Ты хмуришься, услышав слова Элис, смотришь на Эймонда, затем снова на ведьму, переведя взгляд с одного на другого в ожидании хоть какой-то реакции. Твой муж выглядит слегка испуганным, но это быстро исчезает. Только ты замечаешь холод прошедший по его душе. Он приказывает Кристиану отвести Элис в одни из покоев и держать под стражей.

Ты прикусываешь язык, злость и гнев переполняют тебя. Тебе уже хочется перерезать глотку этой ведьме, выдернуть её язык и скормить бездомным псам, но ты лишь опускаешь взгляд, чувствуя, как Эймонд смотрит на тебя слишком долго.

***

— Что ты собираешься с ней делать? — ты поспеваешь за своим мужем, идя по тёмным коридорам Харренхолла.

Он выглядит уверенным, но ты чувствуешь его взволнованность, и на мгновение ты думаешь что он раздражён, может быть из-за тебя, учитывая как долго он отвечает на твой вопрос.

— Проверить насколько сильны её способности.

Ты хмуришься и обгоняешь Эймонда. Тебе не нравится его рвение. И уж тем более ты не хочешь быть его громоотводом. Встав перед Эймондом, ты заставляешь его остановиться �� лёгком недоумении.

— Засунешь в неё свой член, я отрежу тебе яйца и ты больше никогда не увидишь меня.

Эймонд хмыкает, он на самом деле верит, что ты сделала бы подобное. И он подмечает, что у тебя есть небольшая фиксация касаемо его яиц. Это странным образом немного пробуждает его возбуждение. И сегодня ночью он удовлетворит это с тобой.

— Ты знаешь о чём она сказала тебе?

— Нет. — Ты настолько быстро отвечаешь, что заставляешь подозрение охватить его разум.

Молчание повисшее между вами нервирует тебя. Оно затягивается.

— Я слышала, что она тебе сказала, и если между нами есть что-то хорошее, что хотя бы близко подходит под понятие любви, то я под твоим подозрением. Но я никогда бы не предала тебя. Я бы ушла, если бы ты обидел меня, но я не сделала бы ничего похожего на предательство.

Эймонд склоняется к тебе. Он хватает тебя за волосы сзади, у самых корней, это не грубо, не слишком, но этого достаточно, чтобы лишь немного напугать тебя.

Его губы накрывают твои, в жадном поцелуе, воруя твой воздух и отдавая свой. Ты с желанием отвечаешь ему, наслаждаясь его вниманием. Оторвавшись от тебя, Эймонд прижимается своим лбом к твоему. Он прикрыл свой глаз, но ты смотришь на него, не совсем понимая, что твой муж сделает дальше.

— Она сказала правду про тебя, — произносит Эймонд. — Ты боишься родить, поэтому до сих пор не беременна? Кто-то носил тебе лунный чай?

Тебя будто бы окатывает холодной водой. Это неприятно, но это должно было бы вылезти. Сначала ты не собиралась этого скрывать, но Эймонд всё равно так и не узнал, теперь же ты скрывала это, зная, что твой муж желает наследника.

— Моя мать скончалась родив меня, Эймонд. Я слышала, как мой отец говорил, какая она слабая, какая неспособная сделать элементарных вещей для женщины. Как ты думаешь, что я буду испытывать, когда единственной желаниям ко мне от моего мужа является осеменить меня. Как только я забеременею, ты оставишь меня, сначала под предлогом заботы обо мне и ребёнке, а затем в открытую будешь говорить, как я тебя не привлекаю.

Ты смотришь на Эймонда слегка влажными глазами. Он никогда не думал, что нужен тебе на самом деле. Ты его жена, навязанная ему политикой, долгом, он знает, в каком вы положение. Но ваше время вместе заставило его поверить во что-то большее между вами. Вы открывались друг другу, медленно, постепенно, попутно наслаждаясь вашей близостью. Думала ли ты, что он так расположен к тебе из-за желания получить наследника? Эймонд не знает.

Он кладёт ладони на твои щёки, заглядывая в твои грустные и немного напуганные глаза.

— После того, как я выиграю войну, мы позаботимся о наследниках. Хорошо?

Ты киваешь и с твоих губ чуть не слетает «я люблю тебя», но ты вовремя прикусываешь язык. Тянешься к губам Эймонда и целуешь его, передавая всю свою благодарность.

Тебе не известно, принял ли он слова ведьмы за правду, думает ли он, что она просто хотела запудрить вам мозги ради собственной выгоды или он грешит на кого-то другого, а не на тебя. Может быть он уже насторожен с тобой, и если ты не будешь носить его ребёнка и оступишься, он знает, что ему будет легче разобраться с тобой. Эймонд не хочет потерять тебя, и надеется, что не придётся.

Вы направляетесь в покои, где должна быть заперта Элис.