#stanni

[haleskaja]

My finished GHØSTKID zine, ready for duplication!!

Gonna hand a bunch of em out at their gig in my city this autumn!

[samo-nkey]

Stupid stupid doodle inspired by my disc convos

And Stanny Fresh.

[randomdragonfires]

I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife. 

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age. 

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved. 

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love. 

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens. 

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation  clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did. 

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to. 

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. 

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought. 

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband? 

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance… 

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him. 

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them. 

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was. 

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her. 

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get.  Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately. 

How she wished it was her. 

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals.  Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?”  she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?” 

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now. 

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut. 

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger,  it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face. 

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him. 

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these,  he needed a champion too. 

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife. 

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor. 

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit. 

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife. 

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right. 

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron. 

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive. 

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him? 

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there. 

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked. 

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.  

Oh yes, their marriage had grown. 

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either. 

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige. 

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do. 

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own. 

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened. 

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place  a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.” 

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care. 

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears. 

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into. 

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up. 

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?” 

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.” 

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full. 

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind. 

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips. 

“Thank you, for everything.” 

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did. 

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago. 

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria. 

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries. 

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said. 

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored. 

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself. 

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim. 

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such  reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed. 

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally. 

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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MASTERLIST

[lmaowh-at]

Catelyn heard someone snigger behind her. She loves him, poor thing, she thought sadly. She'd play his squire just to touch him, and never care how great a fool they think her... (and some other things)

[drunk-person]

The Promises We Make

Pairing: King!Aemond Targaryen x lover!reader

Summary: She was supposed to be his. Not that filthy bastard. He knew her first. He loved her first. Only to they give her hand in marriage to Jacaerys Velaryon. But now the war is won, and as the new king Aemond can have whatever he wants, and he wants her. He wants to fulfill the promise he made to her outside the sept all those years ago.

WARNING: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, forced voyeurism, consensual exhibitionism, fingering, oral sex F and M receiving, anal sex (very little, but it's there), possessive sex, dom/sub tones if you squint, mentions of murder, Aemond murdering more kin, bastardophobia, Jacaerysphobia, no description for reader.

Word cont: 4.800k

A/n: My little contribution to Halloween "very evil laugh here". To my Aemond wives: This is basically the dirtiest, slightly darkest thing I've ever written, I'm blushing as I post it. Let's go!

Before

The sept was full of people to watch Prince Jacaerys' wedding, he waited anxiously next to the septon for the bride's arrival while slightly moving his hands.

The door opened and Lady Y/n walked in, at the same moment everyone turned to look at her. Y/n smiled beautifully as she struggled to walk down the hallway, feeling her legs still wobbly and slightly damp.

Her eyes burned as they met Jacaerys' and her smile grew even wider. Her steps became more confident, and when she reached the end of the walk, she stopped in front of the septon, still with that smile on her face.

Jacaerys watched her, visibly confused. They had met about three moons ago and the wedding had been arranged. Until then, he hadn't thought she was so eager to get married, since she barely spoke to him usually. But there she was, eager to marry him.

Interlude

Things had never been so bad. His mother and brothers had perished, and from what he could tell Daemon had also found the stranger, only he was left, the last one to survive. Jacaerys did not know if this was a gift or a punishment.

He could have fled, gone to the free cities and been free now. But he was no coward, he was a Targaryen and would not back down. But courage did not help him much when his uncle's men captured him and brought him to the black cells of the red keep.

Aemond Targaryen. Not content with the title of kinslayer after murdering Luke, he sought even deeper immoralities.

He murdered one by one all the ratcatchers at Aegon's command while they begged for their lives. He killed Rhaenys and exposed the charred remains of the queen who never be, to the kingdom after her victory. He personally beheaded each of the remaining ones who swore fealty to Rhaenyra. He burned the riverlands until only ashes remained on the ground without caring if there were innocents there. He personally exterminated House Strong from end to end, sparing no nobles or bastards, women or children.

At the end of the war, when everything seemed lost, he guided his uncle, Daemon Targaryen, into a trap. From what little was known, Aemond Targaryen lured him to Harrenhall Castle, where, separated from Caraxes, he ambushed him in a dark corridor and before the Rogue Prince knew what was happening, he was dead.

And now with the death of Aegon, who had finally succumbed to his wounds and died shortly after murdering Rhaenyra. Aemond had lost his title of one-eyed prince and kinslayer in favor of a new one.

King Aemond Targaryen, the cruel.

Now

The cell was opened with a loud noise and Jacaerys turned to see two guards enter the cell and drag him out without further explanation. And he just followed them without question, but he began to frown when he noticed that he was being taken to the bedroom wing of the fortress.

-Where are you taking me? - He asked, but received no answer.

The guards took him to one of the rooms, tied him to a chair with a thick rope, and without saying a word to him, left him there alone.

A little while later, the door opened behind Jacaerys, who felt the back of his neck shiver. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and suddenly all sounds seemed to become quieter. There was no need to look back to know who had entered the room.

A low murmur left no doubt, Aemond had ordered him to be taken there.

-Enjoying your stay, my Lord Strong? - He asked in that cynical and cruel voice that made Jacaerys's blood boil in his veins.

-Velaryon. - He growled through his teeth, and Aemond just hummed as he gently curved his lips.

-No, it isn't. And we both know that. But now I don't need to pretend that you're nothing more than a bastard dressed as a prince walking around the court. - Aemond had a deadly voice as he spoke.

-What are you going to do? Murder me tied up like the coward that you are? Just like you did with Luke?

Aemond laughed as if Jacaerys was telling a joke.

-Please don't try to boost your own ego, we both also know that you wouldn't last even a breath in combat against me. - When he finished, Aemond was serious again.

-I'm not going to kill you, at least not yet. - His cruel voice sounded through the room.

-So what do you want from me? - Jacaerys glared at him angrily. - If you expect me to bend the knee, forget it, I will never do it.

-I don't need bastards to bend the knee to me, their false loyalty doesn't represent any value to me. I'm already the king. - He walked while mocking Jacaerys.

-But there are certain things that need to be put in their proper place. There are some promises I made that need to be kept because after all I am a man of my word.

Jacaerys did not understand a word of what Aemond was saying, and came to think that he had finally lost his mind. Until then there was a knock on the door and he said the words that changed everything.

-Come in, my dear.

The door opened and then closed behind him, soft footsteps sounded against the floor and to Jacaerys's horror when the person finally entered his field of vision he discovered that the one who had come through the door was Y/n, his Y/n. He clenched his fists, locking his jaw, trying to free himself from the chair. Aemond approached her and passed the back of his right hand gently across her face as she closed her eyes.

-Get away from her. - Jacaerys shouted in fury.

-I could. - Aemond just laughed as he addressed him again. - If she wanted me to stay away.

-She never wanted you, my dear bastard. It was always me. - Aemond's mocking smile almost tore his cheeks as he caressed Y/n's neck with his fingertips, his stomach tingling with contentment as he saw her sweet, soft skin shivering with his touch.

-Lie. - Jacaerys practically shouted as he stared at Aemond with cold eyes.

-I'm going to show you the lie. - The king said, suddenly becoming very serious, his eyes flashing in the direction of his bastard nephew.

-Take off your clothes. - He ordered Y/n who hesitated for a second because she was in front of Jacaerys.

-Aemond… - She blushed visibly looking at his hands.

-I said take off your clothes. - He murmured the order very seriously as he gently caressed her chin.

She then obeyed, and looking only at Aemond she removed them piece by piece little by little, becoming completely naked. The look of pure desire he gave her made her press her thighs together tightly as she bit her lip, momentarily forgetting that Jace was in the room.

-Come here, my love. - He called her, extending his hand and Y/n immediately went to meet him eagerly.

-Always so obedient to me. - He said, stroking her hair as she practically rubbed her head against his hand.

Jacaerys watched this without reacting. Y/n had never obeyed him, she seemed like a wild horse. She wouldn't let him touch her, she was never willing to sleep with him, she was cold and cruel no matter what he tried, the few times they lay together she hadn't even moved in bed, or completely removed her clothes, seeming to do nothing. the slightest matter of being there. And now here she was obediently naked before Aemond as she melted into his touches.

Aemond moved his hands down to her nipples and squeezed them languidly, making her open her mouth in a soft moan, while she leaned towards him, silently begging for more. He then brought his mouth to her left nipple, sucking and kissing it, making her moan softly for him as he caressed his hair, pulling his mouth closer and closer to her.

The king then brought his right hand to the top of Y/n's thighs and smiled mischievously against the flesh of her breast, still with the nipple between his teeth, as he felt the moisture that was there.

-Always so wet for me.

He then had an idea. And releasing Y/n, causing her to let out a groan of frustration, he positioned a chair in front of Jacaerys a short distance away.

-Sit here, my dear. - He waved his hand, and Y/n, even hesitantly, did so.

-Now I want you to open your beautiful legs for me, and rest them on the chair. - He spoke in that soft voice and Y/n felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair for doing that in front of Jacaery, but she did it anyway.

Aemond stopped behind her and slowly ran his hand down Y/n's body, caressing her breasts, her belly until he reached where he wanted. And then he opened the lips of her pussy, exposing her to Jace. The wetness dripped from inside her uncontrollably, wet like Jace had never seen.

Aemond smiled mischievously as he gently caressed her folds, spreading more and more of the fluids that ran from her pussy, making her moan and gasp.

-Just look at her, Jacaerys. - He said maliciously. - Melting for me, so wet.

-Has she ever wet herself like this for you? - He said, slapping Y/n's pearl, making her scream as she threw her head back.

-That's enough! - Jacaerys shouted, fuming with rage at seeing his wife in that situation.

Aemond just laughed darkly as he inserted two fingers into Y/n's intimacy, who threw her head back in pleasure with the movements he made.

-Oh my dear Lord Strong, this will only end when I have fucked each of her delicious holes in front of you and taught you how a lady likes to be treated.

As he said that, he squeezed that spongy spot inside Y/n, making her beg for his name in pure desperation. Her moist flesh pressed against Aemond's fingers, begging for more contact, begging to be filled.

-Always making such sweet sounds for me, sweet girl. - Aemond whispered close to her ear, making Y/n gasp squeezing the back of the chair with that voice sounding so close.

With an almost evil smile, gently licking his lips, Aemond turned around, lowering himself between her legs in front of the chair and without warning, pulling her by the thighs, leaving her wet and warm pussy very close to his face.

-Raise your hips a little for me, my dear. - He asked in a firm voice and she did it at the same moment, needing his care more than ever. - Good girl.

Without waiting another second, the king took her moist folds into his mouth, tasting her with desire, eliciting screams and gasps from her lips, which for Aemond were as sweet as that pussy.

-Oh Aemond… - She sighed his name between degrading moans of pleasure as he sucked her pearl and played with her using his tongue, while his long fingers hit that specific spot inside her that made her scream every time. - More, please, more.

Aemond laughed in pure malice against her, making her feel even more pleasure, her soft walls contracting against his fingers as her whole body began to spasm slightly, Y/n's moans became louder and more debauched as she tangled her hands in Aemond's silver hair, practically rubbing herself against his face as ecstasy took over her body, screaming the king's name in desperation as she reached her peak and collapsed against the chair, feeling boneless. The body giving slight spasms as Aemond teased her sensitive pearl with the tip of his tongue even after the intense orgasm.

-Who do you belong to? - Came the firm question in Aemond's laconic voice as he held her by the hair to face him, now standing in front of the chair.

-To you, my king. - She sighed, staring at him.

-Then get on your knees for me like the good girl I know you are! - He growled, still holding her by the hair, making Y/n moan with contentment as she got up from the chair with her legs still slightly shaking.

As she stood up, she caught a glimpse of Jacaerys again, momentarily even forgetting that he was there, and with a mischievous smile she knelt in front of the chair where Aemond was now sitting.

-You know what to do, Issa jorrāelagon. (My love). - He murmured with a sickly side smile to Jacaerys who was about to vomit, while delicately stroking Y/n's locks of hair.

-Yes, my king. - She sighed, nodding eagerly. Without needing to hear anything else, she guided her hands to the laces of Aemond's pants, pulling them avidly, overcome by the desire to please him too.

Her hungry eyes shone as she finally placed them on Aemond's already hard and leaking cock, caressing his hardness with a lewd smile on her lips. Y/n ran her soft hands all over his length, from the base to the tip, leaving a gentle caress with the tip of her thumb on the slit from where that pearly liquid slowly flowed.

With an even bigger smile when she heard the king grunt softly, she finally brought her lips to the tip of his cock, slowly sucking only that part until her cheeks sank, moaning at the same time as he felt the strong taste of his pre-cum on the tip of his tongue.

Breathing deeply through her nose, she lowered her lips as far as she could, sucking and licking him with praise. Taking her mouth off and taking a breath, she only lowered her lips to his balls and kissed and sucked them hard while she moved her hand back and forth on his member, eliciting grunts and gasps from his trembling lips. Without warning, she lowered her lips once more to his cock, making him growl and tangle his hands in her wild hair.

-I'll fuck your mouth. - He growled, giving the first thrust against her lips and Y/n did her best to nod, feeling her eyes water. Aemond grunted lightly with his hands tangled in Y/n's voluminous hair while she sucked his cock hard, kneeling between his legs more like a whore than a lady.

-That's enough. - He growled, feeling his body tremble slightly with agonizing pleasure on the edge of the abyss, making Y/n remove her mouth from his cock and look at him with those doe eyes shining with tears, as if she hadn't just sucked him like a whore, her lips still full of saliva and pre-cum.

-Come here, sweet girl. - He pulled her to sit on his lap with a sideways smile, leaving a hungry and wet kiss on her lips, feeling her moan and rub her hot, wet mouth against him hungrily. For a moment he almost forgot about Jacaerys' presence in the room, so lost in the softness of Y/n's lips and pussy.

Until he heard the sound of wood hitting the floor and looked at his nephew over Y/n's shoulder, letting out a laugh when he saw him writhing in his chair, his eyes burning with fury as he tried to free himself.

-I thought you were stronger than that, my dear nephew. - Aemond murmured mockingly as he firmly squeezed Y/n's ass with both hands, making her moan and throw her head back, rubbing herself even more against his cock.

-Aemond please…- She sighed without caring about Jacaerys. - Please…

-Please what, my sweet? - He asked, laughing, kissing her neck roughly as he looked cruelly at Jace, waiting for Y/n's answer.

-Fuck me. - She begged him without any shame, grinding on his thighs and rubbing her wet folds against his hard, leaking member. - Please fuck me, my king. I'm yours.

-Did you hear that, bastard? - Aemond growled, serrated his lips and then biting Y/n's neck, making her scream for him. - It's me she wants!

With these words, he brought his right hand to the friction zone between the two of them and with a smile of satisfaction, guided his own hard cock, leaking inside her, making her moan with satisfaction as she descended on him.

-Yes… yes… yes… - She sighed in joy, feeling him stretch every corner of her to the edge, scratching the leather of his jerkin, hungry for more contact, hungry for more of Aemond.

-My girl is so needy. - Aemond hissed, slamming his hips against hers firmly, making her scream. - Always eager for my touch, always begging for me.

-Harder, Aemond. - She moaned between sighs as she nodded her head, going crazy with each bite the king left on her neck. Going up and down on his cock, riding him harder and harder, feeling goosebumps covering her skin with the sensation of pleasure that only Aemond could give her. - Please… please…

Growling with pleasure, Aemond tangled his left hand in her hair and pulled her against him, taking her lips in a wild kiss full of greedy bites, while lifting her hips from the chair harder, making her tremble above him and grip him even tighter.

Pulling her lower lip into a bite, he trailed kisses down her neck to her breasts, sucking and caressing them with his tongue, drawing even more pleasure from Y/n, who threw her head back lost in pleasure, finding her husband's glazed eyes watching the scene, looking like he was about to vomit.

The pleasure in her core multiplied. She liked the feeling. She liked seeing the humiliation in Jacaerys' eyes as Aemond took her. Y/n liked the feeling of knowing that he was feeling even more humiliated than she felt every time she was forced to endure his touch.

Feeling Y/n's walls contracting around him, Aemond guided his hand to her sensitive pearl that gently brushed against his pelvis with synchronized movements and caressed her even harder, making her scream and tremble above him, rolling her eyes in pure pleasure.

-Who do you belong to? - He growled breathlessly into her ear, feeling on the verge of his own orgasm.

-You, my king! - She practically sobbed amidst her moans, burying her face contorted with pleasure in the gap between his neck and shoulder, still riding him with trembling legs. - You. Only you.

-Look closely, you bastard. - Aemond growled, rolling his eyes in pleasure as he fucked Y/n with abandon. - I want you to see how well she cums on my cock.

With a loud moan of Aemond's name, Y/n came all over his cock, shuddering and convulsing as she collapsed on him, squeezing him so hard that she practically ripped the orgasm out of the king, who grunted and bit her shoulder, feeling the pleasure tear him apart as his seed invaded her hot pussy.

The two of them stood still for a few moments, panting and immersed in pleasure. The only sound in the room was their uneven breathing. Jacaerys could very well be dead in all that silence. Little by little, Aemond felt his cock slowly come back to life as Y/n's pussy spasmed around him, driving him completely crazy.

She whimpered against Aemond's neck, feeling his now semi-erect cock still buried deep in her sensitive intimacy. Aemond cooed softly at her as he stroked her hair.

-Are you okay, my dear?

She nodded at him as she stared at him with a tear-stained face.

-Can you hold one more for me? - He asked, tucking a strand of Y/n's wild hair behind her ear.

-Yes. - She sighed, throwing her arms around his neck and panting when she felt Aemond harden beneath her again.

-Then be good, go to the bed and get on your hands and knees for me. - He murmured with his lips pressed against Y/n's ear, while firmly squeezing both of her ass cheeks.

Y/n stood up and gasped as her body disconnected from Aemond's and with wobbly legs she walked slowly to the bed, not sparing even a glance at her husband still tied to the chair. Aemond's seed ran down her thighs along with her own fluids and with a sigh she knelt on the bed making every effort to stay steady, with her legs aching after sex.

Aemond walked to the bed and opening the last drawer he took the bottle of oil and Y/n moaned with contentment already knowing what was coming. He positioned himself behind her and gently kissed each of her ass cheeks before spreading them, exposing her wrinkled hole. She sighed at him and leaned her body even further forward just as she knew Aemond liked, her gaze meeting Jace's at that moment with a smile of pure satisfaction as she saw tears running down his damn face.

Y/n then felt the first finger soaked in oil entering her ass and sighed as she buried her face between the sheets. It didn't take long for Aemond to insert the second and then the third while making slow movements with his hand. He brought his other hand to her swollen clitoris and gently stimulated it, making her sigh and moan with the double stimulation.

And when he removed his fingers she waited anxiously for what was to come, the feeling of pleasure taking over her body as Aemond invaded her ass with his cock slowly.

-Seven hells. - Aemond moaned as he sheathed himself completely inside her. - Always so tight back here.

He then slapped Y/n's ass making her moan and began to fuck her hard against the mattress while she moaned desperately. Aemond pressed her pearl again leaving her a mess of moans and gasps for him as she begged for more. She no longer had any strength in her arms and collapsed on the bed, only with her hips raised as Aemond held them and she tried to keep them in the right position with the little strength she had left in her body.

-Whose cunt is this Y/n? - Aemond growled as he pinched her pearl between his fingers making her scream and spasm on the sheets.

-Y-yours Aemond. - She whimpered at him with tears of pleasure running down her cheeks.

-And whose mouth is this? - He murmured leaning down and kissing her in a way that could be passionate and dirty at the same time.

-Only yours my king. - She moaned between kisses.

-And whose is this tight, delicious ass? - He asked, slapping her left cheek, fucking her even harder while stimulating her clitoris with his fingertips.

-Yours. - Y/n cried and moaned. - Only yours, Aemond. Only yours. Always only yours my king.

Jacaerys could no longer look, could no longer feel repulsion, all of this was too much for him. Y/n was his, it was not supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be the king. Y/n was supposed to be his wife. Tears ran uncontrollably down his face as he saw his wife being degraded in the worst and most repulsive way before his eyes.

-Cum for me one more time Issa jorrāelagon. (My love). - Aemond spoke with his body glued to hers as he sped up his movements, and shortly after Y/n came with a moan and collapsed on the bed while Aemond came deep in her ass with a guttural moan and bit her right shoulder.

-I love you. - She said with a tired smile as Aemond pulled out of her and kept his own intimacy in his pants.

-Avy jorrāelan tolī, issa jorrāelagon. (I love you too, my love). - He murmured softly only for Y/n's tired and sleepy ears, as he left a wet kiss between her shoulder blades.

Y/n had never said those words to Jacaerys, had never even come close, had never even told him that he was tolerable. And a tear of pure hatred and betrayal ran down his face. He saw her in bed falling asleep covered in sweat with Aemond's seed dripping down her holes while Aemond smiled victoriously at him.

-What did you do all this for? - He asked with a choked voice trying to keep it steady, feeling the bile about to make him vomit after seeing one of the greatest atrocities of life happen in front of him. - You already had her now.

Aemond walked slowly towards Jacaerys with confident steps and a smile that was a mix of victory and malice.

-No my hateful nephew. I always had her. She was always mine. And you always trying to steal what is not yours dared to put your filthy paws on her perfect body! - He hissed with his eyes burning with fury, leaning over the chair and staring at him deeply.

-On your wedding day she came to me crying and begged me to take her virginity so that she would not have it stolen by you. - He smiled at the memory in an almost melancholic way. - And I did as she asked and fucked her, while she was still wearing that wedding dress, before you had even seen her in it.

-When she entered the sept, it was with my seed dripping down her thighs, just like now. - Aemond laughed victoriously as he watched Jace shake his head in pure shock and sadness.

-She never wanted you, she came to me every chance she got and begged me to give her the pleasure she knew only I could give her. - He hissed angrily, his voice low and deadly. - She told me she felt disgusted every time she needed to feel your touch against her skin and that she would kill you in your sleep if she could.

If Aemond had told him this a few hours ago, Jace would have denied it, said he was lying, but now… there was no denying the facts. Not after the torture she had subjected him to. Not after seeing his wife being sodomized by his uncle while she cried and begged for more beneath him.

-And now… - Aemond said, approaching with a sick smile as he pulled the dagger from his belt. - I will fulfill the promise I made her years ago.

And with his eyes still glazed over from the nightmare he had been forced to watch, Jacaerys waited silently for the stranger, who was certainly coming to meet him in the form of Aemond Targaryen.

The promise

-When my brother is king and I am your hand, I will take you for myself in front of that filthy bastard, and when I finish giving you pleasure, I will cut his throat and take you as my wife. - Aemond whispered softly against her jugular, very close to her ear, making her skin crawl.

And with that promise, Lady Y/n entered the sept to marry Prince Jacaerys with a smile on her face.

The future

Y/n felt free, she felt light, she felt like the most beautiful creature in all the kingdoms. The maids were preparing her wedding dress, beautiful as only something royal could be.

The council warned Aemond about the fact that marrying the wife of Prince Jacaerys, who had consistent rumors that the king himself had slit his throat, would not help improve his already low reputation. But he did not care. And ignoring all opinions, he set the wedding date as soon as possible, because he was sure that his seed had already taken root now with the absence of moon tea.

And today, finally, the most important day of all had arrived. She would finally be Aemond's, Aemond's and his alone, no more unwanted touches, no more pain, no more tears. She would be his alone. And that was why she smiled as they arranged her clothes. Shortly after they had finished dressing, combing her hair and putting her shoes on, all the maids left her alone in the room. It wasn't long before she heard a light knock on the door. Frowning, she went over and opened it, finding a young page standing there with a yellowed piece of paper between his fingers.

-The king ordered this to be delivered to you my lady. - He said, giving her the paper, bowing and then walking away.

Y/n smiled even wider if possible, and when she opened the paper, she thought her heart would explode with pure happiness.

"I'm thinking of you, see you in the sept.

A.T."

She pressed the letter to her chest with a sigh of joy, and then safely put it away in her bedside drawer.

Lady Y/n, soon to be queen, entered the sept with a smile from ear to ear, but this time it was for all the right reasons.

[thekeytothenorth]

robert baratheon's small council was hysterical actually:

• old ass father figure

• boybestfriend's wife's weird incel friend

• lannister boot licker maester

• the most influential spy in the world who definitely cannot be trusted

• hated repressed younger brother

• hedonistic teenage gay brother as master of laws (??)

• secret targaryen loyalist

[amber-laughs]

[jangmi-latte]

I'M NOT EVEN GONNA FUCKING LIE ANYMORE THEY LOOK SO FUCKING HOT AND THE AMOUNT OF MUSCLES!1?2??13??1!4!1!_((14)1) MIGHT MIGHT F-FAL—

[grandkhan221b]

HOTD season 2 coming up got me re-reading ASOIAF again wooops

[userarmand]

Anne Rice's Interview with the Vampire Q&A with Creatives & Cast | ATX TV Festival

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Tear Down My Reason

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader Warnings: Canon typical incest, dubious consent with allusions to no consent, smut. Word count: ~4.6k

Summary: When Rhaenyra returns to King's Landing to petition Lucerys's claim to Driftmark, Aemond is eager for revenge for the loss of his eye. However, what he does not anticipate is the object of his ire becoming his niece instead of his nephew.

Author's note: No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Aemond sits in his chambers, beside the fireplace, one leg crossed over the other. His eyepatch is discarded on the table in front of him, his index finger absentmindedly running the length of the scar that ravages the left side of his face.

It had itched incessantly since he had learned the news that his half sister, Rhaenyra, and her family would be arriving in King’s Landing to defend Lucerys’s claim to Driftmark. His scar always grew irritated at the mention of Luke, a reminder of the boy who had permanently disfigured him and left him without an eye. It was a crime for which Luke had never been reprimanded, and so Aemond had spent almost a decade allowing his anger and resentment to fester, thinking of all of the ways he would seek revenge should he ever see him again. 

He knows exactly when they have arrived the next day as he spars in the training yard with Cole; he spots the two dark haired boys circling, and takes a moment to lean against the table of weapons before him, steeling himself. He imagines grabbing a blade and carving out one of his nephew’s eyes in exchange for his. Luke had taken his left, perhaps he’d take his right, a fair exchange.

Snapped out of his reverie by Cole beckoning him forward, he picks up his blade and advances towards him. He knows that Jace and Luke will be watching, and so he works hard to put on a display that will show he’s no longer the sullen, little boy they used to torment. He is a man grown, a warrior that they should respect and fear. He ducks and weaves against Cole’s morningstar, throwing away his shield as it splinters under impact, until finally he seizes the advantage, the point of his blade directed towards his opponent’s neck. 

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Criston tells him, “you will be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I do not give a shit about tourneys,” he utters, turning to face the two dark haired boys who stare up at him in shock. “Nephews, have you come to train?”

He is unable to stop the malevolent smirk that tugs at his lips, seeing fear in their eyes as they gaze at him. There is revenge enough in knowing that while he has advanced in training with the sword, transformed himself into a foe which any man would find themselves unlucky to cross blades with upon a battlefield, they have remained frightened, sniveling little boys that still cling to their mother’s skirts for protection. It is not enough to satisfy him though. Not yet.

Having bathed and changed, he joins his family in the throne room, as the court gathers to hear the petitions for the succession of Driftmark. He stands tall and proud beside his brother, sister and mother, as his grandsire sits the throne in his father’s stead.

His eye sweeps the hall, seeing Vaemond Velaryon, Rhaenys Targaryen and her granddaughter, Baela, standing to one side. On the other is Rhaenyra, Luke, Jace, Joffrey, his uncle, Daemon, and his daughter, Rhaena. And then he spots her.

Aemond had utterly forgotten of her existence; born a year after Jace, and a year before Luke, his niece. She is as tall as her mother now, and has her father’s hair - her real father’s hair - long, dark curls that, despite being half pinned up, fall almost to her waist. She is soft featured, with Rhaenyra’s striking blue eyes. It baffles him that a Strong bastard could be so pleasing to look upon, and he purses his lips in disgust, forcing himself to look away as he reflects back upon what she had been like as a child.

She never joined in with the relentless teasing that Aegon, Jacaerys and Lucerys had subjected him to. She had spent all of her time with Helaena, from what he can remember, the two of them sat side by side, Helaena holding up insects and describing them to her, as she flicked through the pages of books trying to see if records of them already existed, so that they could learn more about them.

The night that he had lost his eye, she had remained next to his sister, looking on with concern as he had his wound stitched closed. He remembered thinking it odd at the time that she was not with Luke and Jace, but his mind was so addled from the effects of milk of the poppy that nothing is clear, beyond the image of her mother bursting into the hall of Driftmark and tugging her away, back to her own family.

As the petitions are heard, even when his own father arrives unexpectedly, announcing he will sit the throne today, he finds his attention drawn to her, unable to focus on anything else. She appears to be a meek little thing, keeping her eyes downcast, seeming ashamed of her own presence in the room. A trait that all Strong bastards ought to possess, in his opinion. Yet as the moments pass by and she does not look up, he finds himself growing increasingly irritated that she won’t look at him, despite how desperately he wills her to.

“Her children are bastards!” Shouts Vaemond, before turning to Rhaenyra, his voice lowering, “and she is a whore.”

Elation spreads like a warm glow through Aemond’s body, his attention finally pulled away from his niece to look upon the horrified expressions of his nephews and half sister. Serves them right. Finally someone is saying it out loud. 

When he casts his gaze back upon his niece, her eyes are still fixed upon the floor. However, he sees the subtlety with which her bottom lip trembles, the light flush of her cheeks. She is about to cry.

Look at me.

The room falls silent as Daemon’s sword slices through Vaemond’s head, and it is only then that her head snaps up, her eyes tear filled and wide with shock, meeting Aemond’s. He finds himself smirking again, a quiet victory. Not only had the legitimacy of Rhaenyra’s children been brought loudly into question once more, but now he had the attention of his niece. He had forgotten her in the passing of so many years, but now she is within reach again, he will ensure she certainly never forgets him. The next time tears fill her pretty eyes he wants to be the cause of them.

Aemond groans when his mother informs him that the following evening they are to dine as a family, a request from his father to unite them all, having reestablished Luke’s inheritance. He resents the idea of breaking bread with people he does not like, that do not like him, to have to sit at the same table and make pleasantries with the boy who half blinded him.

But she would be there. He wonders where she is now. Her mother had been swift to hurry her from the throne room after the decapitation of Vaemond Velaryon, and he is unsure of which apartments within the Keep she now occupies.

He finds himself stalking the corridors of the usually unoccupied quarters of Maegor’s Holdfast, his eye scanning every closed door, wondering which is the room that she occupies. He pulls to a stop at the top of a staircase as he sees familiar long, dark curls flowing down slender shoulders, disappearing into a doorway before it closes behind her.

Her chambers are unguarded, and before he has a chance to stop himself, his feet carry him down the steps towards them, his knuckles rapping at the wooden door. It’s only when he hears the rustle of movement from the other side that his mind begins to race.

What if she is not alone?

What did he even intend to do if she was unattended?

He briefly considers turning on his heel and leaving, however, no sooner has the thought occurred to him than his niece is opening the door, startling at the sight of him, lips parting in shock. She is even prettier up close, despite her reddened eyes and tear stained cheeks.

“Aemond?”

Despite the confusion that laces her voice, it is soft and dulcet toned. He wants to hear her say his name a hundred times over, for it has never sounded sweeter than coming from her lips.

He inhales deeply through his nose, preparing himself to speak. “You are understandably upset by that business with our uncle and Vaemond. I have come to check on you, to make sure you are alright.”

Her eyebrows raise for a moment, blinking a few times as she regards him carefully. “Oh…that is…kind of you. My mother has said I ought to rest.”

“Perhaps you might welcome some company?” He offers. “It would be unwise for you to be alone after witnessing something so bloody.”

She draws back a little at the suggestion, her mouth opening to speak before closing again, her brow furrowing.

Aemond fights the urge to smile at her hesitation. Reaching forward, he crooks a finger beneath her chin. “Do I frighten you so much you cannot bear to be in the same room as me?”

Gasping, she shakes her head fervently as his hand drops away. “N–no! It is just…it has been such a long time, and the last time I saw you, you…my brother…your eye…”

He cocks his head, pushing down the resentment that bubbles to the surface at the mention of what had happened to him. “But have you not heard? My father is hosting a dinner for us all tomorrow, to unite our families once more. There is no need for you to be so cautious, allow yourself to be reacquainted with your uncle.”

Her gaze lowers for a moment, as she appears to consider his offer. “Yes, I suppose that would be nice,” she finally says, looking back up at him.

She steps to the side, allowing him to enter.

Too easy, he thinks to himself as he steps inside. There would be almost no sport in this if the fight she means to put up is so feeble.

He strides into the room, hands clasped behind his back, noting the lack of personal effects within the space, a reminder that she is a visitor. This is his home, not hers. He has the upper hand.

“Apologies, Uncle,” she utters nervously, shifting from foot to foot as she fidgets restlessly with her fingers. “I had not anticipated your visit, this room is ill equipped for guests. I have no chair to offer you.”

“That is quite alright,” he tells her amicably, forcing a soft smile before sitting upon the edge of the bed. “We are family, are we not? Such formalities are not necessary.”

He pats the space beside him. “Come, join me, we have much to catch up on.”

She hesitates a moment, before sitting next to him. There is something about the feeling of the dip in the mattress beside him, combined with the floral scent of her filling his nostrils that sends the thrill of a shiver through his body, and he turns to look at her, eyeing her much like a cat would a mouse.

Such a pretty little thing.

“I am truly sorry, for what Luke did to you,” she begins, “I—”

He waves a hand dismissively, forcing down the anger that threatens to burst forth. “Let us speak no more of it. It is in the past. Tell me, how is life upon Dragonstone treating you?”

She chews her lip, hesitating a moment before she speaks. “Truthfully, it is lonely. I miss King’s Landing. Jace and Luke have one another, and mother is preoccupied with her pregnancy and Joffrey and the babes. Daemon pays me no mind, and while I am grateful for Rhaena’s company, I can tell she misses her sister. I am a poor substitute for Baela.”

He hums with faux concern, allowing a moment of silence to present his next words as thoughtful. “You could never be a poor substitute for anything. And I expect you will soon be away from there anyway. I can imagine you have no end of suitors all vying for your hand.”

The hint of a blush turns her cheeks pink as she casts her gaze downward. “No, not yet. I have overheard Rhaenys talking with my mother. They wish to betroth Baela and Rhaena to Jace and Luke. There are no such plans for me. What about you? Are you to be married?”

“Not yet,” he says softly, meeting her eye as she looks up at him. “I have been waiting for the right woman to capture my interest. Perhaps it is fortuitous that we both find ourselves unattached?”

“What do you mean, uncle?” She asks, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Baela and Jace, Rhaena and Luke,” he shifts his hand across the bed, entwining his fingers with hers. “You and I.”

She gasps softly, though she does not wrench her hand away as he had anticipated. “Is this some sort of trick, Aemond?”

“Not at all,” he reassures her, moving closer. “What better way to unite our family once more?”

“We hardly know each other,” she utters softly.

“And yet you have scarce left my thoughts all these years,” he lies. “Let me kiss you.”

Before she has a chance to respond, he is pressing his lips to hers. She stiffens at first, taken aback by his forwardness, but soon responds, her supple mouth moving against his. He brings his hand up to her cheek, cupping it softly, the skin soft as peach fuzz beneath his calloused fingertips.

She sighs softly as he deepens the gesture, her inexperience showing as her tongue retreats from his as it slips into her mouth. It serves only to stoke the fire that rages within, tightening  his breeches as the sensation of her saliva causes his cock to swell.

Pulling away from her mouth, he moves his hand from her cheek, sinking it into her silky curls, anchoring her in place as he places hot, open mouthed kisses to her jaw and neck, making his way down towards her clavicle, relishing the way her head tips back slightly and her eyes flutter closed.

Tugging down the neckline of her bodice, he fights to suppress a groan of desire at the sight of her bared breasts, the hardened peaks ruddy and inviting. She is putting up so little resistance that it emboldens him to press forward, capturing a rosy bud between his lips and suckling as his tongue flicks against it, causing her to arch and mewl.

A whore, just like her mother, he thinks, shifting his attention to the other and repeating the same motion. His blood feels like liquid fire in his veins as her breaths turn to soft pants. One hand massages the breast that he is currently not latched upon, while the other creeps beneath her skirts.

It is only when his fingertips ghost upon the top of her stocking that she suddenly pulls free of him, eyes wide and breaths ragged as she hurriedly readjusts her dress.

“We should not have…forgive me, I…” she stumbles over her words, flustered and looking on the verge of tears again, before hurrying from the room, leaving Aemond alone on the bed.

He growls in frustration, smacking his hand down upon the edge of the mattress. “Ilibītsos,” he mutters angrily. Little slut.

When he returns to his own chambers, he comes harder than he ever has before, such is the force with which he fists his cock, imagining the entire time that his niece is splayed beneath him, sighing softly with pleasure as she had for him earlier that day.

As his pleasure induced haze wears off, a feeling of shame settles over him. He does not quite understand how his infatuation with her has taken hold so quickly, but now that it is, he is unable to shake it. Worse still, when she ran from her bedchamber, what if she had gone straight to her mother and told her of what he had done to her? It would be a disgrace from which he would never recover if his own mother were to be privy to such information.

He hides himself away the next day, embarrassed to face any of his family for fear they will know of his transgressions, until finally he is summoned to the feast that he has been dreading.

Much to his surprise, the entire day has passed without angry confrontation or a tongue lashing from his mother, and as he enters the dining hall there are no looks of shock or disgust to be met with, simply the shy smile of his niece as she looks up at him from her seat between her two brothers.

She has not told anyone, and she does not appear to regret what had transpired between them.

Aemond settles into his seat at the head of the table with a smug sense of pride. The dinner is a tawdry affair, musicians playing tunes he does not care for are stationed in the corner, while endless trays and bowls of food are brought out to them all. 

He listens to his family toast to each other with a sneer, watching with barely concealed anger as Jace invites Helaena to dance. His only reprieve are the shy glances and smiles that his niece directs his way across the table. Perhaps all is not lost.

It is not until a suckling pig is brought out and settled before him that he is no longer able to contain his temper. Seeing Luke smirk at him, a reminder of the pig he had been taunted with in place of a dragon as a child, is too much. Is it not enough that his nephew has taken his eye, but now he continues to mock him too? He will not stand for such an insult.

Abruptly, he slams his first upon the table, halting the music and chatter within the room, as he rises from his chair, raising his wine cup.

“Final tribute,” he announces, eye scanning the room, careful not to include his niece in his speech, lest he foils the plans he has especially for her. “To the health of my nephews; Jace, Luke, Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…strong. Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

The ensuing scuffle passes by in a blur for Aemond, resulting in him pushing Jace to the floor before they are all dismissed to their quarters. He hangs back, out of sight, waiting for Jace and Luke to disappear from sight, before striding after his niece.

She whips around, looking angrily up at him, eyes blazing with fury. “Why would you do that? You’ve ruined everything!”

“Forgive me,” he utters gently, taking her hands in his, “I lost my temper, but you have to know that my anger was never directed at you.”

She sighs, her shoulders sagging. “Jace and Luke’s betrothals were announced tonight. I was hoping we could announce ours too. Now my mother will never agree to it.”

Pride and satisfaction swell within his chest as he gazes down at her. He raises an eyebrow. “You wish to marry me? I had thought you were refusing my proposal, considering how quick you were to flee from me yesterday.”

“It all happened so fast. I have never been touched in that way before, and I allowed it to frighten me, I am sorry for it. But having had time to think on it, I do want to be your wife.”

He smiles down at her, seeing eye shining malevolently. “Then let the news of our betrothal be the balm that soothes all hurts upon the morrow.”

She smiles happily at him. “Then I shall bid you goodnight, Uncle.”

“So soon? I thought perhaps we might pick up where we left off yesterday.”

She flushes a delicate red. “Would it not be better to wait until we are wed?”

“I will not push you further than you wish to go,” he whispers, before kissing her deeply, walking her backwards into her bedchamber.

He is quick to cover her body with his own as she topples back against the softness of the mattress, kissing her fiercely as his hands push her skirts roughly up and over her hips.

“I thought you did not wish to push me?” She whispers breathlessly, pulling back from his lips.

“I shall not, talus,” he reassures her, his fingers absentmindedly stroking her the bare skin of her thighs, “but that does not mean I will not make you beg for it.” Niece.

Kissing her deeply once more, he shifts down her body, dragging her small clothes down and off of her leg in one fluid movement, before spreading the plushness of her thighs, his single eye drinking in the glistening sight of her cunt spread out before him.

He smiles to himself as he drags the tip of his tongue through her folds, hearing the way her breath hitches, his hands forcefully holding her down, keeping her still, as she attempts to buck her hips. He almost groans at the tart taste of her, his mouth quick to envelope her, alternating between sucking messily at her pearl and laving the flat of his tongue against her.

She writhes, pinned to the bed by her pelvis by his forceful grip, wanton sounds of pleasure escaping her as she clutches the bed sheets so tightly her knuckles turn white.

Lapping greedily at her as she falls apart against his tongue, he almost spends in his breeches taking in the sight of her arched back, tousled hair, ruddy cheeks and trembling thighs. But he is not finished yet.

The moment she settles back against the bed, her body spent and pliant, he begins his assault anew, this time crooking two fingers inside of her, rubbing urgently against the rough patch inside of her as his tongue focuses purposefully on her sensitive nub. The desperate sounds she makes are music to his ears. She is impossibly tight, he wonders how he will ever fit inside, but is all the more determined to find out as he sends her hurtling and crying out once more into the throes of another torturous release.

“Stop, stop!” She whines, attempting to back up the bed away from him, as he attempts to settle his face between her thighs a third time. “I cannot take it anymore.”

“If I am inside of you, it will not feel quite so intense,” he whispers, not moving an inch from where he lays between her legs, his chin shiny and sticky with her arousal.

“We are not yet married, Uncle, we should not,” she protests feebly.

“But we will be,” he insists, “so what does it matter? And I am afraid I have not had my fill of you, talus, so we shall have to continue as we are if you do not wish for me to be inside of you.”

“Gods…please…no…anything, just no more of that, it is too much.”

He smirks at her ruined state, bringing himself up towards her face, his voice dark. “Beg me for it.”

“Please, Aemond, please,” she cries, “put it inside, I cannot stand anymore.”

He grins wolfishly, as his fingers move to the lacings of his trousers, untying them and shucking the material past his hips.

Sucking in a steadying breath, he places the swollen head of his cock against the wetness of her opening, his eye flickering to her face for any signs of hesitation. She still looks utterly wrecked, her expression one of hazy bliss, her eyes glassy. Taking this as silent permission, he presses forward, hissing through his teeth at the resistance he is met with.

She whimpers softly, in clear discomfort, as he continues to push inward slowly, looking between her face, her brow furrowed and lips parted, and where their bodies are joining together.

He feels something give way, before he is fully rooted within her.

Her maidenhead.

Aemond fights the prideful grin that wants to spread itself across his face. His nephew had taken his eye, now in turn he had taken his niece’s virtue.

He stills, waiting for her to adjust, before moving slowly, dragging his hips back before pushing softly forward, repeating the motion. He desperately wants to snap his hips against hers, to make her cry out in pain, to disregard her comfort, but he is not a monster, he reasons. Her innocence soaking his length is payment enough.

Remembering how her body had responded so positively to his affections the previous day, he tugs down her plunging neckline with two fingers, freeing the softness of her breasts, leaning down to press gentle kisses against them, before suckling a nipple into his mouth.

She moans quietly, her body loosening up, becoming less tense beneath his, making it feel more pleasurable for him in turn. He means to be gentle with her, he really does, but feeling her grow wetter around him makes it impossible for him not to speed up his thrusts, driving into her faster, harder, causing her to whine and whimper as he trails his mouth across her chest. So lost in the sensation of her, he barely registers her delicate fingers clutching desperately at his hair and shoulders.

He knows he is done for when she squeezes around him, he knows he ought to pull out, to spill himself across the creamy white skin of her lower belly and thighs, but she is so warm, so wet, so tight around him that he cannot bring himself to leave her. He finds himself chasing his own end inside of her, his hips moving of their own accord, until finally, with a blinding white heat that tingles at the very base of his spine, he groans loudly, pulsating and spending inside of her in hot, powerful spurts.

Allowing himself a moment to settle against her, he basks in the warm afterglow of his peak, before pulling slowly out, disentangling his limbs from hers as his breath comes in shallow pants. He kneels up on the bed, pulling his trousers back over himself and fastening them. He allows himself to drink in the sight of her, her dress and hair in utter disarray, the sticky mess between her legs, her kiss swollen lips and faraway stare. Utter perfection.

It is not until he stands from the bed, smoothing over his clothing and hair with his hands that she finally comes back to reality and pulls herself up to rest upon her elbows. “Where are you going?”

“Back to my chambers,” he says coolly, “I have gotten what I wanted.”

“What do you mean?” She asks, worry lacing her tone, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Your bastard brother took my eye. Now I’ve taken the only thing that makes you worth a damn.”

Her voice wobbles, tears rimming her eyes as they widen in realisation, pulling at her dress to cover herself. “You said you would marry me…”

“I lied.”

“Why?! Why me?!”

He shrugs. “You made it easy. You might want to have the maester brew you a tea though, unless the bastard also wants a bastard.”

“I will tell my mother,” she whispers tearfully.

“Go ahead. I will deny it. Who will believe you? If you birth a silver haired babe, there is nothing to suggest that it is not a result of my brother forcing himself upon you, or perhaps our uncle. Your mother was younger than you, I believe, when he first started to show an interest in her. So if I were you, I would have the tea brewed and keep quiet, unless you wish to be branded a whore as well as a bastard.”

“You are a monster!” She spits, shoulders shaking as she sobs.

“Drīves, talus,” he utters, turning to leave her bedchamber. “Ñuha drīva issa.” Justice, niece. I have justice.

Read on AO3

More Aemond fics

[eriochromatic]

Last minute self indulgent pride illustration featuring my comfort characters and personal headcanons ✨✨✨

[randomdragonfires]

Parallel Lines, Act I

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | He fears her proximity, and she fears his distance. As war looms, they’ll have to learn to make their marriage work to find comfort in each other.

Or at least, try.

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Complicated Relationship Themes; Emotional Negligence; Infidelity; Major Character Death; Aemond and his issues are a warning on their own ok?

AUTHOR’S NOTE | All Valyrian lines were translated from english using a free online translator. They are likely to be grammatically wrong - but I don’t even know man. Yeah.

WORD COUNT | 9.5k - and not a single word is beta read. We die like warriors, I guess?

The moonlight spilled through the series of windows of her husband’s - not theirs, his - apartments in the Red Keep, casting a silvery glow over the austere elegance of the chambers. His wife stood by the window, her silhouette framed against the backdrop of the night sky, the soft rustle of her gown the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

She turned slowly, her gaze sweeping across the dimly lit interior, taking in the cool, stone walls that seemed to absorb the flickering torchlight. She glided through the hall where intricate tapestries depicted dragons in flight, their scales shimmering with threads of gold and silver. The grand fireplace dominated one wall, the warmth emanating throughout the space from the burning logs within. She folded her arms into her chest, as if to preserve the heat as she shivered from the cold night - her thin nightdress didn’t help. Above the mantelpiece, Vhagar's fierce eyes followed her every movement, a fierce presence in paint.

Moving through the chambers, she passed through his personal library, every page a stern reflection of his interests. Shelves of dark, polished wood lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and scrolls, their faint scent of aged parchment and leather permeating the air.

He mostly smelled of smoke, fire and leather. Of books and dragons - both of which he is passionate about.

It makes sense then, that no one will ever catch a whiff of her perfume on him.

They were far from passionate, after all.

In the center, his heavy, ornately carved desk was strewn with maps and documents, a well-used quill and inkwell ready for his expert hand to wield. She leaned on the table to look at it all, and spun one of the wooden markers between her nimble fingers for a moment - as she had seen him do countless times - before leaving it back where she found it.

She stepped into the bedchamber, its stark stone walls softened by the rich, crimson fabrics of the large, canopied bed. Dragons were subtly woven into the bedspread and curtains, a constant reminder of the Targaryen lineage that she had married and given birth to.

How long has it been since she laid with him on this bed? More than a year, she surmised. They did their duty on their wedding night, and the Mother was graceful enough to make his seed quicken in her immediately. She laid with him for a few weeks after - and when the maesters made it known that she was with child, that had stopped.

A good wife knows how to keep her husband satisfied, they said. Her husband never sought her out. If the whispers of the few around her were to be believed, he frequents a whore in a Silk Street brothel.

Was she not a good wife then?

She gave him a son. He may be sickly, but he is a son nonetheless. Surely it must count?

With a weary sigh, her eyes shifted to the adjoining armory, where Aemond’s armor and weapons were meticulously displayed. This part of his room exuded an air of readiness, a silent promise of the warrior who would soon return to his space.

From the whorehouse, no doubt.

She turned back to the window, her thoughts as fluid as the shimmering waves below. The apartments were a microcosm of her husband's existence: regal yet austere, scholarly yet martial.

And no sign of marriage, leave alone happy or healthy. How could there be, when he doesn’t feel half the happiness with her that he does when left alone with his beast or books?

There was no hate between them, surely not. Her husband was agreeable, but that was that. There was never any doubt in her mind that he did not want her - or the idea of her - but had to marry her anyway. There was no passion, and she could count with two hands the number of times they have lain with each other in the past year that they have been married - even that was before she had become with child.

There was nothing, truly.

She tried with him, initially. But any illusion of interest that she thought he may grow towards her was shattered the moment she heard that the very night that she’d met him, he was seen moving out of the castle grounds and into the Street of Silk.

He didn’t even bother with making it discreet.

Their wedding was a morose affair. They were the very picture of a royal couple, but neither felt the part - more like a pair of chastised children made to listen after a screaming bout. Even when he took her, he took her from behind - and she was fully clothed. It was nowhere close to the slow exploration that some of her ladies promised. He’s a scholar, he’d be willing to learn for your pleasure, they had said. He’d not even kissed her after their wedding ceremony, not once - he simply demanded that she get on the bed, and took her like an animal while the Small Council and their families watched her eyes pool with painful tears.

What had she done to warrant such embarrassment? She didn’t know what she’d done to make him shirk her so, but it was the way it was. It just was.

When he kept calling her back, he’d taken to offering her wine when they were finished. She didn’t linger when her goblet was emptied. She simply walked out, and wished him a good night.

He never once asked her to stay.

When the news of the babe in her belly had arrived, she’d been relieved - she’d never have to lay with a man who did not want her, ever again. He didn’t seem overjoyed either, and simply hummed with a hand on her belly.

“There is blood of the dragon in you now,” he said. And then he let his thumb run over her cheek. It was the softest he’d ever been with her, and she relished those few seconds. For a moment, he looked so peaceful and content… a stranger. That’s when it occurred to her that perhaps there’s more to Aemond than what he lets anyone see.

She could have fallen in love with him, if he’d cared enough to show her. But it seemed that he’d only viewed her as a duty and a burden.

The ghost of his touch lingered, and she brought her own hand to her cheek as though the warmth still remained. What did the whores have that she did not? Or was it the same whore each time?

Jealousy is unbecoming of a princess, she reminded herself. But so is unhappiness and a constant sense of dread, surely?

Her thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open. Her husband strode into the room, immediately aware of her presence. She felt the shift in the air and watched as the shadows of his boots slow, absorbing the sight of her. He removed his cloak with a fluid motion, letting it fall onto his chair before approaching her with the deliberate grace of a predator.

“Wife.” His voice was clipped and devoid of warmth, as though addressing a servant rather than the mother of his son.

She turned to face him, the pale moonlight highlighting the tension etched across her features. "Husband," she responded, mirroring his tone, though a flicker of hurt glimmers in her eyes.

Do you think of me as I think of you? Do you think of me at all?

A heavy silence settled between them, thick with unspoken words. Her gaze scanned his face, searching for any trace of the man whom she foolishly once thought would love her. Instead, she found only the cold mask he wore, a fortress against the world and his own buried emotions.

Against her.

“Has the council kept you long?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. They both looked outside the windows, with her leaning into the railing while he stood with his hands held back, ramrod straight.

Always on guard.

“Long enough,” he replied, his eyes drifting to the dark expanse of the bay. “There are matters that require my attention.”

“And our son?” she asked, a touch of warmth infusing her words at the mention of their child. “Will you see Aerys tonight?”

For a brief moment, something softened in Aemond’s gaze, a fleeting shadow of tenderness. She must have imagined it - it was too fleeting and quick to hold any kind of weight.

She was jealous of her own son, for he elicits more from Aemond than she ever has, as little as it is.

“Perhaps. If time allows.”

She nodded, turning back to look at him; to see him.

The weight of his indifference settled over her like a shroud. The Blackwater Bay stretches out before them, vast and unchanging, mirroring the growing distance between them.

“I worry for you,” she murmured, her voice almost swallowed by the night. “War will come to us soon, will it not?” If it hadn’t come so far, she knew it would now. Vaemond Velaryon’s rolling head and King Viserys’ worsening condition only made sure of it.

He stood rigid beside her, his posture unyielding. “It is my duty,” he said, as if that alone suffices.

“I know,” she replied, sadness threading through her voice. “But you are more than your duty, Aemond. You are Aerys’ father and my…”

The emotions were high tonight, higher than they’d ever been. She didn’t know why she sought him out. There has been ample evidence to support that he would not care, and yet here she was.

She wanted safety, and the only person she could approach is the one who has never made her feel welcome or safe in any capacity.

Who else do I have here?

The tears mangle her vision and she swallowed what threatened to follow.

“I have given you a son.” She trembled, her voice threatening to give way to s stream of tears. “The shadow of war looms upon us, and you’ve set me aside and I worry…”

He lifted his head just slightly as the words sank in, but she was too dejected to care about his acknowledgement. He may be cold, and his reactions to her come far and few in between - but she could not bring herself to mull over it too at the moment.

“War is coming. I am as certain of it as I am of the sun rising on the morrow and I know you are too -” He opened his mouth to interfere, but she was quick to not give him the gap to take over her speech. “Do not insult my intelligence by suggesting otherwise.”

“I was not.”

She turned to face him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in her eyes as she wondered why the Gods had not seen fit to give her a husband who loved her. He was beautiful, a cruel irony that made her anger flare even more. Despite all the hurt he had caused, she could not help but feel drawn to him. To hide her tears, she looked to the floor, trembling as she forced out her next words.

“I know you do not love me. I know you do not want me. But I… I have given you a son. An heir to continue your legacy, and that… I like to think that it would be reason enough to ask you to not forsake me. We have not supported each other all this time, but the least you can do is assure me that you will keep us safe.”

A flicker of something unrecognizable flashed in his eye, and he turned to face her fully, leaning against the window arch. “Did you… truly think that I would leave you to die if it came down to it?”

“You haven’t given me reason to believe that you’ll want me around.” Her voice was bitter, dripping with contempt.

He was ethereal as he reached out, holding her jaw between his thumb and finger, bringing her closer to his porcelain skin and alabaster hair. Her gaze flitted about chaotically, struggling to meet his eye. Her body shivered from the cold, torn between wanting him to let her go and needing him to hold her tight.

“You are my wife. I swore to the Gods that I would honor and protect you. You and Aerys are my family, and I would be slain a hundred times over before I see either of you hurt. I may not be… I may not be the man you want, but I can assure you that I am an honorable husband who will safeguard you and our boy.”

She did not know what she expected. A declaration of hidden love? Certainly not. But somehow, his assurances fell short. “Honorable.” She tested the word on her tongue, finding it the most bitter sound she had ever uttered. Her cheek alarmed him, and she spat venom. “Honorable?” His grip on her chin tightened, and she took it as a sign to continue.

“I know you frequent the Silk Street brothels. I know you’ve been going there since the very first day we met. Unless the professions of whores have changed, it is safe to assume that you are not honorable or loyal. And if you are, it is certainly not to me.”

A whore out there enjoyed her husband’s undying devotion, while she sat in the castle hoping and praying he would recognize her, let alone love her.

His expression shifted, a storm brewing behind his eyes, but he did not release her. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, a chasm of pain pulling them apart. She met his intense gaze finally, tears brimming in her eyes, the anguish of their fractured bond laid bare for him to see.

He tasted of smoke and fire, and yet her mouth craved him anyway. He was an eternity away from her—always, always—and yet her fingers yearned to touch him.

“I do not go there for…” He took a long breath before completing his sentence, almost as if he needed his composure to simply survive.

Not there for what? Was he not fucking the whores? What else could he possibly do?

“Do you think I do not know the sacrifices you have made?” His voice was a harsh whisper, a mixture of anger and something deeper, almost pleading. “Do you think I do not feel the weight of our shared duty, the responsibility to our son? My responsibility to you?”

“But you have never shown me,” she whispered back, her voice breaking. “You have never given me a reason to believe that you care, that you see me as more than just a broodmare for an heir!"

For a moment, they stood frozen, the distance between them both physical and emotional. The moonlight casted a cold glow over their figures, highlighting the stark contrast between their proximity and their separation.

“It is not easy for me.”

“It should not be hard to love your wife. Or at the very least respect her.”

“I—”

She brought her hand up to stop him before any more of his lies spewed out and stepped away from him. She walked to the door at an amazing speed, her skirts swishing past as she tried to get out before her tears spilled out. In a late change of heart though, as her hand rested on the door latch, she turned.

“No lady should beg her husband to love her. No matter if he is a prince. It is beneath her, and I am no different. I will not beg…” If she had looked at him properly, she’d have noticed him flinch at her damning words.

“I will not beg you to love me after dismissing me all this time; I do have my pride. But I will beg you to save my life if it needs saving. That is all I ask.”

“You never had to ask.”

She took a breath and drank some leftover wine in the goblet next to her, not caring for whose it originally was. The thought would make her retch usually, but she was beyond caring.

“Your mother… she loves me surely, but I think she doesn’t like me very much. Your sister and I never managed to understand each other. Your brother… well he is a mindless lecher. I can’t quite figure out your grandfather at all. And you… you know what we’re like. I just… I worry that in this impending war within kin, I will be forgotten and left to die simply because my job is done with the birth of my son and I am too close to the storm and you don’t care and I don’t want to die. I don’t want anyone to die-”

“You are my kin.” he said. It made her smile, albeit a woeful one. “You may need to remind me every once in a while.”

He didn’t respond. She simply left.

And even now, he didn’t ask her to stay.

She wished he did.

Aemond stood by the hearth, cradling their feverish son in his arms. 

Dressed in his somber blacks, he looked every bit the stern warrior, yet the gentle way he held Aerys belied that image. The babe was flushed and fretful, his tiny hands gripping Aemond’s hair and tugging insistently. Aemond hissed softly at the sharp pull, but did not dislodge the child's grip.

“Byka zaldrīzes,” he grumbles. It is strict, but not unaffectionate - she was familiar with that tone. She’d watched him use it with their son often when he thought no one was looking. [Little dragon.]

From the doorway, she watched them. They looked like a loving family - the devoted mother standing watch, her eyes filled with affection as she observed her husband and son. But appearances were deceiving, and both of them knew the truth beneath the surface.

Aerys, in his restless state, grabbed at Aemond’s eyepatch, tugging it down and exposing the scarred, empty socket. Aemond’s expression tightened as he shifted the boy from one arm to the other, quickly adjusting the patch back into place. In that brief moment, their eyes met, and she glimpsed the vulnerability he so meticulously hid. He seemed to close himself off even more, as if shielding his heart from her gaze.

It was a deep, almost dark blue. She noticed, she always noticed.

“I came to check on him before luncheon,” she said softly, breaking the silence that had settled like a heavy shroud. She always ensured that she made a solitary routine of her visits, ensuring that he’d have time alone with her son like he seemed to want. To be together - as a family - stumped her beyond belief, no matter how second nature it should be.

What was he doing here?

Aemond nodded, his voice measured as he recounted the maester's instructions. “The maester believes he will grow healthy with time. We must be diligent with the poultices and draughts.” His tone was clinical, as if discussing a strategy for battle rather than the wellbeing of their son.

She watched as he laid Aerys gently in the cot, the child’s feverish grip slackening as he drifted into a fitful sleep. She approached, brushing a strand of hair from Aerys’s forehead, her touch tender and light.

Aemond stepped back, retreating to the armchair close to the cot where a goblet of wine awaited him. He took a long sip, his gaze fixed on her as she sat at his foot, and peered in to take a look at their son. Facing away from him, she began to sing softly. Her voice, though tinged with sorrow, was soothing, and Aemond’s stern expression softened as he watched the scene unfold. For a moment, the room was filled with a fragile peace.

The Seven Gods who made us all,

are listening if we should call.

So close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

She didn’t say anything and let the silence engulf them both when she finished her song. She then turned around and sat on the floor near his feet, her back leaned against her son’s cot as she looked up to face her stoic husband. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke - his words measured but with the intent of concern. He spoke them like he was testing them out on his tongue.

“The maesters… they say you’re being given herbs as well.”

She nodded, feeling the weight of her exhaustion in every fiber of her being. The birth had been horribly hard on her body, leaving her depleted and fragile. Only now was she beginning to regain her strength. The whispers of the servants echoed in her mind—comments about how all this suffering was for a sickly child. But those whispers meant nothing to her. She would move the ends of the earth for her son, no matter what anyone thought. 

He was the blood of the dragon. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, and she would not allow her son to be any different.

“Ever since the birth, I have grown… weak,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Aerys took a toll on me when he came.”

Aemond’s eyes were detached, but she heard the slight concern and contemplation in his voice. “Were you in pain? In the days after?”

She hesitated for a moment, surprised by his sudden show of concern. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I was. I still am.”

His questions were gentle, as if he truly cared, as if he genuinely wanted to understand what she had gone through. This unexpected tenderness from him was jarring, and it took all her strength not to withdraw. She had longed for this moment for so long, the chance to finally, truly connect with the man she had married.

And now that it was here, it felt as foreign to her as the other continents of the realm.

“I should have been there,” he said, his voice laced with regret. He didn’t look at her, head turned away as he spoke.  “I should have been by you-”

She’d heard the rumors that her good mother worked hard to ensure she’d never hear. While she labored and went through all the Seven Hells giving birth to their son, Aemond was at a whorehouse, doing Gods know what.

She shook her head, her eyes filling with unshed tears. “I don’t want to know,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “I’d rather choose blissful ignorance than a painful truth. Especially when it comes to you.”

Aemond nodded slowly, regality exuding from him even in his slightest movements. “I have failed you,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper. He did not apologize, and she knew that he never would. This was the most she would get from him, and for now, it had to be enough.

It didn’t mean that it shocked her any less.

Summoning her remaining strength, she stood and moved toward him. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the armrests of his chair, bringing herself closer to him. The curve of her breasts nearly brushed his chin, and she could feel his breath, warm and shallow, on her skin. His goblet of wine lay forgotten on a nearby desk, the contents slowly going tepid.

He looked up at her, surprise and something deeper flickering in his eye. His expression was a mixture of pain and longing, as if he too yearned for what she did. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he moved his hand and covered hers with his. His touch was tentative, as if he feared she might pull away. But she held firm, her fingers entwining with his. 

He was warm to the touch. She remembered that much from the first days of their marriage, but it felt better to be reminded of it this way. Almost as though he was tender towards her, like they never spent any time being purposefully apart from each other.

She felt like they were getting somewhere, a tentative bridge forming between their fractured hearts. Carried away by the newfound closeness, she hesitated only for a moment before reaching out, her hand trembling as it neared his face. Her fingers were delicate, soft against the rough texture of his skin as she traced the scar that marred his otherwise perfect visage.

Aemond’s breath hitched, his entire body tensing at the intimate touch. She moved slowly, her fingers gliding over the jagged lines. Her touch was feather-light, almost reverent, as if she could heal his old wounds with her tenderness.

Her eyes locked onto his, searching for any sign of discomfort or rejection. Instead, she saw vulnerability, a crack in his formidable armor that allowed her a glimpse of the man beneath the warrior’s facade. His eye, the one not covered by the patch, was wide and filled with an emotion she couldn't quite name - something between longing and fear.

With a gentle caress, her finger traced the path of the scar down to his cheekbone, lingering there for a moment before moving toward the eyepatch. She felt his breath warm against her hand, the rise and fall of his chest quickening as her fingers danced over the leather. The eyepatch was cool and rough under her touch, a stark contrast to the smoothness of his skin.

She paused, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the tension coiling in him. Would he push her away? Would he retreat back into the cold distance that had defined their relationship for so long? But he remained still, his gaze fixed on hers, a silent permission in his eyes.

Encouraged by his silence, she allowed her fingers to explore the edges of the eyepatch, feeling the worn leather against her skin. Her thumb brushed over the strap that held it in place, her touch gentle and soothing. He shivered, a barely perceptible tremor that ran through him, and she felt a surge of something warm and hopeful rise within her.

His reaction was slow, almost imperceptible. He closed his eye briefly, as if savoring the sensation, then opened it to meet her gaze again. She could see the conflict within him, the struggle between the desire to protect himself and the yearning for this rare moment of intimacy.

She moved closer, her body almost pressing against his as she continued her exploration. The curve of her breasts brushed against his chin, and she felt the heat radiating from him, the tension in his muscles. Her fingers lingered on the eyepatch, tracing the lines where it met his skin, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat beneath her touch. His hand reached up, covering hers. For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them, suspended in a fragile, tender silence.

“Will you let me see?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

His hesitance and silence said more than his words ever could. 

The moment stretched, taut and fragile, until it seemed to snap under the weight of unspoken fears. She saw the flicker of rejection in his eye, a retreat behind the barriers he had so carefully constructed. Her face fell, the light of hope dimming as she realized she had pushed too far. But she understood; perhaps he needed more time. Withdrawing her hand, she felt the ghost of his touch linger on her skin, a burning reminder of the closeness they had almost shared.

He grasped her wrist gently, as if he wanted to ask her to stay, but the words remained unspoken. She did not want to stay unless he wholeheartedly asked her to. His grip was firm, yet she felt the reluctance in it, the silent struggle to decide whether to hold on and let go.

“I should go,” she said softly, gathering her skirts. “Your mother and sister await me at luncheon, and it would be unseemly to be late.”

He watched her walk away, her steps slow and measured, each one pulling her further from the fragile connection they had started to form. Left alone with his son, Aemond felt the weight of his failure press down on him, a cold, heavy burden that settled in his chest.

Aerys slept in the cot nearby, his tiny body trembling with each breath as if the sickness that plagued him might take him at any moment. Aemond moved his chair closer to the cot, peering down at the infant with a mixture of fear and determination. The soft tufts of silver hair marked him as undoubtedly his, a tiny mirror of his own lineage.

How many nights had she spent alone, watching over him like this? Scared that if she stepped away, Aerys may be gone?

In a quiet tone that would otherwise go unheard, he whispered to his son, his voice thick with emotion. “Ao kostagon’t tepagon bē va īlva, riñnykeā.” [You can’t give up on us, child.] After a moment of composure, he continued. “Ziry braved vīlībāzma naejot tepagon ao naejot issa. Gaomagon daor henujagon zȳhon.” [She braved battle to give you to me. Do not leave her.]

Aemond's voice trembled, the words almost breaking under the weight of his desperation. He held his son closer, cradling the tiny, fragile body against his chest. He thought of his wife's strength, the pain she had endured, and winced at the realization of how badly he had treated her. His neglect, his coldness - they had all but shattered her. 

He had done enough to her. The last thing he wanted was to see her lose Aerys too.

The dim light of the chamber cast soft shadows on Aemond's face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrowed brow etched deep with worry. His eye, normally a piercing blue, now seemed almost muted, dulled by the depth of his concern. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on his son’s chest, feeling the weak but steady rise and fall of his breaths. Aerys stirred slightly, his tiny fingers curling around a strand of Aemond’s hair. The grip was weak, but determined.

“You are the blood of the dragon,” he continued, his voice a fierce whisper. “You will grow strong.”

The Dragonpit was packed, the air heavy with the murmurs of the gathered smallfolk and the flickering light of countless torches. She stood beside Aemond, her posture as straight and regal as she could manage, her heart pounding in her chest. The spectacle of Aegon's coronation was unfolding before her eyes, a momentous event that would shape the future of the Targaryen family.

Hers.

The ceremony began with the Grand Maester stepping forward, the crown of Aegon the Conqueror held reverently in his hands. The weight of history seemed to press down on the room, making every breath feel heavy, every movement deliberate. Aegon - looking more like a squabbling, crying child than a King - ascended the steps to the dais, his face a mask of acceptance.

And when her husband nodded to his new King, she bowed deep.

She watched as Aegon’s expression shifted from indifference to a flicker of recognition of the power now bestowed upon him. The crowd erupted in cheers, their loyalty and fervor palpable, yet she felt a pang of unease amidst the celebration.

Beside her, Aemond stood tall and vigilant, his eye never leaving the proceedings. She glanced at him, seeking comfort in his composed demeanor, his presence a steady anchor in the sea of chaos. The noise of the crowd swelled, and she could feel the anticipation hanging thick in the air, a tangible force that seemed to wrap around them all. 

Aegon, now crowned, raised Blackfyre high above his head, the ancient sword gleaming in the firelight. The sight was awe-inspiring, a symbol of power and legitimacy. Yet, beneath the grandeur, she sensed the underlying tensions and overheard the words that Helaena kept mumbling. 

There is a beast beneath the boards.

Her feet shifted, and she heard the hollow sound that the ground made when her shoe met the surface. A hollow sound that comes when feet meets -

The boards.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembled, a low rumble that grew into a deafening roar. Gasps of shock and fear rippled through the crowd, and she instinctively reached for Aemond’s hand. Before she could react further, the floor of the Dragonpit exploded upward, sending debris and chaos flying in all directions.

Rhaenys, astride her dragon Meleys, emerged from the smoke and dust, her presence formidable and terrifying. The dragon’s scales shimmered with an otherworldly glow, its eyes blazing with fury. The people scattered, screams of panic filling the air as the beast roared, the sound reverberating through the hall and shaking her to her core.

Her heart raced, terror gripping her as she stared at the massive dragon, its wings spreading wide, casting a shadow over the entire chamber. Aemond’s hand tightened around hers, pulling her behind him protectively. She could feel his body tense, ready to shield her from any danger. Despite the fear that threatened to overwhelm her, a faint surge of gratitude washed through.

You never had to ask.

Meleys roared again, the sound like thunder, and the heat of its breath washed over them. She could see the flames flickering in the dragon's throat, the promise of destruction just a heartbeat away. Rhaenys, regal and unyielding, locked eyes with Alicent, a silent challenge passing between them.

Aemond stepped forward, his presence a wall of defiance and strength. “Get behind me,” he commanded, his voice steady despite the chaos. She obeyed without hesitation, her body pressed close to his, drawing comfort from his unwavering resolve.

The dragon’s eyes fixed on them, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. She could hear her own heartbeat, a frantic drumbeat in her ears, and the cold sweat on her palms. Every muscle in her body was taut with fear, and she kept her eyes firmly set to the ground.

This is how I die. Do you call it a dragonrider’s death when you don’t ride a dragon?

My son. AerysAerysAerys-

Aemond.

Rhaenys stared at them all, the weight of her decision hanging in the air. Meleys shifted, the ground trembling beneath its weight, and for a moment, it seemed as though the dragon would unleash its fury. But then, as if making a choice that defied all expectations, Rhaenys turned Meleys away, the dragon's wings beating powerfully as they ascended through the shattered roof of the Dragonpit.

The relief was overwhelming, a rush of emotions that left her weak at the knees. She clung to Aemond, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she tried to process what had just happened. The hall was filled with the sounds of weeping and the murmurs of disbelief, the aftermath of the encounter leaving everyone shaken.

Aemond’s arm wrapped around her, pulling her close, his breath warm against her ear. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern. She nodded, still trembling, her heart beginning to slow as the adrenaline ebbed away.

She did not notice how closely he held her when it came down to it - for the very first time. 

Aemond's fingers dug into Sylvi's hips as he thrust into her from behind, each movement fierce and relentless. Her back arched under the pressure of his hand, pushing her down onto the bed. The room was filled with the raw sounds of their coupling, echoing off the walls.

His breath came in ragged gasps, mingling with her moans. His grip tightened, nails biting into her flesh as he drove into her harder, seeking release in the violent act. The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, an intoxicating mix that fueled his aggression. "Gods,” He growled, his voice a low, primal rumble. He watched as her body responded to each thrust, the way her muscles tensed and relaxed, the sheen of sweat on her skin glistening in the candlelight. She was a willing vessel for his frustrations, and he took her with a ferocity that bordered on madness.

Her moans turned into cries of pleasure, her fingers clutching the sheets beneath her as she braced herself against his onslaught. He felt a dark satisfaction at the way he could bend her to his will, the power he wielded in these moments of raw, unbridled lust.

The climax came in a wave of intense pleasure, his body shuddering as he spilled into her. He collapsed over her, panting, his chest pressed against her back as he tried to catch his breath. The aftermath was a stark contrast to the ferocity of their coupling – a quiet, intimate moment where their bodies remained entwined, slick with sweat and the remnants of their shared passion.

Her arms wrapped around Aemond's naked body, her touch tender and soothing after their rough encounter. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, mingling with the faint aroma of lavender from the sheets.

Aemond's breathing gradually slowed, his chest rising and falling against hers as he allowed himself to relax in her embrace. His mind, however, was anything but at ease. He thought back to the scene that had haunted him since he left his chambers earlier: his wife, cradling their son, her eyes red from crying, her body and mind still fragile from the ordeal of facing a dragon at Aegon’s coronation.

"She was crying before I left to come here," he began, his voice a low murmur against her neck. "Holding our son, so shocked by near-death.. It didn’t seem as terrifying to me, but... she was so scared. She's worried, you know. About the impending war."

The Madame’s fingers traced gentle circles on his back, encouraging him to continue. "She doesn't have dragonrider's blood," he went on, almost to himself. "I didn’t know how to comfort her. I want to help, but I don’t know how."

Her hands moved up to his shoulders, her touch grounding him. Her presence was a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind. He lowered his head to her chest, his lips finding her breast. He suckled softly, kneading the soft flesh, seeking solace in the familiar act.

Holding their son brought comfort to his wife, and for him, coming here to the Madame, was his escape. The warmth and intimacy they shared, however fleeting, was his way of coping with the weight of his responsibilities and the emotional distance between him and his wife. As he continued to be held, he couldn’t help but wonder if he and his wife would ever find this kind of comfort in each other; if he’d ever find the courage or the trust to truly tell her what he needs without worrying about losing her respect.

If he'd walked in and held her while she cried instead of leaving her to it and coming here, could he have made her feel safer?

Too many questions, not enough courage for answers. Too much pride and so little sense between them both.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as Vhagar soared through the stormy skies back to King's Landing. The cold wind bit at his face, but it was nothing compared to the icy dread gripping his heart. 

He had killed Luke. His nephew, his blood. 

The act had been unintended, a consequence of their reckless chase, but it was done. There would be no undoing it. If there hadn't been a war before, there certainly was now. The weight of his actions settled heavily upon him, more suffocating than the fiercest storm. As the familiar silhouette of the Red Keep came into view, a storm of emotions churned within him. Guilt, fear, and a desperate need for comfort twisted together, making his insides writhe. 

He dismounted Vhagar with a heavy heart, his drenched form slipping through the darkened halls of the castle like a shadow. His mind raced, an entire host of thoughts battering against the walls of his consciousness. He needed solace, a place to hide from the storm he had created. The whorehouse crossed his mind briefly, a familiar escape, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough this time. He needed... he needed...

Before he knew it, his feet had taken him to her apartments.

Her. His wife.

He stood before the door, hesitating for a moment before pushing it open. His wife was readying for bed, her state of undress evident. She wore a robe over her shift, her hair loose around her shoulders. The soft light from the hearth bathed her in a gentle glow, as he took her in. She turned to him in shock, her eyes widening at the sight of him. It was clear how rare this occurrence was, how unexpected his presence was in her chambers. But she was quick to pull him in, taking in his drenched form with a worried expression.

"Husband, what has happened?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

He did not answer, his eyes trained on her as she moved. Her exposed skin drew his attention, and he found himself wondering. 

Was she softer? Kinder? Would she hold him in her soft arms if he so wished? Did he deserve it from her? Would she shame him?

She kept asking, but he remained silent, his mind too chaotic to form coherent words. She moved to find him something to dry off with, but he reached out, his hand wrapping around her wrist in a death grip.

"Don't go," he whispered, his voice raw and choked, barely more than a breath.

She looked up at him, her confusion gradually giving way to a quiet curiosity. He gently guided her arms around his cold and damp waist, his touch unexpectedly tender. This was not a whore; this was his wife. She deserved to be treated differently. 

At first, she froze, her body tense and uncertain, but slowly, she let herself relax – at least as much as she could manage with a husband who had sought her out for the first time in a year.

He felt her hesitation and understood the significance of her yielding. The weight of his guilt pressed harder against his heart, but he clung to this moment of closeness, desperate for the comfort he so craved.

"What has happened, husband? Why are you here?" she asked softly, parts of her words muffled into his chest.

He remained silent, waiting to see what she would do. Her repeated questions slowly stopped, a resigned understanding settling in her gaze. In the silence, he became acutely aware of her form – soft, untouched by anyone but him, made for him. The thin layers of her robe and shift did little to keep his hands from exploring her.

His fingers trembled as they traced the curve of her spine, brushing against the delicate fabric of her robe. Every slight movement, every breath, every shiver she made became magnified in his mind. Her body responded to his touch with a delicate gasp, and he felt a surge of something he couldn't quite name – a need, a longing, a desperate desire for solace in her embrace.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest, every intake of breath, every flinch and gasp. He noticed a stray hair that had fallen across her face, the way the delicate hairs on her skin raised at his touch, the way her eyes widened and then softened. Each detail etched itself into his mind, a stark contrast to the murder that had driven him here.

She tightened her arms around him, her touch gentle yet firm. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent – lilacs and something uniquely her that anchored him to this moment, to her. It was a comfort stronger than any he had ever received, yet calm and grounding at the same time.

His hands roamed her back, feeling the delicate curve of her waist, the slight tremor in her muscles as she responded to his touch. He pressed his lips to her neck, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat, steady and reassuring. Her breath hitched, and he felt the vibration of her voice as she whispered his name, a question and a plea all at once.

"Aemond," she murmured, her voice breaking the silence. His body reacts in shivers and heat at the sound of his name upon her lips. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

Had she ever said his name out loud before? He did not know. But he wanted to hear it again and again until the world as he knew it ended. Perhaps it was the guilt - over Luke, or over his neglect of his wife - he did not know. But it was all bubbling at the surface now, and he was much more open and vulnerable than he’d ever been.

He bent his head down, his eye locking onto hers. The intensity of his gaze seemed to drown out the room, focusing solely on her. He could see the concern, the worry etched in her features, and it tore at him. He couldn't tell her, not yet. Not about the blood on his hands, the life he had taken, not why he was here and what he’d wanted.

But he could let her consume him, to forget. He could lose himself in her.

He felt the warmth of her skin, the softness of her curves against him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to forget the horrors of the night. He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers, memorizing every curve, every angle. Her skin was smooth and warm, a stark contrast to the cold, damp leathers clinging to him.

He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. Her eyes searched his, looking for answers he couldn't give. Despite her confusion, the turmoil in his mind quieted, replaced by the steady, reassuring rhythm of her heartbeat. She was his anchor, his solace, and he clung to her like a lifeline in the storm.

Wordlessly, he moved back enough to get a good look at her, his eyes tracing her form with a reverence that made her pulse quicken. He then slowly untied the front of her robe, the silk falling away with a whisper. His hands fell to her shoulders, pausing there for a moment as he sighed. As he pushed the sleeves down, his hands traced the newly revealed skin - his fingers glided from her collarbone to her shoulders, down her arms, and finally to her fingers, which he intertwined with his own. The robe slipped to the floor, leaving her in a thin shift that clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination.

His eyes remained locked on hers, the intensity of his gaze a silent plea for forgiveness, a desperate need to be anchored by her presence. He took her trembling hands and placed them on his damp leathers, his touch firm but gentle, giving her silent permission—no, a quiet command—to undress him. His breath hitched slightly as he waited for her to take the lead.

She moved slowly, her fingers deftly working the buckles and straps, peeling away the layers of his clothing until he stood before her in only his trousers. Her hands hover over his chest, her touch hesitant, almost afraid, as if she's not sure she's allowed to touch him. His skin was warm under her fingertips, his heart pounding just beneath the surface.

His hands covered hers, guiding them lower, to the waistband of his trousers. His touch was both a plea and a command, silently asking, demanding, begging her to take this final barrier away. She did, her movements slow and deliberate, until he stood bare before her, exposed in every sense of the word.

She did not dare try to take off his eyepatch, not this time.

He watched her intently, noting every flinch, every gasp, every shiver that runs through her. His fingers traced delicate patterns on her skin, exploring every inch with a tenderness that speaks of his desperation for her. He needed this moment, her touch, to forget what he'd done to Luke, to drown the guilt that threatened to consume him. Every breath he took was a reminder of his failures, every brush of her skin against his a lifeline that pulled him back from the proverbial edge.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder - not her lips, he had not kissed her on the lips since their wedding ceremony. His hands roamed her body, mapped out the places that made her gasp, the spots that made her arch into him. He was attuned to her every reaction, his focus entirely on her.

All he asked for in return - with no words - is that she make him feel safe for this one night.

With his body bare and hers still clad in her shift, he silently gestured to her bed with a tilt of his head. She moved toward it, her movements graceful yet hesitant, and then crawled to the back, letting her spine rest against the headboard. He stood there for a moment, watching her, his breath uneven and his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

He did not miss the way she looked at him. Desire flickered in her eyes, growing with each second her gaze roved over his body. Her eyes widened when they settled on his manhood, and he could see the anticipation building within her. She expected him to take her tonight, he knew. He hadn't given any indication otherwise in the last few moments, and she had no clue what he actually wanted; or why.

Would she welcome him to her bed if she knew he was a kinslayer?

The thought gnawed at him, but he chose not to tell her. She might not offer her true acceptance, but he would take her false comfort tonight – even if she thought it true.

He moved to the side of the bed with all his characteristic grace. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and longing. When he lifted his knee to place it on the plush mattress, she shifted to make space for him. He laid down beside her, his movements deliberate and slow, as if fearing she might vanish if he was too hasty. She mirrored his actions, and soon they were facing each other, their warm breaths mingling in the stillness of the room.

Their eyes locked, and he saw her questioning gaze. Her next words, soft and tentative, knocked the breath out of his lungs.

"Are you alright?"

For a moment, he couldn't answer, the weight of the day's events pressing down on him. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and saw the worry etched in the lines of her face, the softness of her eyes, the way her lips parted slightly as she waited for his response.

"I will be," he finally said, his voice rough with emotion.

Tentatively, he placed his hand on her thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her shift. He slid the material up, his fingers tracing the smooth expanse of her leg. 

"Gevie.” [Beautiful.]

His fingers continued their journey, moving to her inner thigh. Her legs shivered at his touch, and he smirked for a moment before he withdrew his hand and moved closer. Their bodies were now a hairsbreadth apart, the heat between them palpable. 

His hands moved to her breasts, feeling their fullness beneath her shift. He was acutely aware of every breath she took, every flinch and gasp that escaped her lips. Each reaction to his touch drew him further into the present moment, away from the dark thoughts that threatened to consume him. Her body was a haven, a sanctuary where he could lose himself, if only for a while.

Encouraged by her soft gasps, he continued to knead the mounds of flesh and pinch her pert nipples, his touch gentle yet insistent through the shift. Lowering his head, he nestled himself at her bosom, inhaling deeply. The scent of lilacs and milk overtook him, and he let out a contented sigh.

"You are a mother... the mother of my heir," he murmured into her chest, his voice a mix of reverence and disbelief.

She said nothing, but when her initial shock faded, she began to comb her fingers through his soft hair, humming the same song she sang to their son to sleep. The melody was soothing, a balm to his frayed nerves. He didn't know if her singing was to calm him or herself, but he found solace in the gentle rise and fall of her breasts with each breath she took.

He took in the way her body trembled slightly beneath him, the softness of her skin, the rhythmic beating of her heart against his cheek. This was not the harsh, immediate and uncertain release he sought at the whorehouse. 

This was more, more, more.

Sleep came to him easily in her arms, draped in her comfort; devoid of any nightmares, dreams, or heavy thoughts. 

If she wondered why he'd simply laid with her rather than fuck her, she did not ask.

Would she welcome him again when she finds out what he did?

The council branded him a kinslayer when he told them what he'd done. He embraced it, staring into their eyes, defiant and unyielding. He told them he did it on purpose, each word a dagger thrown with precision. Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

Aegon patted his back, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "A job well done, drawing first blood in the King's name," he said, his voice a blend of admiration and malice. His grandfather's face remained a mask, revealing nothing. Criston was disappointed, his disapproval a heavy weight in the room. And his mother... 

His mother was disgusted, her eyes filled with a sorrow he had never seen before. When he stepped out and walked through the corridors, the word had spread like wildfire. 

Kinslayer. 

The whispers followed him like a relentless shadow. Servants and maids stepped out of his way, their gazes avoiding his. The tension was palpable, a living thing that tightened the air around him. He wanted to escape them all, to flee to the skies where their judgment could not reach him. But before then, he wanted to see them.

He stood near the doorway as she had a few days prior, watching her rock their fitful, sick son to sleep. Her movements were gentle, contrasting all the shock, anger and brashness he’d seen since he stepped out of her room before she awoke. He wanted her to look at him, to see beyond the blood and the sin. He was asking too much of her, he knew that. They were strangers bound by duty, their recent shared moments brief and fraught with his own selfish needs for comfort.

His heart pounded as she finally met his gaze. He was not prepared for the slight fear in her eyes. It cut through him deeper than any sword ever could. She looked at him as if he were a creature she could not recognize. 

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

The word echoed in his mind, a relentless chant that drowned out everything else. He took a step forward, his hands trembling. "I—" he began, but the words died in his throat. What could he say? How could he explain the unexplainable, justify the unforgivable? She held their son closer, her grip tightening protectively. The room was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of what he had done and what it meant for them. His mind raced, filled with a cacophony of anger, regret, and despair.

The need to escape surged within him again. He wanted to flee to the skies, to find solace in the cold, indifferent clouds. But he couldn't move, couldn't tear his gaze away from the image of her fear-stricken eyes.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

With a heavy heart and a mind in turmoil, he turned and walked back into the shadowed corridors, each step echoing the relentless chant of his new title.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

The word echoed through the empty halls, a reminder of the path he had chosen and the price he would pay.

If he’d told her last night as he laid in her arms, would she have understood?

He’d never know.

NEXT

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[drunk-person]

Leather gloves, jealous and dragons

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: After the moons pass and Aemond and Lady Y/n's marriage becomes increasingly stronger, there is only one creature capable of keeping the prince away from his wife for more than a few hours, Vhagar. Sometimes Y/n cares, sometimes she doesn't, but if there's one thing she never cares about, it's the thick black gloves that her husband wears when he goes flying.

WARNING: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, gloves being used inappropriately (a lot of things have been used inappropriately on this blog lately, I'm talking about you training yard), fingering, clothed sex, dom/sub tones if you squint, no description for reader.

Word cont: 2.900 k

Author's note: Okay, I was just casually scrolling through Aemond's tag when this idea came up, and yes I was writing the bottom half of the fourth chapter of The Gossip, but I HAD to write this story! @peachysunrize I hope you like it, I added some inventions from my head in the middle of it 💕💕. English is not my first language so be kind if you can.

Y/n Arryn was a respectable and well-regarded lady, throughout Westeros there were men fighting for her hand as soon as she was old enough to marry. Proposals came from the North, the Rech and even Dorne, but the one that was of most interest to Lord Arryn was the one that came in a black envelope with red edges sealed with the Targaryen family crest.

The hand of the king had proposed marriage between Y/n and his grandson Prince Aemond Targaryen. The young woman felt her heart come to her mouth as soon as her father told her what he had decided, she would marry Prince Aemond in two moons.

The first time Y/n set foot on Kings Landing she was terrified, the idea of marrying a man she barely knew making her thoughts cloudier than water. And when she met Prince Aemond, this terror increased even more, something she didn't think was possible.

He was as scary and taciturn as they had told her, he barely gave her a look and only said two words of courtesy, other than muttering every now and then while looking down on everyone as if he were from a race superior to mere mortals.

Y/n's fear became even more overwhelming after she met Aegon, Aemond's older brother. Her heart ached as she listened to the gossip around the fortress about how he cheated on his wife, how he was always drunk, and how he spent more time in the brothels than in the fortress. Sadness took over her, and she imagined how terrible life itself would be from now on.

How wrong she was.

Things began to change on the night of the wedding when the prince vehemently denied a bed ceremony. Y/n was so nervous, the fear of the nuptials was already consuming her, combined with the fact that other people would be watching it made her tremble, until Aemond denied the ceremony and ripped that fear out of her.

The remaining fear was quickly extinguished when Aemond gently laid her on the bed and made her cry with pleasure in a way she never thought possible. Her hands tangled in his silver strands of hair as he touched her in places that made her blush with embarrassment as she remembered the other day.

From then on, little by little, she got to know her husband and every day she became more grateful for that. He still had that stoic and arrogant air, but now Y/n could see behind it, she saw the small acts of importance he gave her daily.

How he made a point of having at least one meal a day with her, how he asked how her day had been, how every now and then she would wake up after a passionate night and find an arrangement of beautiful flowers on the table in her room. And each of these things from the smallest to the largest warmed her heart until it was completely melted by her husband, to the point where she couldn't wait to be with him.

Little by little Aemond spent more and more time with her, and when they weren't tangled in the sheets so close together that you didn't know where one began and the other ended, they were sitting in the gardens talking, or reading together in some quiet place, or even just quietly enjoying each other's company. At a certain point, the only one who could receive more attention from Aemond than Y/n was Vhagar since he almost always went on long flights with the dragon.

That afternoon in particular Aemond was taking much longer than usual and Y/n was waiting for him impatiently as she walked around the room. He had promised to arrive before sunset so they would have time to walk around the garden, but now the sun had already set and the maids had even lit the candles.

The loud noise of the door suddenly invaded the room and Y/n promptly got up to wait for her husband, as soon as he entered her field of vision Y/n arched her eyebrows ironically.

-Did you decide to show up, husband? - Moons ago Y/n wouldn't have spoken to him in such a way in her wildest dreams, but now she was so familiar with him that she often didn't have as much politeness when speaking.

-I'm sorry, wife. - He said, removing the belt with the dagger and sword and throwing it on the couch. -Vhagar was a little sensitive this afternoon, she tends to want to fly longer distances when she is like this.

Y/n just made a humming sound with her mouth instead of responding, a habit she had picked up from Aemond without even realizing it. However, Y/n couldn't help biting her lower lip lightly when she saw him still wearing his riding clothes, she had never said anything to him, but seeing him returning from the flight always affected her mood and it was almost automatic so that she got excited.

-Wife… - Aemond murmured, approaching Y/n from behind and holding her firmly by the waist. -Are you by any chance jealous of Vhagar… a dragon?

His voice was incredulous and Y/n burned with embarrassment. Before she could respond Aemond laughed, something that rarely happened, which made her blush even more as she tried tried to free herself from his arms.

-You don't need to be embarrassed, I find it very flattering that you feel such appreciation for me to the point of feeling jealous. - He arched his eyebrow, still smiling. - No matter how unreasonable it may be.

-Husband.. - Y/n complained grumpily looking at her feet.

At that point she was no longer red only from the small misbehavior, but also from the thin, rough texture of her husband's riding gloves against her sensitive, soft skin. That was always a problem, she couldn't help but sigh every time she saw Aemond arrive wearing those damn gloves. And when he ripped them off and threw them haphazardly on the table? She felt a pressure between her legs that made her want to jump on him.

-What is it? Why are you all bristling, wife? - Aemond rubbed his hands against her arms and Y/n shivered even more making him arch his eyebrows again.

-They're your gloves, husband. - She said looking at the floor. – They are rough.

-I can take it off if you want. - He spoke, still gently stroking her arms, but after speaking he noticed that his wife lowered her eyes and didn't respond and then, approaching her lips to her ear, he spoke in a low voice, almost making her sigh. - You don't want me to take it off, do you?

-Do you like rougher things, dear wife? - And with the question he ran his hands down Y/n's body and slowly pulled the fabric of the dress up and accumulated them on her hips, making Y/n gasp as she felt the rough gloves passing over her thighs and squeezing them. slowly. Aemond couldn't help but smile when he noticed his wife's reactions to the roughest touch.

-Come here my dear, I'll show you how much I missed you. - He said, pulling her more and more towards him, sitting in one of the armchairs in the room while he placed her on his lap facing the large mirror and guided his hands to his wife's knees, slowly separating her legs, now being able to see the moisture that had formed in her intimacy.

-I haven't even touched you yet, dear wife, and you're already so wet for me. - His delicious voice sounded in her ear as he slowly moved his hands up her thighs, making her desperate for him to get to where she needed him most. The sight of his gloved fingers running up her legs made her roll her eyes with desire.

Aemond smiled mischievously and Y/n held her breath, not knowing where to look. His smile intensified as he brought his fingers to her cunt and at this point Y/n was barely breathing with desire.

Slowly he guided two fingers to her entrance and rubbed gently, pulling some of the moisture concentrated there and taking it to the pearl, which he began to rub languidly, eliciting sighs and moans from Y/n.

-You look so beautiful when you open your legs for me. - He murmured, brushing his lips gently against the shell of her ear, making her let out a louder moan. - So beautiful making these perfect sounds when I've barely touched you yet.

He then moved his fingers down and with a smooth movement that made Y/n roll her eyes, he penetrated just one gloved finger into her cunt. The sight of his finger disappearing inside her as he admired her with that look of pure adoration made her want to cry with desire.

-Very good beautiful girl. - He sighed as he slowly moved his finger teasing her, knowing very well that she needed more. - You always welcome me so well. How about another one?

He had barely asked and Y/n was already nodding her head practically begging for him.

-Such a needy lady my wife is. - He murmured as he inserted another finger inside her, making her moan his name with praise. - I can't leave our bed for a few hours because it becomes a meaningless mess.

Aemond guided his free hand to the front laces of Y/n's dress and pulled them tightly, loosening her wife's neckline more and more until her breasts were exposed to his pure delight, who guided his gloved hand to her erect nipple. of her gently pinching him as he admired her reflection in the mirror.

Meanwhile he moved his fingers slowly inside her and the feeling of the rough fabric of her husband's gloves against her own soft and wet insides made Y/n see stars and sigh in contentment with the double stimulation. As Aemond fucked her with his fingers he found that spongy spot that took her body out of orbit, and when she moaned uncontrollably he smiled even more mischievously against her neck, leaving kisses and bites there, pinching her nipples even more.

-So good husband. - Y/n sighed, leaning on his shoulder.

-You don't know how much I want to fuck you right now. -He murmured, biting her ear and sucking it while he nuzzled his nose in her hair.

Aemond penetrated her third finger making her whimper, but unlike before where he caressed her gently, he now started to get into a rougher rhythm, still slow but with force. And Y/n in turn just clung to his arms as she threw herself back, leaning against her husband's clothed chest, and moving her hips in search of more friction.

-So desperate my wife, throwing herself against my fingers like a beautiful filthy whore. -He brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen across her face when he said that, so that Y/n could see herself better in the mirror, and the sight of her made her moan even louder.

His gloved fingers moving in and out of her cunt, his palm firmly massaging her mound, the fabric of the gloves slightly moistened and a white ring forming at the base of the fingers contrasting strongly with the dark color they possessed. The contractions of pleasure of her cunt crushing Aemond's skilled fingers as he smiled and bit her neck working even harder to coax pleasure out of her, he loved the feeling of her silky walls squeezing around him.

The way he curled his fingers and then moved them in and out made every nerve ending in Y/n burn. The roughness of the fabric was driving her crazy and she wanted so much more, she wanted to be set on fire.

-Husband. - She moaned, arching her back and pressing herself even more against him while turning her neck slightly to face him, taking one of her hands to his hair and removing the eye patch in the process. - I'm so close… so close. Please.

-I like it as much as you implore my dear. - He guided his other hand to her chin and squeezed it tightly, forcing her to keep her eyes exclusively on the mirror's reflection, the rough fabric of the glove making her gasp, while the sight of Aemond's now uncovered sapphire eye made her moan. - But I want you to keep your hungry little eyes on your pussy.

-See how wet she is for me, how well she takes my fingers, you are dripping my dear wife. - The movements became faster and stronger and Y/n felt some tears run down her cheeks as she moaned uncontrollably at the sight of Aemond's gloved fingers buried so deeply in her soaked cunt.

And when he accelerated the movements of both his fingers inside Y/n and his palm against her sensitive pearl, Y/n cried and screamed as she came against his hand, shuddering with pleasure.

Aemond was lost at that scene. He couldn't take his eyes off his wife's cunt writhing against his fingers as her juices oozed out between his fingers. Her face full of pleasure as she screamed and begged for his name was another thing that could easily kill him in that instant, he would certainly die happy with that scene.

-Look at the mess you make, my dear. - He said after removing his fingers from her trembling cunt. - Clean up for me like the good wife I know you are.

Aemond guided his hand to Y/n's lips and she lazily sucked on his gloved fingers. The taste of the fabric mixed with her own taste further numbing her mind, still clouded by the orgasm.

And Aemond could no longer contain himself when he saw that expression of contentment on her face as she sucked on his gloved fingers. And he quickly took her off his lap and bent her over the carpet, still facing the mirror, making her gasp from the abrupt movement.

Y/n had barely balanced herself and Aemond had already undid the laces of his own pants and guided his cock to her sensitive pussy. They both moaned senselessly as soon as he penetrated her completely. And he quickly brought his hands to the top of her dress, dragging it down and leaving her breasts completely free for him to massage and squeeze as he pleased.

He fucked her so well, and Y/n lost her breath with each firm thrust from Aemond and panted with pleasure as she whimpered for more with tears in her eyes.

She raised her head, looking towards the mirror again, and the sight of his hand massaging her hips and squeezing her nipples as he fucked her while still wearing those damned riding gloves made her eyes roll with pleasure, and she begged for him with Even more willing looking into his eyes and sighing when finding that blue glow that she had learned to love so much.

-I love that look you have when I'm inside you. - He groaned, rolling his eye with pleasure as he fucked her, and Y/n lowered her face once again. Aemond then guided his hand to her chin, forcing her to look at the mirror again, he wouldn't miss a second of that passionate look that his wife directed just at him and that made Aemond's heart race.

-No my dear, you keep those shining eyes on me while I fuck you like you deserve. - And removing his hand from her chin, Aemond went up to her hair and pulled it back, holding her firmly and keeping her gaze fixed on the mirror.

-Aemond, please. - She whimpered, enchanting him with those eyes that made him lose his head, and once again he guided the tips of his gloved fingers to the top of her thighs and caressed her forcefully, making his wife gasp and moan as she collapsed in front of him, who held her. by her hips as he fucked her with abandon looking for his own climax, which didn't take long to come when he came deep inside her.

The two remained motionless, their bodies pressed together and their breaths labored. Y/n brought her own bare hand to her husband's gloved hand and caressed it with gentle circles still completely lost in fleeting pleasure.

-You look even more beautiful when you're cumming all over my cock. - He murmured, still lost in pleasure against her hair, making his wife smile.

Y/n in turn, faced the mirror and sighed with contentment when she saw their reflection. Aemond behind her still panting with his usually stoic face relaxed in pleasure as he held her against him still holding her thighs firmly to keep her in contact with him as she squeezed lightly every now and then.

-Love you. - She said tiredly, still with her head lying on his shoulder, looking at him through the mirror.

Aemond didn't respond with words, he just mumbled like he always did. But Y/n no longer needed words, she had learned to distinguish every look, every touch and every sigh of her husband to know that he was also in love, especially when he pulled her even closer and left a soft kiss on her neck .

Tag list: @slut-for-m3 @fallout-girl219

[knightsickness]

the thing about theon being taken as a prisoner to ensure balon’s good behaviour is if ned hadnt volunteered to ward him at winterfell theon could have had a much better time (being a louche scheming kings landing courtier after robert immediately forgets hes supposed to be a prisoner and just lets him do whatever) or a much worse time (foisted off on stannis and stuck on dragonstone with the worlds most miserable swingers)

[all-lee24]

I keep postponing serious ASOIAF art to draw the stupidest things