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

Part 4: Just You Wait

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

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

Warnings: Aemond is fr nasty I don't know what to say he kind of definitely sucks but he's hot about it I guess

Being led through Kingswood Manor felt very much like how Miss Doolittle imagined being led to one’s execution felt. Cold, despite the balmy summer day. Eerily silent, though there were many eyes upon her. She even felt an all-consuming sense of inevitable doom. Yet it was not the gallows and a hangman that met her at the end of the journey, but a sunlit parlor and two finely dressed gentlemen.

One was the kind man from the day before, Daeron. He smiled when he saw her, rising from where he lay sprawled across a cushioned bench, a small book in his hand. “Why, look who it is!” He smirked at his brother, Aemond, who still lingered behind her like a sinister shadow. “I thought you weren’t fetching her until tomorrow.”

“There was no need,” Aemond said. His voice was smooth and slippery, but elegant, like one of the foreign snakes Miss Doolittle had once seen when a circus came through Rosby. “She graciously came to us.”

“Ah,” the other man said as he stood. He was old, but still handsome in a terrifying sort of way, with a face just as striking as Aemond’s and eyes that pierced like arrows. There was gray sneaking into his sideburns and along his temples, making him appear all the more severe. Indeed, his smile was a sharp thing, like a blade held against a neck. “This must be our goose.”

Daeron sighed, “Grandfather…”

“Not only that,” Aemond pushed past her to join his brother and apparent grandfather, “she so happens to be dear Helaena’s new lady’s maid.”

He had not smiled in Rosby, but he did now. She wished he wouldn’t. It was crooked and unsettling, like he knew something she didn’t and delighted in it, like a cat who cornered an unsuspecting mouse.

“I ain’t no goose,” she muttered. Had it been Alfred and his boys, she would have shouted it. Maybe even thumped them if she could get close enough. But she feared these men as she did not fear her friends. They were not only tall and broad, but powerful in ways she could not begin to imagine – in wealth and knowledge and whatever else the upper class used to keep poor folk poor.

“Speak up, girl!” The grandfather thundered, his disdain buffeting against her like a great wind. “Mumbling is unbecoming of a young woman.”

She felt only a moment of fear before her anger surged forward, and she allowed it to sweep her away. “I said, I! Ain’t! No! Goose! I’m a respectacle woman, I am!”

The old man patted Aemond’s shoulder. “Well, she’ll certainly be a challenge, won’t she?”

She wanted to rush forward and show the old geezer just how much of a ‘challenge’ she could be, but a firm hand on her shoulder halted her. The housekeeper, Mrs. Rivers, gave her a chiding glare. “For your own sake, girl, stay quiet and listen.”

Aemond’s smile fell into a grimace. The girl was wretched. Even more so than he remembered, if she had to be physically held back from doing something as utterly stupid as attacking them. Perhaps whatever stroke of fortune had brought her here had not been benevolent as he first hoped. Still, he’d be damned if he let Otto think he already won. “I fear you underestimate me, grandfather.”

Otto hummed. “Perhaps, but I am not yet convinced.” He examined the girl again, from her stained dress, mud-coated shoes, and ripped stockings to her reddened face. “May I suggest you begin by bathing the poor creature?

“Perhaps we could instead start by behaving like gentlemen?” Daeron spat. Odd, he had seemed excited by the venture the night before, yet now his smile was tight and his eyes hard. He glared at them for a moment before turning to the girl with a soft, pitying look. “What is your name, dear?”

Mrs. Rivers released her shoulder, and the girl stumbled slightly. At least she had sense enough not to charge them again. She looked back at the housekeeper, as if she already considered her an ally. Mrs. Rivers nodded, murmuring something presumably encouraging.

Then the girl, cheeks flushing beneath whatever grime coated her skin, told them her given name, Jeyne, followed by the most ridiculous surname Aemond had ever heard.

‘Doolittle.’ A trade name, perhaps, like Miller or Baker, only devoid of all competence.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Doolittle.” Daeron inclined his head as if she were deserving of such respect. “Formally, and in much better circumstances if I may say. I am Daeron Targaryen. These mannerless oafs beside me are my brother, Lord Aemond, and our grandfather, Sir Otto Hightower.”

The girl, Miss Jeyne Doolittle, behaved in accordance with her name. She stayed preternaturally still, her wide, wild eyes darting between them all. Dirty as she was, she looked remarkably like a trapped rat. “Am I to be returned to Rosby?”

Mrs. Rivers set a gentle hand on her arm, her voice gentle in a way Aemond had only ever heard her use with Helaena. “Is that what you wish, Jeyne?”

Aemond would not allow it. Otto had fixed on him reforming this girl and would not be convinced to accept another should she flee. Much as he resented it, Jeyne was his one chance to escape marriage to a creature even more worthless than her. He would use whatever means possible to keep her here, willing or not.

Jeyne answered, her words impressively steady. “No. I want a real position with a wage, not just sellin’ flowers in the street for coins.”

“Then you shall have it,” Aemond declared. He should have guessed that all a guttersnipe like her would want was money. Those of her breeding had few interests other than gambling and drink, though if he were honest with himself, he would admit she did not seem the type for either, even loud and belligerent as she was. “But first, we must discuss the terms of your employment.”

“I… I’m to be a lady’s maid.” The way she said it made him think that she might not know what the duties of a lady’s maid actually were. Not that it mattered. With the amount of labor it would take for her to become a civilized person, let alone a lady, she would have little time for anything else. Though Helaena would be sorely disappointed – she had been so looking forward to her arrival.

He approached, looking down his nose at her. She didn’t so much as flinch. “You’ll recall that I have a proposition for you.”

Jeyne’s face scrunched in anger as she shrieked, louder than a trumpet and more grating than steel against stone. “I ain’t that kind of lady! I’m proper! I’m a good girl, I am!”

“Oh, will you shut up?!?” Aemond shouted loud enough to set her off her footing, sending her tumbling into the armchair behind her. He dearly hoped her clothes would not stain the fabric. “I am not propositioning you, foolish girl. I have a proposition for you.”

“Do you know what a proposition is, Miss Doolittle?” Otto looked as if he were on the verge of laughter – an exceedingly rare occurrence. Jeyne shook her head, and he indeed let out a chortle. “I thought not. It is rather… polysyllabic.”

Daeron griped at their grandfather to be silent. Aemond would never attempt such a thing, but his brother had always been daring when he thought himself to be acting righteously. He approached Jeyne with a placating smile on his lips. “It is a deal of sorts. You do something for us, and we give you something in return.”

She straightened, bracing one arm on the chair. The wildness in her seemed to abate as she considered the words, confused but considering. “You mean my wage? For serving the lady?”

“That is a proposition, in a way,” Daeron encouraged her like a child attempting her first words. If that were what Aemond would have to do to educate her, he would require the aid of both his brother and his liquor cabinet. “Now, we are offering something different. Aemond, why don’t you explain? It is your endeavor, after all.”

Miss Doolittle’s demeanor hardened when she faced him, her body tensing. He supposed she was justified in it; he had yelled at her quite ferociously only moments prior and had done nothing to endear himself to her before that. Still, her petulant little pout drove him to the sideboard, where he poured and downed half a glass of sherry, refilled the glass, then took the seat opposite the flower girl.

“I have made a wager with my grandfather,” Aemond explained, gesturing to Otto, who had reclaimed his seat by the window and resumed reading his paper. “That any girl can be trained to be a lady, even… one such as yourself. You specifically, in fact. I intended to find you in Rosby tomorrow, but you’ve arrived ahead of schedule. Quite convenient, as we can now begin a day early.”

There. That was explanation enough for her. Besides, the sooner they began, the sooner Aemond would be free of Miss Doolittle and indeed all women.

He stood, pulling Jeyne up by the arm to pass her along to Mrs. Rivers. “Clean her,” he ordered. “Thoroughly. With sandpaper, if you must. And burn these clothes. She will wear servant’s clothes until we can order something more suitable.”

The whelp cried out again, the sound wetter this time as tears began the work of cleaning the poverty from her skin. “You’re no gentlemen! You’re a beast to treat a poor girl like this when I ain’t done nothing wrong!”

Aemond shouted again, “Have I not told you to be silent, girl?!” It quieted her again, and this time she fell into Mrs. Rivers’ arms, but her shrill sobs still echoed against the walls. “If you are to learn how to behave, there will be no more infantile tantrums or outbursts, is that understood?”

She turned into the housekeeper’s chest and wept like a child.

“My lord, I’m afraid I must protest,” Rivers chided, just as she had when he’d misbehaved as a young man. It had allowed her to become too comfortable speaking to him as an equal, but he dared not reprimand her. She still had an unnatural presence about her that had made him and his brothers think her a powerful sorceress as children. “This girl came here in good faith – with a glowing reference, mind you – expecting a position and a wage. You cannot alter that agreement without her assent!”

Daeron placed himself between his elder brother and the women, taking the stance of a noble knight defending some virtuous maiden. “I, for one, agree with Mrs. Rivers. What are the terms of this new arrangement? Will she still receive the wage she was promised? What will become of her once the wager is through? I warn you, Aemond, I’ll not consent to this unless she has a full understanding of what’s expected of her.”

Against just Daeron, Aemond would not have thought twice about dismissing his demands. Daeron united with Mrs. Rivers, however, gave him pause. A glance at Otto revealed he would have no allies of his own. The quirk of his grandfather’s lips suggested he thought he was about to win the wager before it truly began. If only Cole were still at Kingswood, he might have someone on his side.

“Fine,” he ground out. “Sit her back down.”

After helping Jeyne back into the armchair, which thankfully appeared unstained, Daeron offered her his handkerchief. That would have to be burned, too.

Aemond sat opposite her, clutching the arms of his chair so tight he could swear he heard the wood creak. He cursed the girl for being so infuriating and wretched. He cursed Daeron and Mrs. Rivers for taking her side and defending her. He cursed his grandfather for proposing this ridiculous wager. But most of all, he cursed himself for accepting.

“Miss Doolittle,” he began, doing his best to replicate Daeron’s charming demeanor. Judging by the way both he and Mrs. River grimaced, he failed spectacularly. Still, Aemond didn’t care enough to better his attempt. “For the next six months, instead of serving as my sister’s maid, you will instead be trained in all the arts of womanhood – dancing, embroidery, poetry, conversation, and the like. You will learn how to speak properly and conduct yourself with the poise of a well-bred lady. If you behave yourself and take your lessons seriously, you shall be provided with the wage you were promised, and more. You will sleep not in the servant’s hall, but in one of my fine guest chambers. You will be clothed in beautiful dresses and expensive jewels, eat sumptuous foods, and drink fine wine. But only if you are good.

“At the end of the six months, you shall accompany me and my family to the Embassy Ball in London, where you will meet Lords and Dukes and Princes. If you are able to successfully masquerade yourself as a noble lady, you will be handsomely rewarded.” As he spoke, Jeyne had stopped looking at him like a predator about to pounce and devour her. Now, it was as if he were a large cake and she a hungry child.

He leaned closer, letting his false smile drop and trying not to take too much pleasure in the way her hope wavered. “However, if you behave poorly or neglect your lessons, I will take you to Rosby myself and toss you back into the mud from which you came. And if you fail to convince the nobility at the ball that you are one of them, it will not be me who will punish you, but the Prince Regent himself. Do you now have a full understanding of what I am offering?”

Her responding smile was more triumphant than she had any right to be as she proclaimed, “I want a clock.”

“What?”

“That’s my proposition.” Jeyne uncrossed her arms and placed them on the arms of her chair. It took Aemond a moment to realize she was mirroring his posture. “I’ll do your lady lessons if you give me a clock. And the wage I were promised! And all the other things you said!”

It was entirely possible she was insane, but she agreed, and that was all that mattered. “Fine,” Aemond said, rising from his chair to fetch the ebony and ivory clock from the mantle. “If it is a clock you desire, then by all means, take this one.”

“No!” The shout came from both ends of the room.

On one side, Otto threw down his newspaper and pointed a threatening finger at Aemond. “That belonged to your thrice-great grandfather. You will not give it to some street urchin!”

“I don’t want that ugly thing, anyway.” Miss Doolittle stuck up her nose from the opposite end of the parlor. “I want one all my own!”

That clock was worth more than any wealth she could even dream of acquiring, and it was not good enough for her? Aemond whirled on Jeyne. She was an easier target for his rage than his grandfather, after all. “Well, what kind of clock would you prefer, Miss Doolittle? Gold and silver? Or perhaps one of solid gold? If you wish, we can get one with diamonds and all kinds of jewels to suit your tastes.”

“I’m not some greedy twit! I just want wood.” Her lips puckered in her anger, like she’d just bit into a lemon. “Something nice, like cherry. And polished brass for the numbers and such.”

“I think it sounds lovely, don’t you, Aemond?” The indulgent way Daeron looked at her was so oversweet it could rot the teeth of the entire county. It turned mocking when he faced his brother. “Were I in your position, I would accept her offer.”

God help him, this girl had been sent by the devil himself. But Aemond gritted his teeth and nodded. “Cherry and brass. Fine. Our deal is struck, Miss Jeyne Doolittle. Do not disappoint me.”

Mere minutes after Jeyne had agreed to Lord Aemond’s proposition, she found herself stripped naked and plunked into a tub of scalding hot water. The housekeeper, Mrs. Rivers, doused her hair with some concoction that smelled so strongly her eyes watered, then moved on to roughly brushing through it with a wide-tooth comb. A maid, Tabitha, scrubbed her skin raw with a rough-bristled brush and a soap that stung whenever it found one of the nicks and cuts that dotted her skin. The sandpaper Lord Aemond had suggested might have been less painful.

“AOOWW,” she yelped when Mrs. Rivers tugged harshly on a tangle of hair. “What were that for?”

“Oh, hush, girl. It was not intentional,” the woman cooed. There was something strange about her voice, a rumbling within it. Her accent seemed to have changed slightly, too, now more common than it was in the parlor. “You mustn’t think the worst of all of us. The servant is not the master, after all.”

Jeyne resisted the urge to stick out her tongue, fearing it would be seen as misbehavior and end in her being sent back to Rosby. But she had to do something to banish all the sour anger inside her. In the end, she decided to hiss, “Well, I hate your master.”

Tabitha raised a brow but did not object. In fact, she looked like she might even agree with the sentiment. Well, at least she wasn’t entirely alone. But Mrs. Rivers tutted. “You do not yet know him well enough to hate him.”

“I do!” Jeyne insisted. “Egg were right about him.”

Mrs. Rivers’ hands stilled for a moment. “Egg?”

The simple thought of him stole the fight from Jeyne’s heart. She should have gone with him, followed him wherever it was he went when he was not in Rosby, and never have come to Kingswood. God, it hadn’t even been half a day since she saw him, and she already missed him terribly.

“My friend from Rosby.” Quite possibly her best friend. But somehow even more. She wasn’t in love with him anymore, but he was still more than a friend in a way. Almost like a brother, or a very young, irresponsible uncle. “Well, he’s not really from there, but he comes something regular. Has done since I came to Rosby. He told me that Lord Aemond has a stick so far up his arse that he can’t sit down. If I hadn’t seen him sitting meself, I’d believe it.”

Tabitha snorted as she failed to hide her laughter, murmuring her apologies to Mrs. Rivers when she received a dagger-sharp glare. The housekeeper only tutted, “If you are to be a lady, Miss Doolittle, you must learn to keep such thoughts to yourself.”

“Besides, Aemond isn’t that bad. Not once you get to know him.”

The appearance of a new voice terrified Jeyne. She had barely been able to tolerate two strangers seeing her naked. And she had known they would do so before she disrobed. Whoever this third person was had entered without knocking or asking to be let in! She clapped her hands over her breasts and crossed her legs, yanking her leg out of Tabitha’s grasp and nearly kicking her in the face in the process. Too fretful to apologize or feel the sting of her hair being pulled as she moved away from Mrs. Rivers, she rolled in on herself, as if she could hide entirely if she only ducked low enough.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Mrs. Rivers scolded. “You’ve got water all over the room!

“And us!” Tabitha added, shielding her face with her hands.

“No, it’s my fault!” The new voice, airy and light, moved closer. Miss Doolittle crouched so far over herself that the tip of her nose hit the bathwater. “I’ve startled her. Oh dear, and I was so hoping to make a good impression.”

Jeyne snorted, then fell into a coughing fit as water rushed up her nose. “Shit! Aw, fuck!” It was a struggle to speak and maintain her crouch as she frantically blew her nose. “Why the hell would you think walking in on me while I’m in the bleeding bath was a ‘good impression?’”

Soft footsteps crossed the room, and the voice became slightly muffled. “I am sorry! I was just so eager to meet you, especially after Aemond told me you were to become a lady.”

The heavier footsteps of Mrs. Rivers and her thick boots followed the voice. “I understand, my lady, but perhaps it would be best if you waited until we deliver Miss Doolittle to her room? I’m sure she would love for you to show her how to properly plait her hair before bed.”

Why the hell would she allow a person who walked in on her bath to show her anything? Jeyne had half a mind to slap her silly for this, but…

Shit. Fuck. Jesus.

Mrs. Rivers had called her ‘my lady.’ This person was not another servant, but Lady Helaena. The very woman she had been meant to serve. The woman she had just yelled at. The woman who had just heard her say Aemond, her brother, had a big stick up his arse. Would she go to him? Ask him to send her away and take away her chance at the reward she’d been promised?

“I apologize, too!” Jeyne raised her head, still attempting to hide her nudity, but desperate not to be sent home. As if she even had a home anymore, her basement had already been re-let. “Like you said, you startled me, lady, but I shouldn’t have cursed. Or yelled at you. I’m so sorry.”

“I thank you, but your apology is unnecessary.” Lady Helaena smiled prettily. She had the same long, whitish hair as her brothers and bright blue eyes. But her face was softer, pleasantly round where her brothers’ were sharp and angled. And the way she smiled, the slight crinkling of the skin beside her eyes, almost reminded her of Egg. He had been right about her, too, then. Lady Helaena was kind.“I am at fault, and for that I must apologize.”

Miss Doolittle felt pitiful as she whispered, “Thank you, lady.”

Lady Heleana’s smile brightened, and she clapped her hands giddily in front of her. “Wonderful! I will see you in your room, then. Daeron has asked me to fetch you some nightclothes and a robe. Oh! Do you have a favorite color?”

In all honesty, Jeyne had never really considered it before. She never had the option of selecting the color of the things she purchased; she just bought what she could afford. What did it matter then, what color she preferred? Still, she thought about the flowers she saw in Mrs. Cunningham’s stall. Red roses were very popular, as people considered them romantic, but their color reminded her too much of blood. Yellow daffodils and tulips were nice. Purple orchids, lovely. Dark dahlias, beautiful. Orange poppies, cheerful. Still, she did not like them quite enough to call them a favorite.

There was only one flower that she became truly excited for when Mrs. Cunningham brought them with her to Rosby: hydrangeas—enormous, beautiful blooms the size of her head in delicate shades of blue and pink. It was the only flower Jeyne had ever paid for and kept for herself, even if it hadn’t lasted very long in her lightless basement.

“Pink,” she declared. That had been the color of her hydrangea – Mrs. Cunningham had already sold all the blue ones. “I like pink.”

Lady Helaena clapped again before turning away. Mrs. River hastily shut the door behind her and approached the bath with her comb held out threateningly. “Now, Miss Doolittle, lie back again and keep still. There’s still a long way to go to get you suitably clean.”

Jeyne felt as though an entire layer of her skin had been scrubbed off by Tabitha’s brush. Only her face had been spared, washed with a soft cloth instead of rough bristles. Her hands and feet fared the worst, as her calluses apparently needed something stronger than a brush, so Tabitha had used some kind of special stone to scrape them away. Aemond would be glad. It was close enough to sandpaper, after all. She felt strange, all smooth and pink and new. Lighter, too, as Mrs. Rivers had deemed it necessary to cut off several inches of her hair.

As she was led through the halls of Kingswood, Jeyne fiddled with her newly trimmed nails, unused to their smoothed edges. She was in a new place, surrounded by new people, in a body that was hers and yet new. It was like being lost, in a way.

Her only comfort was Lady Helaena, who was waiting in the bedroom that was now Jeyne’s. That smile that reminded her of Egg brought her back to herself. It didn’t matter that everything was new if she was still herself inside. So she clung to her memories of Egg’s music and Alfred’s jokes, of late nights in the Ailing Rooster and bustling market days full of flowers, even remembering the pain and shame of going to bed hungry and living in a cramped basement. All of it comforted her, somehow.

“You look so pretty!” Lady Helaena motioned for her to take the seat in front of the dark wood vanity and immediately began plaiting Jeyne’s damp hair. “Pink does suit you very well.”

The nightgown Mrs. Rivers had dressed Jeyne in wasn’t pink, it was simple white cotton, but the velvet robe Helaena found was. It wasn’t the right pink – too reddish and too dark – but it was a kind gesture. Jeyne blushed, turning her eyes to the small vase of pink flowers atop the vanity. “Thank you, my lady.”

Lady Helaena tutted. “No, no. Call me ‘Helaena’ or ‘Hel.’ Remember, you aren’t my servant anymore, you’re a lady!”

A scoff came from behind her, and Jeyne turned to snipe at Tabitha. But Tabitha was gone. Aemond stood in her place, his arms crossed over his chest. “She will become a lady, Hel. Currently, she is… a student. As such, she should continue to address you by your title.”

At least she wasn’t a goose anymore, Jeyne supposed.

Helaena frowned, tilting her head at her brother. “No. She is my friend now, so I want her to call me ‘Hel.’”

The word ‘friend’ took Jeyne by surprise. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being Helaena’s friend. They hadn’t exactly started well. What with the lady walking in on her bath. But neither had she started well with Alfred and his boys. The first time she met them, they had thrown chestnut shells at her. Now, they were among her closest friends. Besides, Egg had said she was strange. Strange, but good.

“If that is what you want, then I will allow it.” Aemond turned away from his sister to look at Jeyne. Only when his gaze hardened did she realize how gently he had treated Helaena, how he had looked at her with kindness and affection. Well, for all his many, many faults, at least he cared for his sister. Still, when he looked at Jeyne, he was the same cruel man who had knocked her into the street. “You will continue to address me as ‘Lord Aemond’ or ‘my lord.’ You may be treated as a lady by the servants, but take care not to forget your place.”

Jeyne held back her snarl, forcing herself to be polite as she could. “How could I? My lord.”

His mouth curved into that feline smile. “Very good, Miss Doolittle.”

Helaena tied off the long plait in Jeyne’s hair, nodding in satisfaction at her work before approaching her brother, raising herself on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for coming to say goodnight! I thought you would be too busy tonight.”

“I have done all I can for tonight.” Aemond smiled, kissing Helaena’s cheek in return. How did he do that? Be one man in one moment and another the next? “I will send the letters tomorrow morning. No use in sending them out now – they will leave Rosby at the same time either way.”

Even though Jeyne could find no humor in his words, Helaena laughed. “I will see you at breakfast. You too, Jeyne. Oh! Have you ever had hot chocolate before?”

Jeyne didn’t even know what ‘chocolate’ was. But she didn’t say that. Not in front of Aemond. “No.”

“I’ll make sure Cook makes some for us, then. Good night!”

Then Helaena was gone, and Jeyne was left alone with Lord Aemond. She shifted slightly, tugging the sides of her borrowed robe tighter. “I thought it weren’t proper for a gentleman to see a lady in her nightclothes.”

Aemond smirked and huffed, uncrossing his arms. Was that huff his strange version of laughter? “Then I suppose it is fortunate for me that you are not a lady.”

“Yet.”

He examined her with those mismatched eyes. “At least you are clean. Sleep. Our lessons begin after breakfast.” He moved to leave, then looked over his shoulder. “You can read, I hope?”

“Yes,” she spat. It was technically true. She could write her name and read signs, but she’d never read a book before. When she read some of the pamphlets that were sometimes handed out in Rosby, she usually had to sound out the big words.

“A welcome surprise,” was all Aemond said before he walked away, leaving Jeyne alone in her anger.

She wanted to hit him. Or yell at him. Or pull his stupid white hair. But she couldn't do any of it without being sent back to Rosby with no home and no money. He had made it all but impossible for her to get back at him for all the mean looks and cruel comments he shot her way, leaving her with no choice but to follow his directions and become a lady.

Well, if that was all she could do, then she would be the best damn lady there ever was. When she was finally out of his control, she would marry a prince or even a king. How she would love to look down on him, to be better than him. Then, she would make him pay.

“Oh, I’ll get you, Aemond Targaryen,” she spat at the open door where he was just moments ago. “Just you wait.”

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#EVERYONE SHUT UP #NEW MY FAIR LADYS MAID JUST DROPPED #FUCK I AM S A T #Aemond fic #fic recs

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fantasywarcrimeapologist · 1 month ago

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Sadness Comes Home

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!niece!reader Warnings: Angst, miscarriage, talk of abortion, sexually explicit content. Word count: ~4.3k

Summary: Aemond and his niece have a much needed heart to heart as they deal with the fallout of what occurred in the throne room.

Author's note: Chapter five of Tear Down My Reason. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She groaned softly, stretching and attempting to turn onto her side. Discomfort between her thighs made the switch in position feel cumbersome, and she stilled momentarily. Her head felt thick, her thoughts foggy and jumbled. Lifting the bedclothes, she peered beneath, lifting her nightgown just enough to see the bloodstained swaddle of cotton stuffed against her most intimate area. It was then that the memories slowly started to drift back.

Aemond’s sword slicing through the farmer’s neck, the head rolling against the flagstones as ichor trickled its way towards her. Guards hoisting her up and out of the throne room. The sudden cramping in her lower belly, and the blood that had flowed. The men posted outside the door rushing to fetch the maester. Being placed upon the bed as she was handled carefully, gently. Being told in the softest of voices that the child that had grown within her was gone. She had howled like an animal, her throat sore from shouting for her mother, until eventually a draught had been forced against her lips and tipped past her tongue, and everything had faded to blackness.

Milk of the poppy; so that was why she felt so sluggish. Slowly, her eyes moved around the room. It was still daylight outside, but whether it was a new day or not she could not be sure. She did not know how long she had slept for, but she felt as though it was not enough. Her body felt heavy and her eyes struggled to focus. The place in the bed beside her had not been slept upon, the covers were still pulled taut to the edge of the mattress. She wondered where Aemond was, if he knew, if he would be angry with her. She had had one job – to carry their child, his heir – and she had failed. She closed her eyes against the tears that began to track silently down her cheeks, she did not have the energy to wipe them away, and was too physically exhausted to endure breaking into sobs.

This was her punishment, she thought. She had not treated her pregnancy as happy news, and so the gods had seen fit to take it away from her. Placing a hand over her lower abdomen, she pressed down gently – she did not feel any different, though there was a dull ache within the depths of her, a similar sensation to when she had her moon’s blood. If this was divine torture, then she wondered what fate her uncle intended for her. She was thankful for the numbness that the poppy milk afforded her, it dulled the icy fear that sought to clutch at her chest.

She had slipped back into a doze when the door to the bedchamber creaked softly open.

“How are you feeling?” The voice was soft, yet authoritative, feminine, not that of her husband.

Blinking awake, she was taken aback by the sight of long auburn curls and soft brown eyes. She moved to sit up, suddenly ashamed to be caught in such a vulnerable state by the dowager queen.

Alicent held up a hand, the bell sleeve of her turquoise satin gown rustling gently against her side with the movement of her arm. “Rest,” she said firmly, “there is no need to exert yourself.”

She leaned back against the pillows, eyeing the older woman carefully. She saw only sympathy in her expression, though it did little to comfort her. “Where is Aemond?” she asked, her voice hoarse with sleep.

Sighing, Alicent moved around the foot of the bed, and settled upon the edge of the mattress, it dipped gently with her weight. She reached out a hand and, thinking better of it, allowed it to drop to the bed covers before she made physical contact. “I have asked that he give you space,” she explained gently, “understandably he is upset.”

She was not sure what that meant, especially not when it came to her uncle. Upset for most people would mean sadness and tears. She was unsure if such things were within Aemond’s capability. Had he raged, shouted, turned to violence? Her thoughts drifted to the man he had beheaded.

“What of the farmer?”

Alicent smiled sadly. “You are gracious to think of others in your own time of need. It has been dealt with. It was unwise of Aemond to allow his temper to dictate his actions, and it will not be a mistake that is repeated. In his own way, he felt he was defending you.”

She could not help the way that her features twisted in derision. Everything the farmer had said was true; she was a bastard, Aemond had spent their entire childhood and much of the war reminding her and her siblings of that very fact. What was there to defend?

Drawing her hand back and placing it into her lap, Alicent twisted the rings upon her fingers. Her gaze was steady as she looked upon the supine form of her good daughter, sensing her disbelief, and she was eager to convince her. “You are his queen,” she insisted, “he cares for you.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes up toward the canopy above the bed. “I have failed him. We shall see how eager he is to defend my honour now.”

“I am sorry for your loss, for both of you, but that is the way of women. It is not always easy.”

“You birthed four healthy children,” she whispered bitterly, “how could you possibly understand?”

A heavy silence fell between them both, until she heard Alicent exhale shakily. When she turned her head to look, the dowager queen’s eyes were watery and downcast, her nails scraping absentmindedly against the cuticles of her other hand.

“I fell pregnant again after Viserys,” she whispered, sniffing softly, “a punishment for my sins, I suppose. I could not have kept it, even if I had wanted to. But it was my choice. This was not yours, and you must not blame yourself.”

She stared at her for a moment, wide eyed in disbelief. “I am so–”

“No, no,” Alicent interjected, rising to stand and composing herself with a swiftness that seemed unnatural. She did not look directly at her when she next spoke, already turned towards the door. “Is there anything you need that might aid in your recovery?”

“Could I see my brothers?” she asked quietly.

Alicent gave a simple nod of acknowledgement and swept out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.

The shift in energy in the room felt like a cleanse – the joyous laughter and childish exuberance that radiated from both Aegon and Viserys chased away the misery and darkness. Propped against the pillows, she smiled as she watched them alternate between jumping barefoot upon the mattress and chasing each other around the bed. Their movements jostled her and, though she still felt sore and fatigued, she did not mind. Their excitable nature and sticky hands were a welcome distraction from the misery she had wallowed in for however long she had been lying alone in this bed.

Breathless, the boys fell back against the covers. Viserys sprawled across the foot of the bed, one chubby hand gripping her ankle for comfort, while Aegon came to cuddle close to her, his head upon her chest. He smelled faintly of lemon cakes as she nuzzled into his downy head of silver hair, and he giggled, shifting to lift his head to look up at her.

“Grandmother says you have been ill,” he told her, his lilac eyes wide and imploring as he stared up at her, “are you better now?”

She stiffened, unease swirling in her gut. It still did not sit right with her that her brothers would call Alicent such a term of endearment. She pursed her lips, before ruffling the top of his head. “Not quite, but I will be.”

“I do not want anyone else to die,” came Viserys’ soft whisper from his place by her feet.

Her heart ached at his admission. She prodded playfully at his side with her toe, wanting nothing more than to chase those fears away for him. He was so innocent, he should never have to worry about such things. “You will not be rid of me so easily, you little pest,” she joked, “someone has to make sure you take a bath.”

He laughed and the sound eased the weight upon her heart. As the sky outside darkened from the hazy lilac and orange hues of twilight, to the inky black of night, the three of them fell soundly asleep, huddled together. For the first time since arriving back in King’s Landing, she felt at peace.

In the haze of sleep, she was vaguely aware of both boys being lifted from the bed, and a few moments later the mattress beside her dipped as a larger body laid upon it. Not entirely lucid, she was certain she was dreaming, and did not open her eyes, allowing unconsciousness to claim her once more. She slept on, unaware of the arms that wrapped around her or the face that pressed into her neck, muffling quiet sobs.

Her eyes cracked open as the first rays of dawn seeped through the gap in the curtains, and she turned to see Aemond lying on his side next to her. His eye was open, watching her, and he blinked slowly, lips parting slightly, upon realising she was awake. Dressed in a white cotton undershirt and breeches, his hair was loose and tousled, and he was missing his eyepatch. The sapphire in the socket of his missing eye shone dully in the early morning light. He looked exhausted; there were dark circles beneath his eyes and damp tracks upon his cheeks that made it look as though he had been crying. She longed to reach out, to trail her fingers down the path that the wetness had travelled, but did not dare. Noticing that his eye searched her features in silent question, she finally found her voice.

“How long has it been?” she whispered, “How long since..?”

She could not bring herself to say it; how long since you beheaded a man in front of half the city, and our child died inside of me?

“Two days,” he replied softly, his voice hoarse. “Mother wanted me to keep away, she said you would need at least a week, but that seemed too long. I could not.”

Her eyes widened, and she recoiled, her heart racing in fright. “Aemond, no! It is too soon. I am not recovered, I–”

“Not for that,” he moved swiftly to reassure her, reaching out to coax her back to where she had been laying previously. “I just wanted to see you, to make sure you are alright.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, and settled back against the pillows once more. At least he was not here with the intent to mount her, to attempt to replace the heir she had lost him.

“You must be very angry with me,” she uttered, clutching the edge of the quilt.

“No,” he responded, his voice thick with emotion – when she turned her face to look at him again, he looked as though he was on the verge of tears. “This is my fault, not yours. For my crimes I have lost my dragon, my son, and now the child I was to share with you.”

“Your son?” she asked, lifting herself up onto her elbow to stare down at him. She did not know that Aemond had fathered any other children, and felt an uncomfortable stirring of jealousy creep bitterly up her throat.

“With Alys,” he confessed, reaching up to gently twist one of his niece’s long, dark curls around his forefinger. “She told me she was with child, a boy, our son. But it was all a trick, an illusion to save herself. There was never any child at all.”

They had not spoken of Alys since their wedding night, when she had mentioned her, and Aemond had flown into a rage. She now finally understood why it was such a sore subject for him. She softened as she watched a solitary tear escape from the corner of his eye, and reached down to gently wipe it away with her thumb.

“I am sorry,” she murmured.

“No, I am,” he replied, pulling her down to him and clutching her tightly against his chest.

She was unused to such displays of affection from her husband, but responded by clinging to the front of his shirt and pressing her face against the hollow of his throat, as his fingertips pressed firmly into her back. The scent of leather was faint against his skin, earthy and rich.

“Were it not for me,” he continued, “you would have children with Lord Stark by now.”

“I would not,” she said softly – if he could be honest with her, then the whole of her truth was the least she owed him. “I did not want that. I drank moon tea each time.”

“Why?” Aemond asked, pulling back to look at her, his brow furrowed in confusion.

She sighed, turning onto her back and gazing up at the canopy as she folded her arm behind her head. “I did not want that to be all I was worth,” she admitted, “I did not want to be made to squeeze out heirs for a man I did not know, to be erased from my family’s legacy by adding to that of another house. It seemed unfair to me that Jace and Baela had dragons and were made to feel useful, important. I was merely a piece to be moved and traded across the board. But even now when I think about it, if I had indeed had a dragon of my own, I do not think I could have burned anyone. I am useless.”

“You are gentle,” Aemond corrected, grasping her chin gently and turning her face back towards his. “Helaena was gentle, and she was the best of any of us. There is no shame in that. You remind me of her.”

“Was it kindness that drove you to put the entirety of Harrenhal to the sword? To burn the Riverlands to ash?” she asked bitterly, resentful at him for his brazen acts of cruelty, and at herself for not being fierce enough to do such things herself.

Aemond huffed softly, his hand dropping away from her face. “Perhaps if I had been more like Helaena, I would have wed you the night I first promised to, and all of this could have been avoided.”

She stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, taking in the lines of his face – still the same man that had robbed her of her maidenhead, and yet changed by war into someone else entirely. “I think I prefer you now,” she said, “you were cruel and prideful back then, and you would not have been kind to me. You are gentle now too, in your own way.”

He lowered his gaze, his hand finding hers in the bed and loosely entwining their fingers. “I did it to defend you, you know,” he said, hinting at the act of violence he had committed two days previous, lifting his eye to hers, “I wanted you to know that I cared for you. If I had known that our child–”

“I know,” she replied, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Perhaps it would have happened either way. It is not for us to know.”

“We do not have to try again,” he told her, “not if you do not want to.”

A wave of relief and gratitude rushed through her at his admission. She longed to lean in, close the gap between them and press her lips to his. Since their wedding she had never had the desire to initiate such affection with her uncle, and the sudden urge frightened her so much that she resisted, simply staring at him as he stared back, until they were interrupted, and the tension was broken by a knock at the door – Maester Orwyle had come to check on her, and was quick to shoo Aemond from the room. She felt a pang of loss at his absence, her hand coming to rest upon the warm spot that he had previously occupied in the bed.

Her loss lingered like the shadow of an unwanted guest at the back of her mind, though over the coming days and weeks that followed she was grateful to regain some of her independence, finally feeling strong enough to leave the bed, to bathe herself, and change into clothes that were not intended for sleep. She thought that Aemond would serve as a reminder of her miscarriage, but found that as he was allowed to share their marital bed once more that his presence made it easier to bear. He kept his promise, and did not try to be intimate with her, but held fast to her as they slept each night, as though he were afraid she might simply float away if he loosened his grasp even for a moment. He watched her movements each day, like a clingy child might observe their mother, enquiring after her intended whereabouts and making excuses to occupy the same space that she did. She would have found it overbearing ordinarily, but it was comforting to not be alone with her thoughts and grief, and she suspected he felt the same way, which was why he sought her out.

“What is that you are reading?” Aemond asked, as he entered the solar.

She reclined on a couch, in the full view of the window, luxuriating in the gentle, warming rays of the early afternoon sun. A small hardback book was splayed open in one hand as her eyes moved slowly over the words – not really reading it – it was a story she could recite by heart.

At the sound of Aemond’s voice, she glanced up, a soft smile tugging involuntarily at her lips. It still bewildered her how easily she had come to welcome his company, even crave it. “The Princess and the Lion,” she told him, closing the book and running her fingertips gently over its cover. “It is one of my favourites. Helaena and I used to read it aloud together when we were children. We would take it in turns for who would read the parts of the lion and the princess.”

“What is it about?” he enquired, coming to perch upon the edge of the couch where she sat.

“There is a fearsome lion that roams the kingswood, and all in the kingdom are afraid of it,” she told him proudly, feeling herself become more animated, “one day, while on a hunt, the princess becomes separated from the rest of her party and encounters the lion. She is afraid at first, until she realises that its anger is due to a thorn it has stuck in its paw. She pulls it free and the lion transforms into a handsome prince. He had had a curse placed on him, and a simple act of kindness was all that was needed to break it. They fall madly in love and live happily ever after.”

Aemond scoffed derisively, rolling his eye. “That sounds ridiculous."

She scowled, clutching the book to her chest defensively. “You have not read it.”

“Hmm, read it to me then.”

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him carefully, wanting to see if he was making a joke at her expense, but his stare was steady and unwavering. “Now?” she asked, “Aloud?”

He shrugged. “Unless you have somewhere else to be.”

She hesitated a moment longer, then flipped the book back to its beginning and began to read aloud.

Aemond shifted as she read, crawling up the couch and sprawling out until he lay flat upon his back with his head in her lap. She glanced down at him occasionally, seeing he was listening intently as she continued to read aloud to him. The hand that was not holding the book came to rest upon his head, gently stroking her fingers through the silken strands of his hair.

After a while, she heard the subtle change in his breathing and looked down to see that his eye had drifted closed and he had fallen asleep. She closed the book and placed it beside them on the couch, allowing herself to study his features. She traced the lines of his sharp nose, prominent cheekbones and chiseled jaw with her fingertips. She wondered if perhaps he had had a curse placed upon him to make him so cruel – he was handsome enough to be a prince from a storybook, but behaved nothing like one. At the gentle brush of her fingers upon his lips, Aemond’s eye fluttered back open.

“Did you finish the story?” he asked sleepily.

“No, you drifted off,” she told him, cradling his face in her hands.

She was not sure what possessed her, but she leaned down, her lips brushing featherlight against the plushness of his. To her surprise, he kissed her back, lifting a hand to the back of her head, anchoring her to him, deepening the embrace as he parted his lips and flicked his tongue delicately against hers.

When they parted, her heart raced in her chest and her cheeks were flushed as she gazed at him in wide eyed wonder. She could see desire dilating his pupil, his own lips parted in heavy breath, and it caused a warmth that spread from between her thighs all the way into her belly.

“We do not have to,” he whispered, releasing her hair.

“But I want to,” she uttered back.

It felt like an understatement. She had never needed anything so desperately, certain that if they were to stop things here she could wail and claw down the curtains in frustration.

“Come here,” Aemond commanded gently but firmly, coaxing her to straddle him.

Her breath hitched at the position as she sat astride him, her hands braced against his chest. He had never allowed her to take control like this before – all of their previous couplings had been frenzied, driven by instinct as he had settled between her thighs and rutted into her. What was transpiring between them now was a choice, they both wanted this. It was both terrifying and exhilarating.

When Aemond tugged her down to him for another kiss, there was no tentativeness, it was an urgent and messy collision of lips, teeth and tongue and she could feel him hardening rapidly beneath her as she shamelessly rolled her hips. When they broke apart, the movements of their fingers were frenzied in their haste to rid her of her small clothes and pry open his breeches. Once his erection was freed, she had expected for him to take control, to thrust into her without preamble. Instead, he took her hand, guiding it to wrap around his manhood and then he let go. Her eyes settled upon the swollen, leaking head of him then lifted to his face. He watched her expectantly, throbbing in her hand, and there was a strange sense of power that surged through her, knowing that she was in charge of what happened next.

Gingerly, she rose up on her knees, lifting her skirts with her free hand as she positioned him at her entrance. She teased him, sinking down a little, before rising up again. Each time she sank down, her muscles relaxed enough to allow more of him inside. She bit her lip to hide the grin of the way her uncle’s features contorted at each of her movements – in its own way this was torture for him, yet she knew he did not want her to stop. She stilled once he was fully sheathed inside of her, and though his hands came to rest upon her hips, he made no moves to thrust up into her. She could practically feel his body vibrating with the urge to take control, and admired his restraint.

Slowly, she began to rock her hips, gasping as the angle caused the tip of him to brush against a spot inside of her on every pass that made her ache and clench around him. She fisted her hands in his shirt, breathing raggedly through parted lips.

“Gods,” she panted, as her thighs began to ache, “I cannot…please…”

“I know, shhh,” Aemond soothed quietly.

He began to move slowly upwards, not fucking himself into her, just enough to ease each undulation of her hips as he held them steady. Continuing to aid her with one hand, he reached up to pry open her bodice with the other. His hand cupped and squeezed her breast, his thumb circling and working the rosy bud into a stiffened peak, before turning his attention to its twin.

Her head fell back at the dual stimulation, her sensitive walls fluttering as her body went rigid in anticipation of what was to come. As the pad of this thumb dragged across her pebbled flesh, and he rolled his hips, knocking against the aching depths inside of her, her entire body shuddered and she let out a keening cry of pleasure. Her nails dug into his chest as she spasmed around him, warmth blooming in every part of her body, making her feel boneless. She was faintly aware of Aemond’s own groan of satisfaction as he pulsated inside of her, pushing upwards into her with the force of it.

She collapsed against his chest, breathless and sweaty from exertion, and Aemond wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as he fought to steady his own breathing.

He smoothed a hand over the curls at the back of her head, his voice almost a whisper as his nose brushed the shell of her ear. “I will have the maester make you tea.”

Her fingertips stroked idly over the soft cotton of his undershirt, before she lifted her head, locking her eyes upon his. “No,” she said with a slight shake of her head, “not this time.”

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#I love them your honor #Aemond fanfic #fic rec #ugh the GROWTH #I’m still with her Alicent ain’t them babies grandma

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fantasywarcrimeapologist · 1 month ago

Text

dutiful evenings

Aemond Targaryen x Arryn wife!Reader

Summary: after drifting apart suddenly, you started hating your husband. now bound only by duty, he must bed you until you fall pregnant with his child. but feeling are difficult and unpredictable, and all consuming.

Warnings: arguing over nothing, PinV, unprotected sex (this is fiction, use protection), enemies to lovers (?), table sex, bathtub sex, tiddy sucking and pinching, fingering, groping, creampiessssssssss, bit of dirty talk, idk i prob missing some things

4.7K

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You and Aemond’s wedding had been grand. Married to an Arryn, a great ally and an even prettier lady. He did his duty, as expected, but he supposed your loveliness did help.

But just three weeks after the wedding, Aemond started pulling back. He would claim he was too busy for you, that training and studying and matters of state were taking up all of his time. But when you saw him sometimes just walking around the Red Keep, or sitting in the library reading a book you knew he had finished before, things started going downhill.

You had commented on it, which in turn made him defensive.

“Why can’t you just spend one night with me?” you had complained. Aemond just shook his head, sighing as if you had said one of the stupidest things he had ever heard.

“You married a prince of the realm,” he replied coolly, “you must realise that I am a busy man.”

Argument after argument followed, completely tearing you two apart. You moved into separate bedchambers, avoiding him for an entire week when your septa calmly reminded you of your duties.

So you found yourself face to face with your husband again, making up rules so you could become with child. You would try for a babe, in the best case scenario every single evening. During the week both of you could deny the other once, some sort of veto.

It was crude in a way, having to make these rules together just so you could become pregnant, but it was important. He needed--wanted--an heir. And it was your duty to give him one.

At least you didn't need to be near him afterwards.

Dinner that evening was awfully quiet again. You were both seated at the grand table, almost a comical distance between you two. You ate silently, gritting your teeth when you heard his knife scrape obnoxiously loud against his plate. You looked up to stare at him, his lone gaze focused on cutting the meat on his plate.

“Well? You won’t even talk to me this eve?” you said annoyed, finally breaking the heavy silence between you both.

Aemond sighed deeply, glancing up at you from his meal. “What is there to discuss?” he asked drily, setting his cutlery back down. “The weather? The state of the realm? We have already exhausted all of these… pleasant topics already.”

His words were sarcastic, more barbed than he probably intended. He was growing tired of the bickering, of having the same argument every single night. Yet he never backed down.

You scoff, looking into your husband’s eye. “Have we already?” you replied, “Funny, I do not recall you even speaking to me today.”

There was a challenge in your eyes, a clear invitation for him to dare rebuke you. Aemond was quiet for a moment, taking a sip of his wine. He clearly needed it to steady himself.

He finally looked back at you, regarding you with his one eye. “You know my duties keep me busy during the day,” he replied, his finger tracing the rim of his cup.

“What would you have me do? Hover over your shoulder from dawn to dusk? I think you have made your desire for space abundantly clear.”

His voice was steady, confident. Though inwards, he sometimes wondered if distance was truly what you desired. He remembered the honeymoon as if it was yesterday, remembered the way you had smiled at him.

One look at you made reality crash down on him. His marriage was proving more difficult than tactics of war, but his pride would never allow him to show any weakness in front of you. Especially now, when you were acting up again.

Your eyes had narrowed at his words, anger bubbling hot and ugly inside of you.

“Have I really?” you replied to him, your chair scraping loudly when you stood up. You walked over to where he was sitting, his eye following your every move with caution. “Because I remember it very differently,” you spoke as you walked.

“I believe it was you who shrugged me off a mere three weeks after our wedding, avoiding me as if I were a disease.”

You stood in front of him, glaring daggers. “Don't you dare blame me.”

Aemond met your glare boldly, even though he felt a bit of unease at the truth of your words. He had started avoiding you, your touch stirring up things in him he had never felt before, and it had shaken him to the core. He took a deep breath.

“I did what I thought best at the time,” he replied calmly, “married you out of duty instead of desire, as is the lot of our kind-”

“So you do not desire me?” you said, cutting his words off. “Is that what you are saying?”

He stared at you, his frustration mounting. “You know that is not what I meant,” he almost hissed,” I am saying that desire and duty are two different things, as you surely must know.”

His anger was bubbling just beneath the surface, his fiery gaze meeting yours.

“All I wanted to do was fulfill my duties to my house,” he started, working hard to keep his voice measured. “Yet every single word coming from you is picking me apart-- criticising my every move, acting as if everything I do is to wrong you personally.”

He stood up himself, towering over you. “Do you despise me so? Or only wish to?”

You stared up at him, seeing the fire in his one eye. “I have tried my best to be a good husband to you,” he murmured, “to understand you, to listen to you-”

You just laughed drily, shaking your head. “Understand me? You have never tried to understand me.”

You didn’t back away, jotting a finger into the leather of his tunic. “You,” you hissed, “are what ruined this union.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, grabbing your wrist tightly in his hand. His patience was coming to an end.

“Don’t you dare…” he warned you. “From the moment we wed, you have done nothing but scorn me. Nothing is ever good for you, is it? Not even the title of princess.”

“It was never about the title for me-!” you tried to retaliate, but his voice was already raising.

“I should have known a lady like you would never be pleased. I am still your prince, and you will show me respect.”

He tightened his hold on your wrist, his face hovering inches from yours. A heavy silence fell between the both of you, only the crackling of the fire being heard.

You swallowed heavily as you stared up at him. You wanted to stay angry, to shout more at him, but you didn’t.

“So you wish to veto this night?” you said simply, your gaze meeting his. You saw his one eye widen almost imperceptibly, the reminder of your duties almost making the rage draining away, making space for something else.

Beneath the anger and frustration, he still felt a spark of… attraction for his wife in name alone. He stared at you for a moment, noticing your pulse fluttering rapidly at the base of your throat.

He let go of your wrist, instead tilting your face up towards his.

“No,” he said, “I do not. Do you, however, wish to deny me again?”

Your eyes narrow at his fighting words, him clearly trying to get a rise out of you. You almost bite, wanting to say you haven’t denied him in a week’s time. But actions speak louder than words.

You tug him closer by his tunic, smashing your lips against his. Aemond recovered quickly, kissing you back just as fiercely. His hands grab at your waist, pressing you back against the dining table and sending dishes clattering everywhere.

His lips move down to your throat, kissing and licking and biting. He savors your taste, your moans, his hands eagerly tugging up the seemingly hundred layers of your skirts.

His hands found your soft thighs, grazing and squeezing the skin. He paused for a moment, taking in your dilated pupils, the way your lips were parted.

“What?” you hissed out when he stopped for a split second, making him growl in annoyance at your bratty tone.

He moved quicker now, lifting your skirts fully up and pressing you further down onto the table. The moment he started spreading your thighs wide for him and fumbling with his belt, the servants started scattering out of the dining hall. Both of your knights closed the heavy doors of the dining hall to give you both some privacy, looking awkwardly away as they kept hearing moans and more plates falling down.

Aemond kissed you again, silencing any further snide comments you may wished to say. He had no more patience for arguments tonight, not when your thighs were spread for him and he could see how the fabric of your smallclothes were soaked.

Both you and Aemond hadn’t noticed the servants fleeing the scene, both of you too focused on Aemond slipping his fingers down and pushing your underwear to the side.

“You’re awfully wet for an angry woman, princess..” he purred, making you glare at him.

“You talk too much for a man in front of a soaked cunt, my prince-” you retaliated, making him angrily shove his breeches down. He stroked himself twice, then slid inside of your heat.

Your head fell back, the stretch making you moan and gasp. Aemond hissed when he finally bottomed out in your slick heat, his lips and teeth finding the tops of your breasts peeking out from your gown.

He moved slowly at first, pulling out until just his tip was left inside of you, before slamming back in. Every single moan that left your lips inflated his ego, made him feel like the most powerful man in the realm.

He grabbed tighter onto your hips, his pace speeding up until he was hammering into you. The wooden table creaked under you, the spilled wine staining the expensive fabric of your dress, but all you could focus on was him.

Your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him down for another deep, sloppy kiss. “More,” you managed to pant out, Aemond’s lone eye boring into yours.

He leaned in for another deep kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth and sliding it against yours. He didn't say anything, just starting to fuck harder into you. He made you suck on two of his fingers, his eye watching eagerly as your cheeks hollowed wantonly around them.

He removed them with a pop, then slid the wet digits between your legs, rubbing harsh circles on your clit. You whined, your thighs started to shake and your hold on him tightening. The sound of skin hitting skin filled the dining room, his wet fingers against your cunt making obscene wet noises. Aemond groaned against your throat, his cock slamming into you.

Your moans grew higher in pitch, until finally, you came with a cry of his name. Aemond groaned deeply, his hips stilling deep inside you as he came.

You pant heavily, your eyes opening after a moment to see him already looking at you. He leaned down for a soft kiss, and you answered it slowly. It was soft, gentle, almost a glimpse into what could be, when you suddenly pulled your head back.

“Get off,” you said, eyes no longer meeting his. Aemond rolled his eyes, pulling his member out of you and straightening out his clothing. He watched you get off the table, a slight limp in your step which filled him with pride. He watched you straighten your dress out, not bothering to help.

“I will see you tomorrow eve,” you said dismissively, “maybe.”

And then you left the dining hall.

Aemond stared at your retreating figure, his earlier irritation flaring up again. Gods, you were insufferable. What man could endure such a wife without seeking pleasures elsewhere? Easy ones, silent ones.

He let out a humourless laugh, shaking his head as he poured himself a cup of wine. Annoying as you were, you were still his wife. And he was not his brother.

He was loyal. A dragon. And he would keep his vows, difficult as you may be.

------

More days passed like this between you. Never talking during the day, and when you did, it was the usual bickering and complaining. In the evenings you would have each other, preferably anywhere but in bed. You couldn't even remember the last time you two had slept together in bed--probably before you started drifting apart.

It was already late, and your husband had missed dinner. You had been irritated, to say the least, but decided not to make a big deal out of it. You had a nice dinner alone, now actually having the time to enjoy the food.

Afterwards, you went to your bedchamber, undressing for the day.

“Where is he?” you asked your maid, the woman looking up.

“In his chambers, I believe, princess,” she replied, helping you undo the tight dress.

You just hummed, undressing completely before covering your now exposed skin with a cloak.

You just nodded once to your maid, before exiting the chamber and walking towards his.

You entered without knocking, walking through his larger chamber to where he was bathing. His eye was closed, his eyepatch removed.

“It is evening,” you said simply, the servant that had been readying his soaps nearly tripping over himself as he ran out.

Aemond’s one eye opened as you dropped your cloak to the floor, his gaze taking in your nudity.

“So it is,” he just murmured, watching as you stepped into the warm water, joining him. Silently he made more room for you, his hands finding your waist when you settled on top of him.

His eye was lidded as he watched you, your skin soft underneath his fingertips. You looked at him, too, noticing the tired look in his eyes.

You wanted to ask him about his day, about the hardships and the struggles that had seemingly made him so tired, but your voice caught in your throat.

So you just leaned in, kissing him deeply.

He met the kiss eagerly, his arms moving to encircle your waist. He pulled you closer, feeling the greediness in your kisses, your touches. The way your hands moved over his chest made him groan, water spilling out of the bathtub with your eager movements.

He easily lifted you up, positioning you above his heavy cock before thrusting up. You moaned at the stretch, both of you sitting still in the warm water.

He looked up at your face, a proud grin spreading on his lips when he saw the sheer bliss on your face. And then he started moving.

He slowly thrust up, reaching all sorts of spots inside of you. You mewled softly, grinding down on his cock with eager movements.

You looked perfect like this.

He leaned his head down, eagerly taking one of your nipples into his mouth. His teeth grazed over one, and he swore he could feel you clench around his cock.

You rested your forehead against his, an electric feeling passing between you.

“Aemond,” you whispered, him just responding with a deep kiss. He held you close, thrusting harder into you, his bath nearly half empty now. He lifted a hand to squeeze your breast, pinching a nipple between his forefinger and thumb.

“You get tighter when I do this,” he purred against your lips, and for once, you didn't have a sharp reply. You just moaned eagerly, starting to bounce harder on him.

“Wanna come,” you managed to pant out, and he immediately listened, moving his other hand between your legs.

He looked right into your eyes, not wanting to miss the bliss that would soon contort your face. He loved seeing you come, the sight of your pleasure making you look even more beautiful to him.

“Come,” he commanded against your lips, and his tone made you topple right over the edge.

He groaned deeply when he felt your wet, velvet walls clench around his cock, his own release hitting him like a brick. He thrust a final time into you, before his thick cum coated your insides.

“Fuck-” he gasped, your name leaving his lips like a prayer. He held you close as both of you came down from your high, the sloshing water slowly calming down around you.

And then there was a pleasant silence.

His arms wrapped back around your waist, keeping you close to him. And you rested against him, head buried in the crook of his neck.

His fingers traced random figures on your back, and for a moment he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to be with you like this all the time. You fitted so perfectly in his arms, your body molding against his.

There were no cutting words, no barbed insults, just… tranquility.

You lifted your head up, your tired eyes meeting his. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a second too long.

Your eyes closed for a moment, before you gathered yourself. You moved off of him, feeling his soft cock slip out of you. You stood up in the bathtub, wobbling a bit before finding your footing and stepping out of the now cooled down water. You grabbed your cloak, not bothering to dry off.

“I…” you start, trying to read his expression, but unable to. “I must go. Perhaps I will… perhaps I'll see you soon.”

And then you left quickly, a knot in your stomach.

Aemond watched you leave, in no rush himself to exit the bath just yet. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he knew something in your heart had changed. The slightest crack in your tough exterior, the walls you had put up after his misdoings.

And he smiled.

-------

The next two days between you had been… odd, to say the least. You didn't argue as often, but that was mostly because you had started avoiding him all together. That last night between you, the soft kiss he had placed on your forehead afterwards, the way he had held you close…

It was confusing. It made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t want it to. So the next two days had been vetoed. The first time by him, and the second time by you. And then the third day arrived.

You were still deeply asleep when your bedchamber door slammed open. You sat up groggily, eyes squinting against the morning light when you watched your husband storm in. you had never seen him in your bedchamber before, both of you sleeping in separate beds, but now…

“It is a new day,” he said, and before you could even register his words, he was already kissing you deeply.

All morning Aemond had been restless, the two days of barely seeing each other, him not even touching you once had driven him crazy.

He knew you both usually had your ‘duties’ planned in the evenings, but he couldn't wait. Not a second longer.

He parted from the kiss just long enough to look at you for a moment, noticing the way the slivers of sunlight that peeked behind the curtain played along your skin. The way your cheeks were still flushed and warm from sleep and the way your lips were slightly parted. You had a dazed look in your eyes, and he groaned before kissing you again, and again, and again.

His kisses were filled with passion and need, his tongue sliding against yours and his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. When he finally parted for air, he just stared at you.

“Say it,” he growled softly as his lips moved towards your throat, “say you want me. Say you need me.”

You were only able to moan, your hands sliding over his back, nails slightly digging into his skin.

“Say it,” he repeated as he pulled back to stare down at you, “admit you want this as much as I do, every waking moment. Just us--as the Gods intended.”

His tone sent a shiver down your spine, his claiming words making you anxious and aroused at the same time.

So you didn't answer.

“Undress,” you replied instead, and luckily he listened. You watched with eager eyes as he started undressing, taking his sweet time in teasing you. Inch by inch his skin was revealed, a smirk playing on his lips at the way you stared at him. When he was finally naked, his arousal already hard and heavy, he stared hungrily at your form dressed in only a thin nightshift.

He helped you out of it, drinking in every inch of skin now revealed.

And you were divine.

He threw the shift somewhere onto the floor, his gaze never leaving your body. He watched the way you were breathing heavily, your breasts rising and falling. He looked at your taut nipples, his hands moving on their own accord as they brushed over them. The softest mewl escaped you, making him pinch them for just a second before moving towards your abdomen.

Your skin was so soft, so warm from sleep, he had to press his lips against it. He pressed kisses around your navel, biting down on the soft flesh for a second.

“Say it,” he moaned again, moving back up your body until he was looking into your eyes. “I am yours, and yours alone.”

He pressed a kiss to your lips, one you reciprocated eagerly. Your hands slid into his long hair, making him grind his cock against your thigh.

“Say you are mine, and nothing shall part us again.”

It all felt so different.

Being in an actual bed, the fact that it was morning, it felt so… domestic.

“Aemond-” you were barely able to whisper before his hands were on you again.

He groaned at the way you moaned his name, his control slipping further and further. You would be the death of him, and he would die a happy man.

Your eyes closed as his hand slid in between your thighs, his fingers gathering your slick before pressing deep inside.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his fingers thrusting in and out of you. He slid them out to wrap his hand around his own aching cock, stroking himself a few times.

“You are mine now,” he said lowly, his tip teasing your entrance.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours!” you finally whine, your arms wrapping around his neck and your thighs around his waist. “I’m yours, only yours, please-”

Aemond just groaned at your words, sinking deep inside of you in one thrust. When he began to move, he made sure to set a slow, deep pace, wanting to savor every single little moment.

He gazed down at your face, watching the way your eyes were closing in pleasure, your lips glossy and parted from his eager kisses.

“Look at me,” he whispered again, his eye on yours when you opened them again.

He smiled, noticing the way your own lips curved up slightly as well.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, before expertly taking you over the edge with a few quick swipes of his thumb over your pearl. He groaned at the sensation, filling your womb up to the brim.

You were breathing heavily, your eyes lidded with pleasure and the lingering remnants of your sleep. You looked a mess, and he couldn’t get enough.

He slowly pulled out, watching with a sense of pride as his cum dripped out of you.

“Mine,” he whispered, holding you close. You could feel yourself beginning to drift off again, his lips pressing against your cheek, then your forehead.

You had never felt like this. This safe. This… loved. It was frightening.

Sleep finally took you, your body growing heavy in his arms. He looked down fondly at you, the early morning light making you look like an angel. He felt your warmth against him, heard the gentle sound of your breathing. He had never felt the domesticity, the rightness, of having a person he cared for so much safe in his arms.

But with you, it felt natural. It felt right. Like you were meant to be in his arms, now and always. And that thought sent a flicker of unease through him. He wasn't a man filled with tenderness, with gentleness, and yet… when he looked down at your sleeping face…

------

You wake up some hours later, alone.

He had probably left to attend to his duties, yet you couldn't control the feeling of sadness overcoming you. You were supposed to be used to his lack of attention, should be thankful for it. But now, after what you had just shared… it felt wrong.

After getting ready for the day with the help of your maids, you go through the same motions of your everyday life, not seeing him anywhere. Until dinner.

He entered the dining hall after you were already seated, his gaze not meeting yours. He sat at his regular seat at the other end of the table, watching impassively as a servant filled up his wine cup.

The memory of you clinging onto him was still fresh on his mind, but he was good at not showing it. He yearned to hold you again, to make love to you until your body grew tired and you fell asleep in his arms again.

But things were still tense. And he didn't miss how you had struggled to say you were his, how he had to ask you time and time again just to say it.

It had been clear, he knew, that you weren’t his. Not really.

No words were spoken during dinner. And when the last course had been eaten, he got up. His eye finally caught yours, and in that split second, he felt everything.

He felt longing, and sadness, and love.

He nodded once, before exiting the dining hall in long strides.

You watched him leave in silence, rooted to the chair you were sitting on. Your hands fidgeted with your cup, your lower lip caught between your teeth, until you finally decided to rush after him.

You lifted your skirts, almost running out of the grand dining hall to try and catch up with him.

Only when you had rushed up the stairs, you saw him again. Aemond had halted when he heard light footsteps rushing towards him, turning to see you.

You were panting, clearly out of breath and something clearly bothering you.

He frowned, wondering if something had happened in the time he had left you alone, watching as you came to a halt in front of him.

Aemond reached out to touch your arm, his touch soft, sweet, gentle.

“What is it, my lady? You seem distraught.” he said gently, his brows furrowed.

“I love you,” you breathed out, your wide eyes staring into his. “I do not want rules and duties and obligations that tie our time together, I want you. I don’t want to argue, I don't want to sleep alone-”

You finally admitted the truth to him, your heart pounding. This was how you felt, the feeling overwhelming and consuming.

“I do not wish to hide it anymore. So if you truly despise me, tell me now and I shall never bother you again-”

You stared at your husband, trying to read his expression. You felt sick to your stomach, the silence stretching on and on.

Until he gently cupped your face in his warm hands, your name leaving his lips in a breathless whisper.

“You are my heart, the very blood in my veins,” he whispered against your lips, “and I could no sooner despise you than stop my own breath.”

He leaned his forehead against yours, his single eye closing. “I am yours,” he said again, “forevermore.”

He leaned in, pressing the softest kiss to your lips. You let out a choked sob, your arms wrapping tightly around him, scared as if he may leave.

He held you even closer, pressing kisses against your temple and cheek.

“I love you,” you whispered again.

“And I you, more.”

#this one’s so cute #fic rec #Aemond fic #aemond x reader

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fantasywarcrimeapologist · 1 month ago

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EWAN MITCHELL As AEMOND TARGARYEN | House of the Dragon 2x03 | The Burning Mill.

#i just know that thang swanging back and forth down there #<- prev #aemond targaryen #aemond #s2e3 #I think it was 3 #god the entire brothel arc lives in my mind rent free #the character building for Aemond there was insane

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fantasywarcrimeapologist · 1 month ago

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aemond doodles

crossposting on here and twt

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanart #baby aemond #that my little meow meow #went from :( to :3 with evil intent

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fantasywarcrimeapologist · 2 months ago

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sundress | aemond targaryen

Summary: the annual targaryen summer party, a sundress, and almost getting caught.

Pairing: modern!aemond targaryen x fiancé!reader

Fic warnings: smut (MDNI), rich boy!aemond, semi-public sex, no panties and the heat has aemond acting dizzy, quickie in the sun/shenanigans in the garden, sundress kink, oral (f), fingering (f), being taken from behind, Aemond get's a little nasty and doesnt care that you're sweaty, almost getting caught, realising that you do infact like fucking when there's high stakes.

Word count: 11.2k

authors note: summers here and so am i with some smut, no beta just vibes and the will to live (ill catch and mistakes later and rage about it to myself)

masterlist

The Red Keep Estate

Aemond wasn’t sure if it was the relentless glare of the sun that was causing the dull, pulsing ache behind his eye, or the more likely culprit—the oppressive weight of yet another year spent sitting stiffly at this table in his mother’s garden, surrounded by family members who he’d rather lose another eye than see again.

It was a common tradition, something that had been going on much longer than he had even drawn breath, that everyone would gather at the estate during the summer for a week and pretend that they didn’t hate each other for a few moments. Every summer without fail, he’d drive out here from his place in the city, sit there and pretend he didn’t loathe his half-sister and the entitled brood she’d brought with her, nor his uncle's side of the family with the cousins that hated him. Truth be told, even his own siblings tested the last of his patience, Aegon and Daeron were too similar to mesh with his personality, and Helaena was too drawn in to be decent company.

It was something that he truly dreaded, that was until you came into his life.

While, no, he still didn’t ever want to come home for the summer and sit with his family, the idea of being there was made at least a little sweeter on his tongue by the inclusion of you in his life. Despite dating for 3 years, and now engaged, he hesitated at first to even bring him with you on these trips, he feared what proximity to his family might undo what the two of you had so carefully built together—feared that the venom and rot that clung to his bloodline might somehow seep into you too. That a single weekend at the estate might unravel everything, reduce the rare calm he’d found in you into ashes.

But surprisingly you took to the challenge easily.

You often softened his edges, dulling the sharpness he carried into every interaction he was forced to have, and gave him something to focus on that wasn’t raw frustration or contempt for his family. Aemond was truly and desperately thankful for you in his life, not just in this regard, but in every way possible.

While he usually didn’t want to attend most years, this year was especially filled with reluctance, but for good reason. At the beginning of summer, he had proposed to you, and he was set on making this summer about just the two of you. Wanting to celebrate your life together, relaxing, and getting things in place to eventually start planning a wedding. Being both busy people, all he wanted was to jet away to some sun-struck island in Essos and pretend that he couldn’t hear his phone ringing for 3-4 glorious weeks.

But things hadn’t gone to plan, and he was still kicking himself for it.

Just days before your departure, the two of you in your bedroom—your suitcases open and half-filled on the bed as you moved quickly between drawers, deciding what to bring, picking out his clothes because he thought you dressed him best. All while he sat in the bay window, silent as the night with arms resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on you while you fluttered around like his little butterfly.

“What about this one, baby?” You had mused while holding up a soft blue dress, the fabric thin for the weather and silk, floor length and low backed, “Is it too much?”

Aemond could have melted at the way you turned from the closet; eyebrows pulled in that way he loved as you looked to him for an opinion. You never realized how beautiful you were in the quiet moments. How he could fall in love with you all over again just watching you stand in your shared space, caring about the little things.

“No, my love…” He sighed softly, standing up from the bay window to approach you, his hands meeting your waist instantly as he pressed himself to your back, “However, it would look a lot better if we were on the beach, or by the sea, not at my mother’s house.”

You only smiled softly at him, lowering the dress as you looked back at him, a gentle twitch to your lips that had him relaxing instantly, “It won’t be that bad…”

“You know I hate it.” He sighed softly, head dipping down to press a kiss to your nape, “I can see my mother whenever during the year, the rest of them… I can live without…”

You didn’t answer straight away.

Instead, you hung the dress back into your closet before turning in his arms, a sweet sigh passing your lips your own wrapped around his neck. You tilted your head slightly, face soft and fingers sinking into the back of his long hair. Trying to calm his frustration in any way you could, fingers brushing the back of his scalp in a soothing rhythm.

His eye had closed at your touch.

“I know,” you whispered, and that was all it took—no rebuttal, no platitudes. Just quiet understanding. That was always the difference with you. “We only have to stay for a week, max, then what about we go on a smaller vacation, before you have to go back to work, hm?”

If he had the strength, he would have cancelled the whole bloody trip, and taken you to that island for the whole time instead. Somewhere warm and blue and so far away from his family that he might have forgotten their names eventually. Somewhere your skin would taste of salt and sunlight, and he could pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist.

He imagined you in that blue dress you just showed, walking barefoot through the pale sand of Volantis, the wind playing with your hair, your laughter carrying in the breeze. He imagined the two of you tangled in white sheets of your bed beneath an open window, your moans getting lost to the sea, the ocean murmuring back just beyond the glass.

He imagined no phones, no work, just long days, warm nights, and the chance to breathe with you.

But instead, he’d nodded, leaning down as he kissed your forehead and said, “Alright.”

And just like that, the island faded into a dream.

Now here the two of you were, stuck at his mother’s estate for about a week and a half, surrounded by everyone he hated.

As expected from his mother, the garden was in full bloom, the air heavy with the sickly-sweet scent of everything that grew on the ground. But none of it could disguise his barely concealed disdain for the situation still. Aemond still dreamed to be on a beach, but instead, he was here, jaw tight, hands folded, playing his part beneath the merciless summer sun.

He sat stiffly beneath the shade of the veranda, the collar of linen his shirt already sticking to his neck. At your instance this morning, his hair was up to try and cool him and he nursed some sweating cold drink his mother thrust into his hand.

He had little interest in talking to his family who were sparse around the grounds, his brothers off somewhere on the other side of the estate most likely getting high. His mother tucked down by the firepit, sharing conversation with his half-sister and their new baby. While his uncle was chatting mindlessly to the welp of his nephew, the familiar bunch of brown curls made Aemond want to launch the crystal glass he held at them.

So instead, his eye settled on you, chatting to his sister with the same thought he’s had for weeks; he wasn’t supposed to be here. That it was supposed to be just you and him alone. Not surrounded by his brother’s booming laughter echoing through the estate like a war drum, or rolling his eye at his uncle’s passive-aggressive barbs wrapped towards his side of the family, or his mother’s carefully worded guilt.

From his seat, he could see you clearly across the garden, standing with his Helaena near one of the tables of food laid out for everyone. Your posture open, your expression kind, as always. You laughed softly at something Helaena said, showing her the ring on your finger while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you listened to her fawning.

Aemond watched the way the sunlight caught you, how natural you looked even here, even surrounded by people who barely tried to hide their judgement towards each other.

He envied your patience sometimes, your grace.

And then, there was that dress.

The blue one you’d held up for him in your shared bedroom, voice playful, eyes bright. He hadn’t forgotten. He never would. And now, seeing it on you, draped so deliciously over your form, catching the summer breeze, it stirred something low and possessive in him, curling in the pit of his stomach.

You were truly radiant to look at even from here, all light limbs and grace. He never got the chance to ever just look from a distance, be he ate it up, the way one moment you leaned down to look at something your sister-in-law pointed out in the flower beds, and the next you twirled gently, fingers dancing across a cluster of blooms. His lips twitching as your laughter rang loud.

Aemond couldn’t look away, he didn’t care who else was watching, you were his fiancé and he’d look at you as much as he pleased.

The soft blue silk hugged your body in all the right places, loose enough to seem delicate but not so loose that it hid anything from a trained eye—his eye. The low back dipped scandalously, your skin glistening faintly under the sun, which he knew was a salty mix of sweat and the vanilla oil you put on this morning. The way the fabric shifted with every step made something inside him still.

He knew he was looking particularly hard, but it was something to do while he ignored everyone else, then he saw it. It was a single moment, a trick of movement. A subtle shift of the fabric as you stepped sideways. There was no lining of your usual panties, no outline beneath the waist, nothing beneath.

Nothing.

His breath hitched, his jaw tightening with restraint and the glass in his hand suddenly felt too fragile, too full. You weren’t wearing anything under the dress. He swallowed hard, gaze darkening, his eye dragging down your silhouette with a different kind of focus now. Everything else around him blurred—no more idle chatter, no clinking glasses or rustling leaves.

Just you. The curve of your hip as the silk slid over it. The gentle press of your breasts beneath the fabric, untethered and entirely his to imagine. The faintest imprint of your body when you turned toward the sun, arms stretched as you lifted your hair to cool your neck.

Did you do it on purpose?

He wouldn’t put it past you, you were clever like that and quietly bold. While you were never one for unnecessary attention, you did know how to drive him mad without a single word.

His hand flexed involuntarily around the glass, and he had to force his breathing to slow.

The idea of you wandering around his mother’s garden like that, unapologetically free, a secret beneath silk, set every nerve alight. It was torture, beautiful, exquisite torture.

It was like you could feel him looking from across the way as you turned your head to him, your eyes locking with his for a single, knowing second.

And in that second, Aemond knew you knew.

You smiled.

Just the softest curve of your lips, but to Aemond, it was a detonation powerful enough to knock the air from his lungs. You knew that he’d seen, that he was looking, that he couldn’t not look.

The way your head tilted slightly as you turned back to Helaena, the way your fingers played idly with the fabric of your dress as you listened—it was all intentional now.

Not for the others, not for the garden, not for the family sipping wine and gossiping between each other. This was just for him, a private performance only he could appreciate from across the perfectly manicured lawn.

Aemond felt something dark stir in his chest—want, frustration, and a deep, aching need to be anywhere else with you. Somewhere far from all of this pretence. Somewhere he could peel that dress from your body with the care of a collector unwrapping silk, not in haste, but in worship. Somewhere your laughter wouldn’t echo politely in a curated garden, but loud and breathless in a room where he could pin you to the edge of a sunlit window and finally, finally, take what you so clearly wanted him to.

The dress moved again as you stepped away from the two of you stepped away from something Helaena was showing you. He could see more now, the way the dress clung to your waist, the curve of your hips, and lower, the long line of your thighs pressed close together beneath the whisper-thin material.

And gods, there was nothing between you and the silk, not even a scrap of lace hugging the outline of you.

He wasted no time as he placed his glass down on a table, jaw flexing softly as he crossed the garden with quiet precision, his stride purposeful yet unhurried.

The afternoon sun beat down around him, but he felt cool, focused, locked in on you and nothing else. You were still standing with his sister, back partially turned, posture relaxed but too perfect to be unintentional. Helaena was still mid-thought, likely describing some dream or curious insect she’d found near the hedge.

You were nodding, listening with that soft expression that made people feel like the only one in the room. But Aemond knew better. That wasn’t real focus—not when you were glancing toward him every few moments from the corner of your eye, barely tilting your chin, barely shifting your weight, just waiting.

He didn’t stop when he reached you. Didn’t offer a polite smile. Just brushed one hand lightly along the small of your back and leaned in close, low enough that only you could hear.

“I know what you’re doing,” he murmured, his voice rough, breath warm against the shell of your ear.

You froze for the smallest fraction of a second.

Anyone else might’ve missed it—but he didn’t, the slight pause, the way your breath caught just barely. The way your fingers flexed by your sides. Then, just as quickly, you recovered—offering Helaena a small, practised smile, nodding gently to whatever she’d just said, even as Aemond’s presence curved around you like a second skin.

He let the silence stretch between the three of you a moment longer before speaking again, this time to his sister.

“Helaena,” he said smoothly, stepping just a little closer, “Would you excuse us for a moment?”

Helaena blinked up at him, always dreamlike, never quite anchored to the present. “Of course,” she said without question, her attention already drifting elsewhere, perhaps to the butterflies gathering near the stone fountain or a shadow falling across a petal in the wrong direction.

She wandered off without further comment.

You didn’t move.

Now it was just the two of them.

You turned to face him, finally, and your expression was soft. No smile, not at first—just calm, steady, like you’d been waiting. There was no defiance in your eyes. No games. Only warmth. Maybe a little shyness. Maybe a little more.

His gaze moved over you, the way the neckline of your dress skimmed the tops of your breasts, the way the silk followed the line of your body with every breath. The way the light passed through it in places towards the end of the skirt.

“I should be angry,” he said quietly, his voice lower now, more serious. “Or at least annoyed.”

You looked up at him, still calm. “Are you?”

He hesitated. Then, after a pause, allowed himself the truth.

“No.” Your lips curved, just slightly, it wasn’t a smirk, nor was it teasing. Just soft, a delicate move of your lips.

As if you knew he was trying very hard to keep himself still.

“I wasn’t trying to start anything,” you said. “It’s just too hot out here, and it's more comfortable this way.”

“I know,” He sighed, that was the maddening part.

There was nothing calculated in your choice. Not a trap. Not a test. Just instinct. And yet it left him feeling like a match held too close to a flame.

He watched you for a moment longer, taking in the way your skin glowed faintly with the heat of the sun, and the breeze fluttered your dress just enough to remind him why he was here.

He reached for your hand, his touch gentle but firm, fingers curling around yours with a soft tug to come with him. You let him like always take it without hesitation, your body falling into step beside him as if the two of you had done this a thousand times before. But this time felt different, this time, he didn’t bother with subtlety.

He didn’t speak as you moved through the garden together.

The afternoon was warm and close, the sunlight broken into patterns by the dense latticework of vines and trellises the further went down his mother’s garden. Petals falling from overgrown blooms to gather along the gravel like quiet confetti.

You passed the manicured hedges that had thousands spent on them, passed by the ornate dragon head fountain his grandfather had insisted on decades ago, and finally, further still, down to where the air grew quieter and the garden became more unruly.

At the far end of the estate, where the formal landscaping gave way to something looser, greener, lived the greenhouse—an enormous, stone structure that was left untouched, half-shrouded by climbing ivy. His mother adored the look of it as it was, and he knew spent her mornings there, thinking and pretending the rest of the house didn’t exist.

The air here smelled of earth and green things, of the memory of rain, even though it hadn’t stormed in days. Aemond led you to the back of the greenhouse, surrounded by hedges and completely covered, where there lay old stone tables that probably once got used for gatherings, but now left untouched in favour of everything towards the front of the garden.

And he couldn’t help but find himself instantly pressing you against the nearest stone table.

The stone tables behind his mother’s greenhouse were warmed by the sun, nestled deep in the lush bushes and florals she kept here, and completely detached from the rest of the garden party. The sun was just as merciless out here, at the bottom of the garden, as it was near all the tables, the familiar bite on your shoulders and the sweat beading in your hair reminding you exactly what time of year it was.

The sun, however, showed no such restraint.

It was just as merciless down here—if not more so.

The bottom of the garden trapped the heat like a basin, and you could feel pressing in on you the longer you stayed where you were. The familiar bite of the sun nipped at the tops of your shoulders, even through the silk of your sundress, all while sweat began to bead along your hairline, dampening the fine strands at the nape of your neck. The air was thick, steeped in the scent of grass, flowers, and just sheer heat.

While Aemond dragged you down here, you couldn't help but look over your shoulder, just subtle enough to confirm no one was watching, no one had followed.

But even if they had, it would have been difficult to spot anything beyond the foliage of colour and growth. His mother had planted this place like a secret, and now you were tucked in it like one.

And you were glad for it because Aemond had turned into a man possessed.

His usual control had evaporated the moment you’d slipped away with him, holding himself off just until he got out of sight of everyone else.

Now his hands gripped your waist with a quiet urgency, fingers flexing on you like he was trying to memorise the shape of you with each pull. He really wasted no time as he pressed you into the edge of the table, his mind taken over with the kind of surety that made your breath catch, his lips finding the soft spot just beneath your ear, his touch trailing like fire over your dress and down to your thighs.

His hands weren’t still, they couldn’t be.

They skimmed your sides in slow, desperate passes, fingers brushing the fabric of your dress, then slipping lower to the backs of your thighs. Digits sinking into the silk of your dress and flesh, you felt the strength coiled beneath his skin as he gripped you, the subtle shift of his body as he gathered you into his arms. With a smooth pull, he lifted you effortlessly onto the stone table, your back arching slightly at the sudden contrast between your heated skin and the rough stone beneath.

You clung to his shoulders, half for balance and half because you couldn’t bear to let him go, your fingers curling desperately into the linen fabric of his shirt. Your legs parted instinctively as he pushed between them. Your world was narrowed to just him, his breath against your neck, the heat of his palms as they roamed your body with reverence and hunger in equal measure.

“Aemond—” You giggled softly, head tilting back as his lips feasted on your skin with wet kisses, “Baby, people are going to realise we’re missing…”

It was a soft familiar grunt he gave as his lips left your neck and instead silenced you with a kiss—breathless, tasting the drink he had earlier and just pure want.

“Don’t fucking care.” He grunted again between kisses, his hand tugging at the material of your sundress, pulling it up to your thighs. “You’re the one that decided to go fucking commando for a family get-together.”

His lips moved over yours hungrily, one hand threading into your hair to tug at the warm strand, the other pressing firm against your lower back to keep you close. A shiver rolling down your spine as his fingers brushed the skin exposed by your dress.

Every part of him was alive with tension, his jaw tight, breath shallow, touch urgent as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to worship you or devour you right on the table. You could feel the hammer of his heart where your bodies pressed together, wild beneath layers of linen.

His hand fisted in the hem of your sundress, dragging it higher with rough impatience, the delicate fabric bunching at your hips as he pressed forward with each kiss. The backs of your thighs met the warm stone again, but it was short-lived as your legs came up around his hips to keep him from tipping you back onto the table completely.

You gasped into his mouth when his fingers sunk into your thighs pulling them higher on his hips; fingers firm, exploratory, like he needed to map every inch of you again, despite knowing it by heart. He pulled back from the kiss just enough to look at you, and gods—his eye was dark, blown wide with desire, the faintest flush colouring his pale cheeks from you and the sun. His hair, silvery and soft, had fallen into his face from his bun, strands catching in the corners of his lips before you reached up and brushed them back with trembling fingers.

“Gods, you test my fucking patience sometimes…” He murmured, hand skimming up your thigh to tug you as close as possible, your arms coming up around his neck. “No panties, really?” He asked again.

“I told you, it’s too hot…” You smiled faintly, your lips meeting the corner of his mouth as his head angled to you, his face furrowed with lust and annoyance. “Plus, you wouldn’t have even noticed if you weren’t staring at me so hard.”

“Can you blame me?” He hummed faintly, fingers skimming up the inside of your thigh, gripping onto the softness there, “You’re the only thing interesting to look at here, walking around in your pretty dress.”

His lips finally met your neck—slow, unhurried. His mouth moved lower, to your shoulder, brushing against the thin strap of your dress, biting ever so softly at the skin there. His hand at your waist slipped beneath the fabric, fingers finding the bare skin of your lower back. His thumb dragged across it, slowly, like he was relearning it all by touch.

His slow descent down was like a man going to pray, fingers gripping skin, lips knocking loose straps, breath meeting the tops of your breasts. It was sheer worship from Aemond the lower and lower he sunk into the ground beneath him, your body sat like his personal goddess on the stone table as he did.

You felt like something sacred in his arms.

You exhaled softly the lower he got, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt as your head tilted back just enough to let him continue.

While the sun had warmed your skin, his mouth made it feel hotter.

Everything else around you, the garden, the house, the soft rustle of trees. It blurred out behind the closeness of his breath. You ate it up, leaning into it without resistance, your palms moving and bracing behind you, chin tilted down to watch him. He looked at you like you had no idea how divine you looked there and it nearly undid him.

Aemond’s fingers dug into your thighs with a bruising grip as he eventually dropped to his knees in front of you, it was like he physically couldn’t bear another second without having you. He didn’t care that gravel bit into him—sharp against his knees, probably tearing at the fabric of his linen trousers.

But he didn’t seem to feel it, and if he did he didn’t care.

He reached for your knees first, thumbs stroking the inside of them slowly before he slid his hands up your legs, insistent on pushing your dress higher. His eyes feasted on the exposed skin as the silk bunched in the cradle of your hips, exposing more of your thighs to the warm air, Aemond’s attention never wavering.

And gods, the sight of him—there, between your legs, silver hair falling loose around his face, his hands gripping your thighs—stole the breath from your lungs.

He didn’t speak.

All that mattered at that moment to him was you, your body laid out before him on the table, flushed and breathless in the shadow of the greenhouse.

Your eyes widened as the motion hit you all at once, his urgency, his hunger, and your breath caught somewhere between your ribs as you leaned further back instinctively. Your palms flatten more against the warm stone table to steady yourself, your bottom half tilting to meet him without thought.

The sun beat down through the branches above, casting a shadow on the two of you, but it was the heat between your legs that had you reeling. The warm air licked against your exposed skin, brushing over your inner thighs, and your core—which was already damp with anticipation, already aching for him.

The small breeze there felt absolutely obscene in how intimate it was, catching the slickness gathered there, making you painfully aware of just how ready you were.

It was no secret that Aemond loved sinking between your thighs, feeling your legs bent around his broad shoulders, thighs parting as he pulled you closer, anchoring you to him with a desperation that made your core flutter.

The stone bit into your skin; but it was forgotten the moment his hands shoved the rest of your dress up—hands rough, impatient—bunching the fabric around your hips in one swift motion.

Aemond didn’t pause, didn’t breathe.

His mouth was on you almost instantly, lips dragging along the inside of your thigh in frantic, open-mouthed kisses, warming up the already hot skin there even further. It was circling desperate the way his breathing came in sharp bursts out his nose, like he was barely holding himself together while also breathing you in.

He wasted no time as his arms hooked around your legs, hoisting them over his shoulders with ease, locking you in place as he pressed closer. So close you could feel the need in him, the hunger, the desperation to taste you, to lose himself in your cunt.

He was starving.

“Baby,” One of your hands flew down to his head, fingers sinking into his soft hair to try and stop him, “I’m all sweaty, are you sure you don’t want to wait—”

“I really…,” He glanced up at you as he pulled your legs tighter around his shoulders, lips following keenly and shifting your hips to the edge of the table, closer and closer to the wetness gathering on your inner thighs, “…do not give a shit”

“Aemond…” You giggled softly, your face heating up as you tried to nudge his head away from your cunt, “Are you sure…”

He only tutted before he dove in properly, his eye closing slightly as his tongue slid out to lick a strip up your core, fingers digging further into your thighs. As always, it was instant the way he drew sounds from you, your lips parting with an airy moan, and fingers twitching in his hair as he started to lick you up. Aemond was always fond of going down on you, it wasn’t uncommon for him to wake up for work slightly earlier than needed and sink under your shared covers to bury his head in between your thighs, and it seemed like being hidden at the bottom of his family’s estate was no different.

His tongue glided between your folds with the eagerness of someone who was destined to spend the rest of his life drinking you up, fingers grasping at your thigh as his tongue circled and sucked at your clit. His mouth opened wider to accommodate his tongue travelling down to tease at your entrance. Aemond knew how to love you in many ways, but his favourite was with his mouth, wasting no time as he dipped into your entrance and started to thrust his silver tongue in and out of you, curling the appendage with each push in.

Your breathing stuttered in your chest as you shifted on the rough stone under you, hips pushing forward towards his mouth and tongue, small hiccups of pleasure spilling out as your fingers tightened in his hair. You couldn’t help but roll and shift your hips with him, chasing every single flick and movement of his head.

His tongue slipped in and out with ease into your gummy walls, nose nudging your clit while he tasted you. Your throat begged to let any of the noises building in your chest out, your teeth sinking into your lip to muffle each pant, each whine, each moan. Aemond had your toes curling in your sandals at the feeling, your heels digging into his back to draw him even closer, the burning spreading up your abdomen, forcing soft pants out of you.

“Oh gods…” You managed to moan out softly, the sound meshing with the distant call of birds and the breeze as you bloomed under his touch. “Fuck, baby, we’re going to get caught…”

"Mmm," Aemond hummed against you, ignoring your protests and worries as his eye lazily looked up at you. Watching you unfold under his touch with a greedy look in his eye. He was as into this as you, his pupil blown out and his nose glinting with the wetness of being buried in your cunt, ready to drown in you if you’d let him.

Between the heat of the outside and burning in your core, you were a mess on the table, drowning from the inside out as you felt the sweat start to gather more and more. It beaded on your neck and ran down your spine, gathered behind your knees, but you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away. You were as needy as him, as greedy as him, and it was too good to give up, even if you risked getting caught.

It was filthy, but the idea of that alone has your core fluttering even more around his tongue.

Aemond had found that rhythm that had you writhing, shifting, begging, and wishing you could moan freely into the air. Everything sparked the muscles in your legs to twitch in Aemond’s hold, thighs squeezing his head slightly as you were pushed closer and closer to your peak. It was equal measures of utterly delicious as it was sheer depravity.

The pressure in your stomach was building in a steady upsurge, budding and blooming like the flowers around you and curling up your abdomen like roots taking hold. It was getting harder and harder to keep every single noise in, and that feeling only grew as one of his hands slipped down from your hips, fingers creeping along your thigh with purpose. You knew what he was doing, but it still had you whining between your teeth all the same.

As his tongue slipped out your walls, he hummed like was eating his favourite meal, that look in his eye getting stronger as he decided to swipe back up to your clit, sucking and nipping in a way that had your hand flying finally to your mouth. While one of your hands tugged at his strands urgently, the other flew to cover your lips, teeth sinking into the skin there to finally moan out into your palm.

You knew it was coming before you could even say anything, and he had no shame as he teased your entrance with the tip of a finger. His touch was light and teasing, as he prodded at the puffy folds with gentle pressure.

“Do you want one, or two, my love?" he murmured against you, his bottom lip slightly pulled back on your clit as he asked.

Your eyes briefly looked up to the sky at that, like you were begging for the gods to grant you mercy from the demon buried face first in your cunt, but all you could do what take whatever he was giving you on the chin. A small whine bubbling in your throat as you looked back down at him. Your palm left your lips briefly to give him a response.

“Two…” You couldn’t help yourself, between his lips kissing softly at your clit and his fingers brushing softly at your core, you just couldn’t help yourself.

He chuckled slightly at you, amused by your insistence despite the situation. The sound vibrated against you, a shiver rolling up your slick spine at the feeling.

"Greedy girl," He murmured with a nip to your bud, his tone low and filled with promise.

With that, his fingers began to slowly push into you, gently but persistently, as he sunk each bump in, his movements slow like he wanted you to feel every single ridge. You could he wanted to make you feel every touch and sensation fully. "Is that what you needed, love?"

Your lips parted with a choked breath; brows furrowed with pleasure as he scissored his deft fingers in your sweet cunt, this mouth working in tandem to tug you closer and closer to that sweet abyss waiting at the end.

The hand that had been covering your mouth was forgotten, grasping onto your knee instead. Your nails sank into the sun-reddened skin as you mewled and whined softly under his caress. The hand that was tangled in his strands moved back behind you, bracing you again, to help shift your hips to the very edge of the table; uncaring that your lower spine was screaming.

You were tight around his fingers, walls clenching and relaxing the closer and closer you got to your end, it was sweet blissful torture rolled into one. Aemond didn’t stop, he didn’t hesitate, the sound of your mewls egging him on and on, curling his fingers to brush that spot inside of you as he lapped and lapped like a man completely parched of water.

The two of you were out in the open but you felt like you were in a pressure chamber the way your skin slicked and you shook on the table. Your lungs desperate for air and your body begging for release. The blooming heat from before had transformed into a blistering sun in your stomach, one that was fraying your nerves and burning at your core with a power that only Aemond could give.

The world seemed to narrow down to the sensation of him—his hands, his weight, the way his breath mingled with yours. Each movement, each press of his fingers, stoked the fire deeper, a slow and relentless burning that threatened to unravel you entirely.

It was sudden the way you broke.

You came with a broken, desperate whine, your head thrown back in helpless surrender for him. Every muscle tightening and trembling as waves of it crashed through you. Your breath hitched, ragged and shallow, as the world tilted and blurred for a few seconds.

The moment stretched into silence as his mouth started to slow down, and you clung to that feeling of lingering warmth, shivering with exhaustion and the drawn-out heat, your heartbeat pounding in your ears like a quiet, steady drum.

Aemond pulled away from your core with a look in his eye, the lower half of his face soaked with your slick as he looked up at you. He often looked at you like you were magic, some kind of personal goodness for him to worship, but now he looked at you like he was ready to give his soul to see you. You were practically a puddle on the table, face flushed beyond measure, hair curling at your temples from the sweat, nipples pebbled and pressing against the silk of your sundress. He had undone you in every way possible, and the worst part of all?

He wasn’t done.

“Baby…” You panted softly watching as your legs slipped off his shoulders, his body rising with a hum as his free hand moved to wipe some of your wetness that was coating his face, sucking his fingers off like it was no issue.

“Look at you,” he said softly, more thought than a compliment like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d made of you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but all you could manage was a shaky exhale, fingers gripping the edge of the table as you tried to sit fully up again. Your eyes tired as you found yourself looking him over, you could see just how much the experience had affected him as well. If the bump in the front of his linen pants was anything to go back. His arousal clear against the dark fabric, his length most likely aching.

He leaned in with a twinge of his lips, close enough that your noses brushed, his lips barely touching yours. “You can’t even sit up straight.”

You tried to glare at him, you really did, but your eyes fluttered shut instead. “I hate you sometimes.”

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—his version of a smile. But it didn’t last, the heat in his expression was still there, you knew that look well and you knew exactly what it meant.

He pulled back slightly, hand dropping to your arm.

“Up,” he said quietly. “Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate, you never did, as you reached for his shoulders and let him help you stand, legs wobbling slightly under you. Your hands gripped him more for balance than anything else. The stone table scraped softly against your skin as your hips shifted up and off it.

The silk of your dress dropped back down as you stood, back to brushing your ankles as his hands met the small of your back, fingers brushing the skin.

“Turn around,” Aemond murmured against your temple, voice low and firm, his hand trailing down your back to start tugging you. “And lean over.”

There was no room for teasing in his tone, no joking smirk. Just that same intensity that came with him, he wasn’t asking because he wanted to for fun, he was asking because he needed to.

Like putty in his hands, you turned without a word, still catching your breath from your orgasm, your hair sticking to the nape of your neck. And like he requested you bent forward just slightly, placing your hands on the table, feeling the roughness of the old stone against your fingertips again.

The breeze shifted around you with a noise from the bushes, cooling the skin of your back, fluttering the hem of your dress slightly like a kiss from the earth. Aemond stepped in behind you again, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body, even without the press of his chest.

But you could hear the breath leave him when he looked down.

One hand smoothed over your hip, fingers curling as he pulled the fabric of your dress further up until it gathered at your waist completely again. His other hand settled on your stomach, thumb pressing into the soft flesh there, holding you still as he leaned in, mouth near your ear.

“Still too hot for panties?” He murmured, voice quieter now, edged with the faintest bit of a smirk in his voice. Still turning over this whole thing in his mind.

You managed the barest smile. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

That earned another quiet sound from him—something between a breath and a huff, not angry. Just hungry, and patient.

His grip on your stomach tightened slightly, grounding you in place, and his other hand drifted down between your thighs again, arms catching the fabric of your dress so it didn’t slip. His touch was deliberate, slow, like he had no intention of rushing now that he had you exactly where he wanted you.

You inhaled sharply at the contact, your hands bracing against the table as your head dipped forward, jaw going slack as he stroked at your sensitive folds again. Making sure you were still ready for him.

Aemond’s lips grazed the curve of your neck, then your shoulder, breath hot against your skin.

“Gods,” he murmured, almost more to himself than to you. “You’re still shaking.”

You were, you could feel it in the way your legs trembled, in the way your body leaned into the table, pressing your hips against the stone to ground you. It was clear in the way your breaths came in short, shallow bursts, no matter how hard you tried to steady them. He wasn’t wasting time as his hand slid a little lower down between your thighs. Cupping you properly now, and all you could do was bite your lip as your hips jerked forward, instinctive and helpless under his touch.

“Still feeling greedy,” he asked after a beat, he was toying with you now.

You wanted to answer, gods you tried to, but all that came out was a sound; something soft and broken, caught between a breath and a whimper. Aemond hummed faintly behind you, clearly pleased that he’d gotten you back for the lack of underwear and riled you up to this extent. His fingers slid slowly through your slick again teasingly before retreating; drawing a quiet noise from your throat at the loss.

Then his hand on your stomach moved, dragging it slowly over your torso, up your waist, slipping beneath the bunched fabric of your dress to find your bare chest. Palm warm over the curve of your breast. He didn’t care that your skin was clammy and covered in sweat, only that your nipples were pebbled against the fabric, budding in the soft blue silk from the arousal. His hand squeezing softly at your breast while his lips met the nape of your neck, kissing the red skin, sucking softly to leave behind he was even there.

His fingers closed around the weight of your breast, thumb brushing slowly over the hardened nipples beneath the silk before he gave a soft, deliberate squeeze—just enough to make you arch slightly into his touch, mouth falling open in a soundless gasp. Being behind you wasn’t always his favourite way to take you, but being out in the open, with his warmth behind while were forced to look out, and the fear of getting caught. It was erotic, it was sinful, it was something you never knew you needed.

You could feel his fraying restraint, his hand still kneading softly at your chest, his mouth dragging wet heat across your shoulder, the weight of him behind you, cock still pressed against your rear unmoving.

Holding himself there, letting you feel everything before he ever gave you more.

You felt the shift before you heard it—the slight change in the way his body moved behind you, Aemond’s hand left your waist only briefly, and then you heard it—soft, deliberate—the quiet clink of his belt buckle coming undone and his zip being pulled.

Your breath caught at that; he wasn’t teasing anymore.

The tension between you had changed in an instant, it felt thicker now, every action now weighted with more intention. He wasn’t just begging to eat you out on a table outside, you felt him behind you, the heat of him pressed along your back, his hand efficient but unhurried as he unfastened his trousers.

You didn’t dare look back and you didn’t have to, the air shifted with him and it was like foliage around you knew that, the breeze dipping for a moment. His presence was heavier the closer he pressed. One of his hands returned to your hip, moving from your breast and holding you in place with steady pressure, the other returning brushing down the curve of your lower back, then pausing at your rear.

You could hear his breath now, low and deep.

But barely.

You stayed where you were, bent over the table, hands flat against the warm stone, dress bunched high around your hips. Your chest rose and fell steadily, despite the flutter in your ribs, despite the way your knees threatened to give at the feel of his length barely brushing you.

Aemond’s palm slid across your rear squeezing softly, silently reassuring you. And you let out a soft breath as you felt him lean in, his chest pressed to your back, his breath skating along the nape of your neck.

“Still with me?” He murmured.

You nodded, just once, voice trapped in your throat.

“Good,” he said, barely a whisper now, lips ghosting the shell of your ear, a silent kiss.

Time felt endless his hand curled back around your hip, his other adjusting himself behind you, and you felt it—his cock brushing against the inside of your thigh, hot and heavy, leaking against your skin. The tip soft and damp with pre-come, the movement smearing it against your leg.

A quiet gasp left your lips, but you silenced yourself instantly as you bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to brace for what you knew was coming. But even then, the anticipation was unbearable.

He was barely touching you, you felt his hand shift to guide himself, the tip brushing your folds in a slow, careful line, not pushing in, just feeling, poking around your puffy core with intent—teasing you just a bit more before he caved and sunk himself in.

The move made your spine curl in a reflex you couldn’t control, and your teeth sunk deeper into your cheek at the sound that threatened to spill out. Begging to be released as he passed over your clit with just enough pressure to make your knees weaken.

You tried to shift back further, hips moving on instinct, but his hand tightened on your hip in warning.

“Ah ah…” he tutted in your ear, soft but commanding, “Patience.”

You exhaled sharply at that, biting back a frustrated whine that bubbled in your throat again. Your hands gripping the stone table harder, nails scraping the stone, palms damp and unsteady against the rough surface, your arms trembling just slightly from holding still. But still, you stayed right where you were, breathing shallow, and he finally began to press into you.

Every inch of him dragged a sound from your throat you couldn’t hold back, your head dipping forward as your body adjusted around the stretch with a whine. The first inch stretched you slow and steady, heat flaring sharply between your hips as your breath caught, throat clenching around the soft, broken noise that escaped you.

Your fiancé was thick, that much you always knew, but from behind the angle was deeper—impossibly so. You felt every ridge, every shift of muscle, the slow give of your body as it opened around him. The pressure built and built with every inch he sank in, a slow, insistent push that filled you to the brim, making your legs shake, your belly coil tight with heat that was different from before.

You whined softly at the intensity of it all, head dropping forward, strands of your hair clinging to your damp skin. Aemond wasn’t going to stop until he was buried in you completely.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound barely more than a grumble, quiet and hoarse, and finally his hips met your backside with a final, grounding press. You could feel him there, rooted deep, his cock pulsing faintly in your walls as they clenched around him.

He didn’t pull back instantly; he didn’t even move, he just held you, flush against him.

“Fuck,” He whispered, voice rough and thick with restraint as his head lingered beside yours, breath warm as he huffed out.

And gods, you couldn’t even speak.

Your jaw hung open with parted lips, but all that came out were shallow, panting breaths.

Your lungs struggling to pull enough air in to keep you sane. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, your skin prickling as your gaze dropped to the table beneath you. The stone was warm and rough under your hands, scraped faintly beneath your fingertips, grounding you with its texture as you tried to stay present in the moment.

Your vision was hazy at the edges, but you forced yourself to cast your gaze up and look. Trying to focus on the garden surrounding you. You focused on the details: the ivy creeping up the edge of the greenhouse wall in the distance, the leaves stirring slightly in the breeze, the birds that would occasionally caw from the trees, and the heat of summer pressing in around you.

This part of the garden was hidden—tucked far behind the hedges and down a sloping path few people bothered to follow. You knew that. Aemond knew that. And still, the awareness of being exposed in the open air, with your dress bunched around your waist, your fiancé buried in your guts and sweat slipping slowly down your spine, made the entire thing feel sharper.

More dangerous, more real, and fuck it was a turn-on.

You could feel him still catching his breath behind you, his chest expanding with every inhale, the tension radiating off his body as he held still. So still it made you ache, for movement, for release.

“Baby, please.” You gasped softly, hips undulating, wiggling in an attempt to get him to move. You rolled back against him just slightly, enough for friction.

The effect was immediate.

His grip on your hips tightened, his fingertips digging in harder around your plush hips, the hold coming with an edge of warning that sent another shiver down your spine. He drew in a sharp breath through his nose.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low and strained. The word rasped against your skin, right beside your ear, a whisper pressed with heat.

You whimpered, the sound soft and aching, you were trembling again, legs unsteady, body thrumming with need.

Aemond stayed there for another breath.

Then, finally, he shifted, it wasn’t a full thrust, not yet.

But it was enough to make you gasp as he pulled back a fraction of an inch, just enough for you to feel the drag, the ridges of his length, before sliding back in just as slowly, hips pressing flush to yours once more.

This time, you did moan, quiet and shaky and pathetically undone.

“Gods,” Aemond muttered behind you, almost to himself. “You feel—fuck, you feel good.”

Then he did it again, fingers clenching on your hips at another slow pull, hips drawing back but he gave torturously measured push, and that was the rhythm he set. For being out in the open he was unhurried, deep, and devastatingly intentional.

And you could do nothing but take it, mouth panting, desperate.

His pace remained devastatingly slow, like he had all the time in the world to pull you apart piece by piece, fuck you like you were in the privacy of your own home.

Each stroke was deep and measured, dragging along every quivering inch inside you, igniting fresh heat with every push. The slap of his hips meeting yours echoed faintly in the still air, a notion that felt entirely forbidden to begin with.

Your knuckles tightened against the edge of the stone table as your hands sought something to hold, something to keep you grounded while he moved. It was pathetic but you couldn’t even look down anymore; your vision was too glassy, heavy-lidded, barely able to focus on anything beyond the overwhelming feel of him. It left your eyes fluttering and unfocused on the distant. Focused only on the way your body received him so greedily, so helplessly, your breath catching with each press of his hips, every grunt he made behind you.

His mouth dragged open along the curve of your shoulder, tongue tasting the sheen of sweat there before he found the bead that had begun to slide down from your hairline to the slope of your spine. He caught it with his lips, licking it away before it could even fall. That’s where his teeth followed, nipping just beneath it, leaving a sign he was even there.

You whimpered at that, sharp and helpless, and your head tipped forward again, your mouth falling open as your legs trembled beneath you. Aemond grunted against your skin, one hand releasing your hip just long enough to press flat against your stomach, drawing you back into him, flush and locked.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasped dragging his nose up your neck to speak against your ear, voice harsh, broken, possessed. “So sweet like this, for me…”

But you could feel everything in technicolour.

In the way his cock throbbed inside you with every pulse of your walls, in the trembling of his breath, in the way his hand shook slightly against your belly from the sheer force of keeping himself together. Focused on not finishing too soon, on giving you more.

He fucked you like he needed it to survive—like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, his salvation and his sin wrapped into one soft, trembling body bent over stone beneath the sun. His little beauty, ripe for the taking, as fresh as the flowers around them.

And then, just as he shifted slightly, looking changing his angle enough to make your body jolt with pleasure, enough to pull a low, broken moan from deep in your throat—you heard it.

Footsteps.

Voices.

Just faint, somewhere nearby, the sound softened by grass.

The world seemed to still.

Aemond froze mid-thrust, his hands going rigid on your body as the sounds grew clearer—muffled conversation, slow and aimless, the kind of idle garden stroll that meant nothing except the risk of everything.

Your heart froze, panic slicing through the haze of pleasure like a lightning strike.

Your body stiffened instinctively, suddenly hyper-aware of your position—of you bent over the table, your dress bunched obscenely around your waist, Aemond still buried inside you, cock pulsing and warm and unmistakable.

You didn’t move, couldn’t, you felt like an animal in headlights.

Your breath hitched in your throat as the voices came closer—one male, one female.

Familiar in cadence, it was two of Aemond’s family members; Jace and Baela. Baela was laughing lightly, a casual remark about the estate, something utterly mundane. But you barely processed the words, your heartbeat swimming in your ears, trying to focus on the direction they were coming from.

It was hard to tell but it seemed like it was just beyond the hedgerow, on the other path that led down to the lake, the one that was no more than ten or twelve steps from where you stood.

Aemond didn’t speak, he didn’t even breathe, from what you could feel of him.

His entire body was taut behind you, jaw tight, arm still curled protectively around your waist, hand still pressed to your stomach. His chest was pressed flat to your back now, shielding you as best he could, and you could feel his head lower near your shoulder, his breath brushing hot and fast against your skin.

They passed slowly, too slowly for your poor heart, their footsteps crunching faintly over gravel, voices still low but close enough to reach through the thick green of the hedge like a warning. You couldn’t see them, not fully, but you could hear everything; from the rustle of their clothing, to the occasional murmur of pleasantries, and then…

“Did you hear something?” Jace asked.

A pause that had you nearly stop breathing.

“I doubt it,” Baela replied casually. “Probably just birds again, it’s far too hot for anyone to be out here this long.”

At that, they kept walking, the voices growing softer and the crunch of their steps began to fade.

You didn’t move a single inch, not until the last of the sound slipped back into silence.

Only then did Aemond draw in a breath behind you.

It shuddered through his chest like a dam finally breaking, and you could feel the tension leave him in the way his grip shifted, fingers loosening on your skin. His forehead dropped briefly, pressed to your shoulder, his body still draped over yours like a shield, still pressed deep inside you.

You exhaled a laugh that was barely audible, thin and slightly hysterical with leftover adrenaline as you panted from fear and pleasure.

“Gods, we could’ve been caught,” you whispered, barely able to speak.

Aemond didn’t answer right away, his breath still uneven, and then kissed the slope of your neck, slowly, his lips dragging gently over sweat-damp skin.

“They wouldn’t have gotten far,” He murmured darkly, a quiet edge to his voice that sent a new shiver down your spine. “I wouldn’t let them see you like this.”

Your body clenched around him involuntarily at the sound of that, and he groaned softly, hips rocking once out of reflex. He wasted no time as he pulled back slightly, just enough to move again, and this time there was something new in the way he moved, less restraint, more need.

A lingering tension from what had almost been lost.

He didn’t even blink before he thrust into you again, it was deeper now, more purposeful. Your knees twitched slightly, a gasp tearing from your throat as you shifted forward with the movement, hips pressing back to the edge of the table.

“Still want me to stop?” he whispered, voice ragged and close to your ear.

You shook your head silently, unable to speak, the only sound from you a whimper as he began to build that rhythm again—unforgiving, but careful.

A man who knew your body and exactly what it could take.

Hearing Aemond’s grunts in your ear only pushed you further, the arousal, the feeling warming your guy with each movement. Much like the summer sun, you felt him everywhere, from his breath that hit the side of your neck to the slamming of his hips against your plump flesh as he drove his cock into you relentlessly.

His hips met yours with a force that bordered on desperation, the slap of skin a steady rhythm echoing through the thick quiet of the secluded space. Every motion sent shockwaves through your body; jolting you against the table, his body pressing into your spine, into your lungs where the air caught and stuttered.

You were coming undone.

Not just from the friction of his length, or the depth, or the heat of the afternoon pressing down on both of you—but from him. From the way he moved like he needed you, like this something carved out of devotion and frustration and longing.

Your moans had softened into breathless, broken gasps, caught between whimpers and whispered fragments of his name.

And he drank it in, all of it.

The sounds, the shuddering in your legs, the way your warm cunt welcomed him again and again without hesitation, your sweet walls fluttering around his cock, squeezing him in the way that only you could.

Aemond lips brushed the shell of your ear again, his voice low and fraying at the edges. “You take me so well.… always so good for me.”

Your fingers clutched the stone again, grounding yourself against the swell of pleasure building, your head dropping forward as your body trembled around him, helpless under the rhythm he set—deep, steady, ruinous.

Aemond’s hips rolled with increasing urgency, the slow burn of time passed without touch, without space to breathe, and now that he had you here—hidden and pressed close, surrounded by sun-warmed stone and heady blooms.

The garden blurred around you the closer you got to that edge.

The sound of your own breath, ragged and uneven in your throat. The weight of his body against yours. The way your limbs trembled, your muscles tightening with every thrust, coiling you closer and closer to that breaking point.

Aemond’s hand at your stomach flexed again, his grip no longer as controlled as before, his composure slipping just beneath the surface.

You knew he felt it too, that pull to the end.

Your back arched slightly, your hips rising to meet his thrusts even more, the tension rising through you like a tidal wave threatening to crest. And behind you, Aemond groaned, quiet and hoarse and wrecked. His mouth finding your shoulder again, his breath hot where it brushed across your damp skin.

“I’ve got you,” He whispered, more breath than sound. “Just let go for me, sweetheart.”

The words hit you harder than the motion of his thrusts—more than the rhythm of them or the friction. You let them carry you, sinking into your hazy mind until your body began to unravel, your breath caught in your throat and your fingers curled against the stone tight.

It could have been seconds or years, it made no difference to you, as you came quietly.

There were no sharp cries into the space, no frantic desperation clawing at your throat, just a trembling surrender to the pleasure. A slow-flooding warmth through your limbs, one that tightened your insides, and had your head dropping forward as your body shook under his hands.

You felt yourself tighten around him, pulling him deeper, and it was all it took to get him there too.

Aemond buried himself one last time and held.

“Fuck.” He grunted as he pressed in deep, the sound he made low and quiet, rough against your shoulder, his grip tightening as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, he went completely still, breath catching, chest rising sharply against your back—then slowly, slowly, he began to relax, his forehead pressing gently to the space between your shoulder blades.

You stayed like that for a while.

Neither of you speaking. Neither of you moving.

Just two silhouettes in a patch of garden no one ever visited, birds humming nearby, and the sharp scent of grass warmed by the sun. The stone beneath your palms was rough, and grounding, and his skin against yours was warm, familiar.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to ease the weight off you, his cock sliding out of you with a gentle whine out your lips, and a breath at the feeling of his seed slipping down your thigh. He caught it with his fingers, pressing them into you briefly to try and clean you up without anything on hand, but you knew you’d be waddling back to the main house with shame covering your face and your skin.

His hands were careful, steadying, as he moved to smooth out your dress. Letting the silk drop down gently like a whisper on your skin. He pressed a soft kiss to the base of your neck, then to your shoulder, and finally leaned his cheek there for a brief moment, letting his breathing even out.

“You alright?” he asked softly, his voice hoarse but warm.

You nodded without looking back, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah… better than alright.”

A faint chuckle escaped him, small and genuine, and he helped you turn around slowly. Holding your waist while you found your footing again, your legs wobbled slightly, but he steadied you. Pull you close to him. When you met his gaze, his expression had softened: no longer clouded by lust or frustration, but something else.

Something quieter. Fonder.

You reached up your hand, and smoothed his hair away from his damp forehead, brushing your fingers through the strands that had fallen loose from his bun that was barely hanging on.

“Still think no panties is a bad idea?” you murmured, smiling faintly.

Aemond leaned in, brushing his nose along your cheek in a fleeting gesture of affection.

“Probably,” he replied with a slight smirk against your skin. “But I’d be more than happy to do that again if you decided to go commando the rest of the trip.”

You stood there for a moment longer, foreheads nearly touching, the scent of summer between you and the distant chatter of family still lingering faintly somewhere from the top of the garden.

“Is that a promise?” You grinned with a slight chuckle, a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Always.” He huffed, shaking his head as he dipped down to kiss you.

#*distant screaming*#💕💕💕#aemond smut #aemond x reader #modern aemond targaryen #modern!aemond #I’m thriving #fic rec

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fantasywarcrimeapologist · 2 months ago

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#them in the afterlife commiserating about just how fucked up all that was #helaemond #helaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #aemond fanart #helaena fanart #green siblings #ugh i love them

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fantasywarcrimeapologist · 2 months ago

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#I’m sorry gentlemen am I interrupting something????#fanart #aemond fanart #aegon fanart #they look so good here #ugh I’m a whore #AT THE SAME DAMN TIME #woah who said that #must’ve been the wind

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fantasywarcrimeapologist · 2 months ago

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If he hadn't lost an eye...

#he’s so babygirl #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #hotd bts

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fantasywarcrimeapologist · 2 months ago

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in sickness and in health

Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader | Arranged marriage

summary: After Aemond gets sick, you, his wife, take it upon yourself to take care of him. And he doesn't want you to. Or does he?

warnings: some swearing, insecurities (him), PiV, fingering, sloppy make-outs, Aemond is a little mean, creampie (this is fiction, use protection), not really enemies to lovers but he doesnt really like you......at first

5.6K

Note: hello i am back. also i giggled writing this ngl

MDNI

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Aemond didn't love you. At least, not really. He knew his marriage had been nothing more than a political match, and he always did what was expected of him.

But he didn't love you.

It had been hard for you, at first. Especially the first few weeks. When you were younger, you had dreamt of a loving marriage with a handsome husband. And while your husband was handsome, your marriage was not loving.

It was late, and you were sitting on a chaise in your shared chambers. Outside it was pouring, every now and then a lightning flash drawing your attention. Aemond had left right after dinner, wanting to fly with Vhagar to ‘clear his mind’,

You believed it was just an excuse for him not to spend time with you.

And now, hours later, he was still gone. You were worried for him, worried that he might get struck by lightning, or perhaps even deadly sick from the cold wind and the heavy rain.

You sighed again, standing up and looking out of the window. It was pitch dark outside. You knew your husband was smart, deadly so, but still…

You turned quickly when you heard the door creak open, revealing him. Utterly soaked to the bone.

His long white hair was curly from the rain, and the cloak he was wearing was dripping rain onto the stone floor.

“Aemond…” you said softly, stepping a bit closer to him. But he didn't reply. He didn't even look into your direction.

He walked towards the dining table, removing his cloak and hanging it over a wooden chair.

His boots were caked in mud, his tunic and breeches clearly wet as well. He walked over to the fireplace, sitting down on the divan. You fidgeted with your hands, moving to grab a soft cloth from your nightstand.

“You’re soaked,” you said, slowly moving over to him and holding out the fabric to him, “you’ll get sick if you don't remove your wet clothes, or… or at least take a warm bath.”

He didn't accept the cloth, however, deciding the fireplace was far more interesting to look at than you.

“I am not some weakling to fall ill from the rain,” he replied, standing back up again. He turned his back to you, his hands unclasping his sword belt and hanging it off the side of another chair. “I have ridden Vhagar countless of times in worse weather than this,” he said gruffly, and you weren't sure if he was bragging or simply stating a fact. “I will not fall ill from this.”

His tone was cold and dismissive, his eye scanning his dagger for any imperfections. “Do not worry about me, wife,” he said, and the way he said the word wife so coldly made your stomach drop. “I have no need for your… attentions.”

He walked over to the cupboard, pouring a glass of wine only for himself. And he still didn't look at you.

You nodded stiffly, turning to sit back down onto the chaise.

Oh… how he hurt you. You always believed you could handle an indifferent husband. A husband who barely spoke to you, barely showed you any affection. But this? The way he spoke to you, as if you were the most annoying person he’d ever met… it hurt.

You turned your head again, seeing the way his breeches and tunic were still wet, his hair too. He would definitely get sick in the morning. And a small part of you really hoped he did.

“You could have said thank you, at least,” you said suddenly, surprising even yourself.

Aemond paused, his grip on his cup tightening ever so slightly. The only sound that filled the chamber for the longest moment was the sound of rain pattering against the window, the sound of wind howling outside.

Finally, he turned, his cold eye meeting yours.

“Thank you?” he said coldly, something close to a scowl on his face. “For what? Your unwelcome concern? Your constant meddling?”

He stepped closer, his tall frame blocking the candlelight. “I have no reason to be thankful,” he said, “you are my wife, in name only. Do not forget your place.”

His warning was clear; leave him be, or face his anger. He scoffed, turning away and walking over to the window again.

You stared at his back, barely even breathing. Then, your embarrassment turned to annoyance.

You stared at your husband, seeing his wet clothing.

Oh, he would definitely be sick come morning. And you would have fun saying ‘told you so’ as he lay in bed, unable to do anything.

You stood up, walking over to your husband. You placed a warm hand on his arm, and you could feel him tense for a moment.

“I’m going to bed,” you said softly, sweetly. “Goodnight.”

You paused for a moment, just long enough to hear him quietly mutter a ‘goodnight’ back.

You turned, walking over to your large four-poster bed where you disrobed and put on your nightgown. Aemond didn't turn to watch, simply staring outside of the window. When he had finished his wine, he decided to join you in bed. He undressed, pulling his soaked clothing off and slipping nude into bed. He lay still on his back, staring at the canopy above. And though he was quite cold, he didn't move closer to you.

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

You felt awfully giddy waking up the next morning. Your husband hadn’t left for training yet, something he usually did at the crack of dawn.

He was sick, you were sure of it. He had been coughing and shivering all night.

You got up silently, rushing to your closet and putting on your most extravagant nightgown and robe you had. You’d even done your hair and squeezed your cheeks for a lovely flush.

Aemond coughed weakly, looking a lot more pale than usual. You slowly walked over to his side of the bed, holding the same cloth you had offered him the night before. You deftly wiped his brow, tutting softly.

“Oh, dear…” you said softly, “that doesn’t sound good…” Aemond just opened his one eye halfway, his temperature only a bit higher, but his entire body sore.

“I am fine,” his rough voice said, clearly not even having the energy to sound as angry with you as he wanted. He looked over at you, seeing the nightgown you were wearing. He had never seen you wear the damn thing before, not even on your wedding night.

“Do not play nursemaid, wife-” he said in a warning tone, before coughing again. “I have no need for it.”

You just hummed, your head tilting to the side a bit. “I see… shall I fetch maid Alta, then?” You watched as he clenched his jaw at the mention of the maid, the woman anything but gentle with her rough handling of things. He stayed silent.

“I didn't think so,” you hummed simply, “you’ll have to do with me.”

You stood up, grabbing another thick blanket to put on top of him. Aemond stayed silent, mad that his wife beat him. The last thing he wanted was that damned maid taking care of him with that loud voice of hers. He much preferred your gentle touch, though he’d never admit it out loud.

You moved over to the open window, closing the heavy curtains and plunging your chamber into darkness again. “My maid shall fetch the maester,” you said softly, the darkness helping his headache lessen. “In the meantime, rest.”

The heavy wool blanket felt nice around him, the warmth it gave helping the shivering lessen. He watched you move around, the extravagant nightgown billowing behind you. It looked nice, the blush on your cheeks looking lovely as you placed a cup of water on his bedside table.

He would pick you over Alta any day.

“Make sure your maid hurries,” he said with a rough voice, “so I do not need to suffer your attentions any longer.”

He tried to sound cruel, but he ended up just sounding exhausted and uncomfortable. His body hurt, his head pounded and his throat felt like sandpaper. His one eye closed, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. He tried hard to fall asleep, wanting just a small moment where he didn’t have to feel his painful body. And when he did fall asleep, his dreams were filled with odd visions, shifting between his dragon ride on Vhagar’s back, to visions of your lovely face, smiling down at him and taking care of him with soft hands.

Yet every single time, he would jolt back awake, being sent straight into a coughing fit that hurt his sore body further.

The maester established that he indeed had a cold, and the man moved to make a brew for him that would hopefully lessen his sore throat and rebuild his strength. He ordered the prince a lot of hydration, rest and warmth.

“Thank you, maester,” your soft voice said, and you moved closer to your husband. You wiped his brow again, seeing his tired eye look at you. You leaned closer, carding a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

“Told you so…” you whispered sweetly, before exiting the chamber along with the maester, ready to take the brew with you that he’d make.

Aemond watched you leave, feeling a flicker of irritation at your words. You had told him so, but still… he couldn’t help but smile weakly at your teasing, feeling a flutter of warmth in his chest.

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

After a moment, you reentered the chamber, holding a warm mug filled with the brew. It smelled quite bitter, but the maester had said it would be good for the prince.

You sat down next to him on his bed, helping him sit a bit straighter.

“Drink this,” you said softly, seeing the dark circles under his eyes, “the maester said it will help a great deal.”

He held the mug, your hand supporting it as well, and he started drinking the bitter liquid. It was awful, and he felt his head spin the slightest bit.

But you stayed close to him, making sure he was alright and that he finished the brew.

“Just a bit more,” you whispered, “then I’ll let you sleep.”

“Stop coddling me like a child,” he said with a strained voice, his words lacking his earlier bite, "I can finish the brew by my damn self.” Even as he said this, he allowed you to help him finish the mug, the warm bitter liquid soothing his throat. He handed you the empty mug, and you placed it back on his nightstand. Then. you helped him back under the warm blankets, making sure he was comfortable.

“Thank you,” he said after a moment, barely audible. You almost missed it, wanting to call him a child for the way he was acting, but his words made you hold your tongue.

“Rest,” you said instead, blowing out the two candles and plunging the bedchamber into darkness. You stood up, closing the wooden door behind you. Even though the day was young, you decided to stay inside. Just in case he needed you. And to your surprise, you didn't mind that. -------------------

You decided to go back into the bedchamber in the evening, carrying a warm, watery broth. You set it down on his nightstand, lighting a few candles. Then, you softly touched his arm, looking down at his face.

“Darling… wake up,” you said softly, seeing his one eye slowly open, "I brought you something light to eat.”

You watched him wake up slowly, groaning softly as he tried to sit up on his own. Then, you shifted to look at his eyepatch, a frown forming on your face.

“That must be giving you such a headache…” you mumbled as your hand moved towards the leather. Aemond tensed immediately, his hand coming up to grab your wrist. “Leave it,” he said, his voice still rough from his cold. “I am used to it.”

Even though you listened to his tired words, you still persisted, gently removing the leather eyepatch. Aemond clenched his fists, staring down at his lap as he was suddenly exposed. And he hated the feeling. He hated feeling so vulnerable, so exposed, in front of his wife, no less. But still, as you were sitting next to him, not saying anything, he couldn’t push you away. Your presence felt soothing, almost nice. And he didn't wish to part from it.

You grabbed the warm broth, bringing the spoon to his lips. To your surprise, he didn't complain this time that you were treating him like a child. He simply parted his lips, allowing you to feed him. The broth tasted nice, made exactly right so it wasn’t too heavy for his stomach.

You quietly looked at your husband, seeing his sapphire eye and the scarred tissue for the first time since marrying him two moons ago. You had only heard stories about it, of how frightening he looked. But now, seeing him so sick and exposed, you only wanted to take care of him, to make sure he was alright.

“The maester told me you are barely using the balm he made for your eye,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence between you two. “He said it helps with redness and… and soreness.”

Aemond’s one eye flicked over to yours, annoyance overcoming him again. How dare you speak to the maester about him? About how he takes care of his own body? It was no one's business but his.

He opened his mouth, wanting to shout at you for your disobedience as a wife, but no sound came out when you gently brought another spoonful to his lips. He sighed, deciding to just eat the broth in silence instead.

It was just… difficult. No one had cared for him in such a gentle way before, had scolded him for the way he treated his own body. And certainly no one had seen him so vulnerable.

Suddenly, the thought of you, his wife, seeing all of his scarred ugliness, filled him with a deep, unadulterated dread. He wanted to look the other way, hide his disfigurement from you, but you gently raised another spoonful of broth.

He swallowed before speaking again. “I have been taking care of myself since I was but a young boy,” he stated, "I do not need anyone’s help.”

You sighed quietly, shaking your head. This man--your own husband--had denied you a lot. The loving marriage you had always dreamt of, any sort of affection, attention, even conversations. He hadn’t even touched you after the consummation.

So you would deny him this.

You helped him finish the broth, standing up to put the bowl away on the far end table. When you returned to his side, you were holding the balm.

Aemond tensed when he saw the ointment, his single eye narrowing. “I am not a child,” he hissed lowly, a clear warning in his voice. Even though she had seen it correctly, his scar tissue a lot more red than usual and the skin feeling tight and itchy, he did not wish to be coddled. He didn't need anyone. He didn't need his wife. But even as he thought that, the thought of your gentle touch caring for him even when his visage was so incredibly flawed, was a welcome one.

He clenched his jaw, searching your face for any revulsion, but he only saw a determined look on your face.

“Keep complaining like that and I'll treat you like a damn child," you replied, catching Aemond off guard.

His wife? Swearing? That was… unexpected.

He stayed still as you swiped some of the balm on your finger, then gently applying the soothing cream to his scars. And he couldn't help but let out a shuddering, relieved sigh. It felt heavenly on his skin, soothing the angry tissue. And your touch was so soft, so gentle, it made his chest ache with something he didn't dare name.

He studied your face, seeing the concentrated look on your face. Your brows furrowed slightly, the candlelight dancing on your complexion. He allowed his gaze to trail over the bridge of your nose, following the gentle curve of your lips. You looked… lovely. He had never allowed himself to properly look at you, not wanting to either be distracted or perhaps even disappointed. But looking at you now, seeing the way you were so focused on gently caring for him, he felt an emotion bubbling up inside of him. Something he didn't dare name, even if he did not know what it was.

You pulled back, closing the lid of the balm. “There we are…” you said softly, clearly content with your own work. “Go back to sleep. I’ll bring this with me, so you don’t put it on again.”

He watched as you grabbed his eyepatch, blowing the candles out again. And Aemond felt… a lot better. The warm broth had warmed him up from the inside, having stilled his aches a bit. The balm on his eye had felt heavenly, too, relaxing the angry tissue.

He felt his lone eye slowly close, exhaustion overcoming him. But this time he felt a lot lighter, a lot better. And this time, he slept well. And he dreamt of you.

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

Two more days passed just like that. You took care of your husband, feeding him and applying his balm. You wiped his brow, helped him drink and even brought his chamber pot so he didn't need to strain himself too much by having to walk to the other room. It was nice, having your presence constantly with him. Even doing the dirty work for him, you did so without complaining.

Every single time he woke up from his slumber, you were by his side, flashing him that sweet, worried smile. He had hated your constant presence at first, but now, if he woke up and didn't see you immediately, he could feel a frown forming on his face.

By the third day, he already felt a lot better. His body didn't feel as sore, his throat also feeling a lot better. His headache had disappeared completely. By the end of the day, he was strong enough to drink his water on his own. He sat upright, spotting you on a chair next to the bed, asleep with a book in your hand. Aemond stared at you for a moment, the setting sun making your skin glow in the loveliest of ways.

He reached his hand out, grabbing your arm and softly squeezing it. You slowly woke up, eyes heavy and a bit puffy from sleep. For a moment, you both just looked at each other. He watched as you sat straighter, stretching your back and straightening out your dress.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, "I didn't mean to fall asleep.” You set the book down, turning to face him more. “How are you feeling?”

Aemond watched as you stretched and straightened your dress, noticing you yourself also looked quite tired. He realised how selfless you had been these past days, clearly neglecting yourself in order to take care of him. He swallowed heavily, clearing his throat.

“Better,” he said, his voice no longer rough from his fever, but only a bit rough from disuse. “I believe the worst of it has passed.”

And he meant it. The fog in his mind had lifted, his body not as sore and feeling a lot stronger. He sat a bit straighter, wincing a bit as he used his muscles. He then looked at you again, his gaze drifting down as he saw how your chest rose and fell as you breathed, the soft swell of your breasts underneath your gown. His gaze moved further down your arm, until it rested for a moment on your ring finger, where he saw your wedding ring.

It felt strange, having been so cared for these past days.

“Thank you,” he said finally, looking back into your eyes, “for taking care of me.”

You just hummed, standing up from the chair. You looked at him, a surprisingly playful glint in your eyes. “It was in my vows,” you said, your lips curving up the slightest bit.

“I shall call for my maid. She will prepare a bath for you,” you looked around for a moment, noticing the bedsheets also needed to be changed.

“I will have a bath after you.”

Aemond was a bit caught off guard by your teasing words. It had been in your vows, he remembered the spoken words ‘in sickness and in health’ as if it were yesterday. But after the way he had treated you, he hadn't expected you to tease him.

A small smile formed on his lips, and he nodded his head. “A bath sounds wonderful,” he said, “thank you.”

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

After the bath, he had put on simple linen nightclothes, lying back in bed. The bath had felt wonderful, and the clean sheets were nice as well. But he still felt exhausted.

He watched as your maid entered the chamber, moving ahead to refresh the bath for you. You entered later, wearing only a robe, clearly ready for your own bath. You looked at your husband, seeing some of the colour having returned to his face. “Was it nice?” you asked him, walking closer to him.

Aemond had already shifted underneath the warm blankets, nodding drowsily. “The warmth was most pleasant,” he replied, studying your face. Then, he softly patted the spot beside him, an almost pleading look in his eyes. “Join me,” he said quietly, “just for a moment.”

You hesitated for just a second, before making your way over to the other side of the bed.

“Alright,” you whispered, “until my bath is ready.”

Aemond watched as you hesitated for a moment, but moved to settle next to him in bed regardless. And truly, he couldn't blame your hesitation. These past moons of married life, he had never once been kind to you, never tried to initiate any closeness. He had been distant, cold, sometimes even mocking.

He looked at you as you crawled onto the bed, sitting down next to him. You weren’t quite touching him, but still sat quite close. He moved his arm behind you, not quite embracing you, but still an attempt at intimacy. And for Aemond, it was a huge step.

He looked at you for a moment, noticing the way you grew less tense, the way you allowed yourself to relax in his presence, and he felt that unfamiliar warmth bloom even more intensely in his chest.

He cleared his throat, making you look at him. “These past days…” he started slowly, trying to gather his thoughts, “you have been a true wife to me. And I am… truly grateful.”

The words felt a bit forced, a bit clumsy, but they meant a lot. You felt that same flutter in your chest as he did, a warmth blooming on your cheeks.

“You do not need to thank me,” you whispered softly. You looked at him, feeling more drawn to him than you had ever felt before. But before you could act upon those feelings, your maid entered the chamber again.

“I must bathe,” you breathed out, quickly moving away and standing up. But before you slipped away into the other chamber, you shot him a playful smile over your shoulder. And to Aemond, that meant everything.

By the time you returned from your bath, Aemond had already fallen into a deep sleep. You smiled softly, watching him for a moment.

“Goodnight,” you whispered after a moment, exiting the chamber.

You took care of your husband the following days, until all he had left was a soft cough and a little sniffle. Aemond’s mind was a lot more clear now, and while he should feel happy because of that, he actually felt quite annoyed. Because all he could think of was you.

You, his sweet wife that had cared for him so diligently. His wife that hadn't even flinched when you saw his full scar, but instead taken care of it.

And you, his beautiful wife, that he had only taken once because of his own bitterness.

He remembered the wedding night. It had been short, awkward, probably not even having felt that good for you. You had let out a few moans, most of them muffled by your own hand. But they had sounded… cute.

Aemond cleared his throat, deciding to get up and get dressed instead of remembering his consummation. He was a prince, and he definitely was not in love.

He had already put on his breeches, reaching for his tunic when you suddenly entered the chamber again.

You gasped softly when you saw him half undressed, quickly covering your flushed face with your hands. “I’m sorry!” you squeaked out, “I-I didn't know you were not dressed yet!”

Aemond didn't feel annoyed however. He felt quite pleased with your flustered reaction. He calmly slid the linen tunic over his shoulders, leaving the top open.

“Do not worry, wife,” he said simply. “In fact, I am quite… flattered by your reaction.

You slowly lowered your hands, looking at your husband. He looked good. Great, actually. He was no longer sick, and he looked fit and normal again.

You watched as he walked closer to you, his eye locked onto yours. “In fact, I am intrigued by it. By you.”

You flushed a deeper red, Aemond caging you in against the wall and him. “By me?” you asked in a whisper, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Aye… by you, my lady. By your sweetness… your innocence…” he trailed off, a hand moving up to softly touch your jaw.

You looked up at him, eyes wide. “My innocence?”

He just nodded again. He leaned even closer, his lips awfully close to yours. You could feel his warm breath, smell the scent of the salts of the bath he had taken earlier.

“I wanted to thank you,” he rumbled quietly, “for taking such great care of me this past week. I wish to… return the favor. To take care of you.”

You swallowed heavily, shaking your head. “You don't need to thank me-” you managed to whisper, your heart pounding fast in your chest.

Aemond just let out a low chuckle, moving closer.

“I want to,” he replied in a whisper, finally attaching his lips to yours.

He kissed you deeply, allowing all of the pent up longing and denied intimacy to finally pour out. He held your waist tightly, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours. He softly nipped your bottom lip, slipping his tongue inside when you gasped softly.

It was needy and sloppy, and Aemond relished in it. His hands started moving up your body, groping your soft breasts through your gown. You whined into the kiss, your back arching. Aemond groaned in reply, moving his wet kisses down your throat.

You felt his hips press into yours, a hardness pressing against your stomach.

Oh, but he felt so good.

His hands moved towards the back of your dress, undoing the clasps until the fabric fell away and pooled around your feet. Aemond growled softly when he felt your hands hold onto his tunic, and he easily picked you up, carrying you towards the grand bed.

You felt so hot, and your heart was beating so fast, yet you felt so excited. You couldn't believe your husband was undressing you, making you feel all sorts of things in the morning. It felt naughty, it felt… right.

“You are exquisite,” he breathed out, staring down at your figure splayed out underneath him. He leaned down again, kissing you deeply. You parted your lips immediately, needing him more than air. His hands slid underneath your shift, before pulling it up and off of you completely.

His hand groped your breast, pinching the nipple until it was hard and straining. He parted from the kiss, taking it into his mouth.

You moaned out, arching your back at the feeling. “O-oh, yes-!” you gasped, egging him on. He groaned at your eagerness, his cock twitching in his breeches. You were so responsive, so soft. He had never been so turned on in his life.

“You're mine,” he rumbled lowly, his hips grinding against your naked core. You moaned even louder, the drag of his thick, clothed cock against your aching clit making your head spin with pleasure.

“Do you feel that?” he panted as he looked back at your face, “do you feel how hard I am for you? How hard you make your husband’s cock?” he smirked, making you gasp out at his words. “Feel it,” he whispered the order, his dark eye meeting yours, “it's yours, after all.”

He guided your hand with his own, moving it down until it was pressed against the hard ridge of his cock in his breeches. It throbbed at your touch, and you moaned again.

“Gods,” you moaned out, his lips attaching to your collarbone, “I need you so badly.”

Aemond smirked against your skin, licking a stripe up your throat. “Tell me what you need,” he said, groaning when he felt your hand move over his cock.

“I need you,” you whined out, "I want you to make me feel good.” You swallowed heavily.

“Please.”

Aemond groaned again, leaning down to press his lips hard against yours. “Then have me.”

He undressed quickly, nearly stumbling, before crawling back on top of you.

His thick cock pressed against your stomach, spreading pre-cum over your soft skin. He groaned almost as if he was in pain, and he was sure he was going to be in pain if he didn't feel your warm, wet walls clenching around his cock soon.

His hand nearly trembled as he slid his hand down to your cunt, swiping up some of your wetness. And, fuck, you were drenched.

He groaned out, pressing his head in the crook of your neck as he slid a finger inside of your wet heat.

“By the Gods,” he panted, sliding his digit in and out of you, “you feel so good, so warm-”

You moaned out, hips writhing under his ministrations. Your nails were digging into his shoulders, moans of his name escaping your lips.

He slid a second finger inside, stretching you out in the most delicious way. And when his thumb pressed against your clit, you weren't able to form words anymore.

He thrust his fingers in and out of you, making you more and more wet. He wanted to make you come on his fingers, he really did, but he just couldn't wait any longer.

He slid his fingers out, the wet noise your cunt made making you whimper.

He reached down, grabbing his hard cock and lining it up with your sopping wet core. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, my dear wife,” he groaned softly. He teased you just for a moment with the tip, just enough for him to hear those cute, needy whines again. And then, he slid inside of you, his thick member stretching you out.

“Aemond-!” you moaned out, your head dropping back against the pillows. This was different, so different from your consummation. This was hot, and needy and it felt amazing.

“My wife,” he panted into the crook of your neck. He stayed still inside of you for a moment, allowing you to adjust. He lifted his head, pressing a needy kiss to your lips.

“You take me so well,” he panted, sliding out until his tip remained inside of you, before filling you again. You moaned out, and his strong hands guided you to wrap your thighs around his waist. And when you finally did, he started fucking into you. His rhythm was steady, deep, aimed to pleasure you as much as himself. He groaned out, kissing you as his hips slammed against yours, the bed creaking underneath you.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he rambled, probably more to himself than to you. “Gonna fill this pussy up-”

You held onto him, Aemond feeling your body tighten and coil underneath his. He moved his free hand down, rubbing harshly at your clit, wanting to make you come undone so badly.

“Come for me,” he panted against your lips, his lone eye meeting yours. “Let me fucking feel it-”

You gasped out, whining and mewling as the knot in your stomach grew tighter and tighter and--

He stared deeply into your eyes, kissing you hard when you finally came--hard.

Your back arched off of the bed, your cunt clenching impossibly tight around his cock, nearly forcing him out. But he pressed himself harder against you, moaning your name as you came.

“Fuck, fuck-” he panted, slamming himself deep into you one last time, staying deep inside as he came hard, painting your insides white with his thick cum.

“Gods-” he panted, his voice nearly a whine as he was overcome with pleasure. Your nails digging into his shoulders only made his pleasure last longer, and after what felt like ages, the final waves of both of your climaxes finally ebbed.

He collapsed onto the bed beside you, holding your trembling form close. For the longest moment, neither of you talked. You just curled up against your husband, breathing in his scent.

“My princess,” he panted softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That was… amazing. You are amazing. I cannot believe how… how blind I have been.”

A soft smile formed on your lips, his words making you feel lighter than you had felt in ages. You looked up at him, seeing that same smile looking back at you. He kissed you softly, covering you with warm blankets.

“I’m just glad you see me now,” you whispered in reply.

He held you even closer.

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