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Into the Unknown (wolverine/logan howlett x fem!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

wolverine/logan howlett x f!reader

Word Count: 7.4K

Rating: Soft E

Summary: You, a dedicated doctor in a small town in the Canadian Rockies find your life turned upside down when you meet Logan Howlett, a mysterious man whose mutant abilities leave you questioning everything you know about reality. As you both learn more about one another, your connection deepens. However, when Logan struggles with his past and fear of hurting you, he retreats, leaving you confused about your unconventional relationship.

Or simply…

Logan becomes emotionally constipated when he accidentally hurts you during one of his nightmares.

Warning: slow burn-ish, alcohol use, sexual tension, mutual pining, established relationship (yet not totally defined), flirting, language, fluff, jealousy/possessiveness/protectiveness (primal logan, that’s his girl), innocent-ish reader? smutty flashback mention (oral - f receiving), nightmares, angst (logan and his self-sabotage), soft smut (not super explicit), unprotected p in v sex, did i mention softness? I guess reader has a nickname (doc)

A/N: So, I have no idea what this fic is, it’s my attempt at recreating the soft version of Logan that I adored in X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Also, I definitely adapted and played around with the X-Men universe in this fic so it’s not correct at all. It’s just my little universe in this fic. Also, a brief quote from the movie is used. But, I hope ya’ll enjoy?

Next (Part 2)

Canadian Rockies, Alberta

As a doctor, you had seen your fair share of trauma. The human body, in its weakness, can withstand only so much. But — seeing Logan tonight outside that bar — you questioned everything you thought you knew.

He walked into the alleyway after a bar fight, a piece of jagged metal protruding from his side, blood seeping through his shirt, but there was a strange calmness about him.

You watched incredulously as he took a breath, almost casual, and then, in what could only be described as the impossible, the flesh around the wound began to knit itself back together. The blood slowed to a stop, his skin smoothed over, and in seconds, it was as if nothing had happened. It was surreal; the kind of thing you’d only read about in comic books or watched in a sci-fi film.

Logan turned his gaze toward you, the casual demeanor dissipating in an instant. His eyes, deep and intense, locked onto yours. You felt an involuntary shiver run down your spine, as if he could see right through you, unraveling the tangled thoughts racing through your mind.

Logan had arrived in town just a few months ago, a solitary figure with a presence that seemed to command attention without even trying. He had the rugged look of a man shaped by the wilderness—muscles honed from days spent navigating the dense timberland, a thick mane of dark hair that fell messily over his forehead, and beautiful hazel eyes, capable of both calm and fury. The scent of pine and woodsmoke clung to him, an earthy aroma that seemed to encapsulate his very essence.

At first, the townsfolk regarded him with a blend of intrigue and wariness. The men exchanged wary glances, their eyes clouded with a mixture of fear and jealousy, as if Logan embodied a primal spirit they couldn’t quite understand. Perhaps it was the ease with which he moved through the trees, or the way he could bring a massive tree down with just a few powerful swings of his axe. They whispered among themselves, the tales growing larger with each retelling—stories of the quiet logger with an unsettling intensity that could turn violent at the drop of a hat.

The women, however, seemed magnetically drawn to him. You couldn’t help but notice how their voices softened, and their confidence wavered in his presence. There was something fiercely attractive about him—an allure that stemmed from his brooding demeanor and the quiet strength that radiated from him. They looked at him with a mix of admiration and yearning, their cheeks flushing as they caught his gaze.

But it was in this moment, when he turned his focus to you, that you felt the full weight of him. You weren’t just a doctor then; you were a witness to something beyond human experience, teetering precariously on the edge of disbelief.

“Didn’t know I had an audience,” he murmured, his voice gravelly but calm, laced with an undertone of warning. The alleyway felt smaller suddenly, shadows dancing as if they too were spectators of a private show.

You swallowed hard, weighing your options. The last thing you wanted was to provoke the man who had just defied the very laws of nature. You forced a nonchalant smile, trying to mask the turmoil within.

“Are you goin’ to just stand there?” he asked, his voice low, echoing against the brick walls that framed the narrow passage.

“Just… passing by,” you managed to say, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Right,” he replied, though it was clear he didn't fully believe you. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile, suggesting he was well aware that you knew what he was.

A mutant.

“I didn’t see anything,” you insisted, feigning ignorance as best as you could. “Just a bar fight gone wrong, right?” You gestured vaguely to the bruises on his knuckles, the disarray of his shirt, and the remnants of the scuffle.

Logan studied you, and there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but beneath it lay something darker—caution. “Let me give you some advice, doc. Forget what you think you saw. People like me don’t like to be… exposed.”

A sudden rush of anger surged through you at his dismissive tone. You opened your mouth, ready to sass him back rudely, but stopped yourself.

“Sure,” you said after a pause, lowering your voice. “But what if someone else sees? What if—”

“They won’t,” he interrupted brusquely, taking a step closer, his imposing figure towering over you. “I don’t make it a habit of stickin’ round’ for questions.”

The tension hung heavily between you two, palpable and thick. You felt an instinctual urge to reach out to him, to understand what he was, but instead, you tucked that thought away tightly.

“Then I guess we’ll never speak of this again,” you said finally, trying to sound more composed than you felt.

“Good choice,” he replied, a flicker of respect in his demeanor now. He stepped back into the shadows, turning away, glancing over his shoulder just once. “See you round', doc.”

You watched as he vanished into the night, the reality of what you had witnessed settling in. A numbness crept into your thoughts, a curious blend of confusion and intrigue. As you turned to leave, your mind spun with questions.

You had heard of mutants, but you had never met one before.

A new world of possibilities loomed, and you had, without intending to, stepped into a realm where your notions of reality would never be the same again.

A few weeks flew by since you encountered Logan in that alleyway, and every day since, you had thought of him. Life in the small town had continued its familiar pace, punctuated by mundane routines, but your awareness of Logan was ever-present. You'd seen him around, but you had consciously averted your gaze, a silent adherence to the unspoken agreement made on that fateful evening.

Tonight was the town's annual harvest festival, a celebration of the changing seasons marked by laughter, music, and the tantalizing scent of roasted corn and spiced cider. The town square, bathed in warm golden light, buzzed with excitement as families gathered, children ran about with sticky fingers, and couples danced under the stars.

As you navigated through the crowd, your colleague, Dr. Stryker—an affable man with a penchant for bad jokes —had sadly found his way to your side. With his sunny smile and charm, he had made several attempts to engage you and flirt… badly, but you were only half-listening, your eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of Logan.

“Hey, have you tried the apple cider? It’s amazing. We should grab some together,” Dr. Stryker said, elbowing you playfully as he spoke. The enthusiasm of his invitation felt dull against the backdrop of your distracted mind.

“I’m good, thanks,” you replied, your gaze sweeping past him, where Logan stood near the perimeter of the festivities. He was unmistakable, leaning against a weathered wooden railing, an island of calm amidst the raucous celebration. A few townsfolk surrounded him—some laughing loudly, others clamoring for his attention—but he seemed distracted, the storm-gray in his hazel eyes fixed on you.

“Come on, it’s just apple cider! You can’t resist that,” Dr. Stryker pressed, leaning a little too close in an attempt to catch your focus.

But you weren’t interested. Instead, you watched as a woman approached Logan, her laughter musical and inviting. The way she tossed her hair over her shoulder, inching closer to him, ignited a flicker of unease in your chest. Logan’s expression, while polite, remained distant, his interest evidently waning as she chatted on about trivial things.

“I really think we should go on a date sometime,” Dr. Stryker continued, oblivious to the way your attention had drifted.

“We work together… I don’t think that would be very smart,” you replied, still watching Logan, who had not taken his eyes off you.

With an unmistakable intensity, he stepped away from the woman, who continued talking, oblivious to the shifting dynamics. He cut through the crowd with purpose, weaving between people until he sidled next to you.

“Hey, doc,” he said, his deep voice low enough to be just for you, pulling you from your thoughts and slicing through the tension that had begun to build. The world seemed to quiet; the chatter faded into a faint background hum.

“Logan,” you managed, torn between the giddy thrill of his attention and the lingering apprehension that had kept you at bay.

Dr. Stryker, eager for attention, remained at your side, gaping slightly. “Hey, Logan! You enjoying the festival?” he called out, forcing an upbeat demeanor.

Logan’s eyes flickered to Dr. Stryker, and in that glance, something shifted—an unspoken challenge hung between them. “It’s alright,” Logan replied, without breaking his gaze from you. There was a seriousness to his tone.

Dr. Stryker tried getting your attention again, trying to grab your waist. “Actually, I—” he began, but Logan stepped just in front of you, physically placing himself between the two of you. The action was bold, unexpected, and it sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

“Maybe you should let her enjoy the evenin’ without interruptions,” Logan suggested coolly, his body language becoming a barrier that shielded you from Dr. Stryker’s advances.

For a beat, the air crackled with tension as Dr. Stryker recoiled slightly, surprised by Logan’s assertiveness. “I was just talking,” he stammered, caught off guard.

“Yeah, talkin’…” Logan echoed, casting Dr. Stryker a sidelong glance that simply dared him to press further.

You could feel the heat creeping up your cheeks. The possessive protectiveness inherent in Logan's actions was like a jolt of electricity coursing through you—this man, this mutant who had rewritten everything you knew about life, was standing up for you.

“Logan, it’s alright,” you said quickly. “Really, we can just—”

“No,” he interrupted. “You don’t have to put up with him tonight.”

Before you could respond, the woman who had accosted Logan earlier approached again, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Logan, are you coming back? I was just telling Kayla how much I love that you—”

“I’ve got my own plans,” he replied, his tone firm. She looked momentarily taken aback by his abrupt dismissal of her. Her wide smile faltered, morphing into a mix of confusion and irritation as she realized she had been so easily sidelined.

She straightened her posture, trying to reclaim some semblance of composure. “Well, I didn’t realize you had other plans,” she said, her tone edged with defensiveness, forced casualness clashing with her evident discomfort.

Then, Logan turned his attention exclusively to you, his gaze softening. “What do you say we get out of here?”

You glanced at Dr. Stryker, who looked bewildered but also slightly wounded, then back to Logan, who was waiting patiently.

“Alright,” you breathed.

Before you stepped away with Logan, you couldn’t help but cast one more look over your shoulder. Dr. Stryker stood there, mouth agape, an incredulous look on his face, and you stifled a smirk.

As you made your way through the throngs of festival-goers, the vibrant backdrop of laughter and music receded into the distance. As you stepped away from the chaos and into the relative quiet of a nearby park, you turned to him, your voice a mix of gratitude and relief.

“Thank you, Logan,” you said, brushing a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. “I sometimes don’t know how to handle Dr. Stryker. He hasn’t really been getting the hint that I’m not interested.”

Logan chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound. “Yeah, I could see that. Some people just don’t take a hint,” he mused, his eyes glinting with mischief. “But honestly, I don’t blame him for tryin’ and shootin’ his shot,”

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Oh? And why’s that?”

He stepped a little closer, invading your personal space in that way that made your heart race. “Because you’re beautiful,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “Not just beautiful—you’ve got this light bout’ you that draws people in. It’s hard not to notice.”

The warmth blooming in your chest was unexpected, and you felt a flush creeping up your neck. You managed a smile. “That’s sweet of you to say,” you replied, momentarily at a loss for words.

“But,” he continued, his tone shifting ever so slightly to a more serious note, “you shouldn’t have to deal with unwanted attention just because of that, he and any other man should respect your boundaries.”

You nodded. “I appreciate that,” you said softly.

Logan took a step back, his expression shifting, and you could sense he was weighing his next words carefully.

“So, bout’ what you saw last time…” he began, his voice lowering slightly as though sharing a secret. In a way… he was. You glanced away, a playful smirk creeping onto your face.

“What happened?” you asked, feigning innocence, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I can't remember much from that night. I might’ve been a little drunk, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow and chuckled, the sound low and rich. He was clearly amused with you.

“Oh, that?” You laughed lightly, shaking your head as if witnessing his extraordinary regenerative ability hadn’t made you explore journals for more conventional medical explanations this last month.

A ghost of a smile teased the corners of his lips, but his expression remained earnest. “You insist on playin’ coy, huh?”

You took a moment, weighing your response, the playfulness simmering just beneath the surface. “Honestly? I mean, I thought perhaps I was hallucinating,” you confessed, the teasing tone giving way to something more sincere. “Some people are just afraid of what they don’t understand. I think fear often comes from ignorance. But… once you get to know someone, it’s hard to keep that fear alive,”

Logan studied you for a long moment, surprise flickering across his features. “You really think that?”

“Of course I do,” you said lightly, brushing your hair behind your ear again in a gesture of comfort. In truth, your heart thudded uneasily in your chest.

Logan stayed silent for a moment, processing your words. The shifting emotions in his eyes made it hard for you to decipher what he was feeling. He took a step closer, his presence radiating intensity and warmth. “It’s rare to find someone who doesn’t fear what they don’t understand.”

You smirked, your playful side rising back to the surface. “So, am I on the list of rare finds? Should I assume I’m part of a collection now?”

His lips curved into a lopsided grin. “More than just a collection. You’re one of my favorite finds.”

You couldn’t help but feel a warmth flutter in your chest at his comment. It was the nicest thing anybody had ever said to you.

As if drawn by an invisible force, Logan leaned closer, his eyes locked onto yours. You felt your breath hitch in your throat, anticipation tightening in your chest. Logan closed the distance between you, his lips brushed against yours softly, testing the waters. The kiss was gentle, hesitant at first, but it quickly deepened, igniting a spark that surged through you like wildfire. Logan’s lips moved against yours, coaxing and coaxing, and you responded, your hands finding their place on his shoulders, marveling at the strength beneath the fabric of his flannel.

You could taste the sweet warmth of spiced cider lingering on his lips, mixed with something uniquely him...

Gritty yet tender.

A couple months had passed since the night at the harvest festival, and the unconventional relationship that blossomed between you and Logan had woven a beautiful, if complex, tapestry of intimacy, trust, and vulnerability. You had shared countless moments —soft laughter, heated kisses, and raw affection that made each encounter of him burying himself deep inside of you making you feel… desired.

Logan, with his seasoned confidence provided him with an air of authority that was intoxicating to be around. You could feel it in the way he touched you—each gesture calculated yet instinctual, as if he had danced this dance a thousand times before. It could have been intimidating, the disparity in your sexual experiences, but he never made you feel small or inexperienced. Instead, he embraced your shyness, his gaze steady and reassuring, always guiding you with a patient tenderness that disarmed you completely.

Just last week, you found yourself biting your lip after he asked you to sit on his face, a nervous habit that only seemed to encourage him, his smirk revealing that he not-so-secretly appreciated hearing that you had never done that. Considering how often and how much Logan loved going down on you, you could tell that he was excited that he would be the first to do this with you when he positioned you over his face with your knees planted on either side of his head. The moment felt surreal, your heart racing as you hovered above him, a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty swirling in your stomach.

You were acutely aware of the way his breath caught when you finally shifted your weight and lowered yourself onto him, tentatively at first. As you settled over him, you were overwhelmed by the warmth of his mouth, the soft pressure of his lips against you, his tongue dancing against you with expert precision. Logan's hands gripped your thighs gently, guiding you, anchoring you while also encouraging you with a groan to push yourself further into his mouth.

You lost yourself in the sensations—the way he felt beneath you, the way your body responded, the way he made you feel as you kept moaning with your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Just as you teetered on the brink, a sudden sharp sting broke through the haze of pleasure. Logan's hand connected with your ass, a firm smack that sent a jolt through you. With one last deliberate flick of his tongue on your clit, you toppled over the edge, your body shaking with pleasure as you cried out his name, your fingers gripping the headboard tightly.

After the intense moment passed, Logan lay beneath you. His smugness was unmistakable, a blend of satisfaction and pride etched into his features as he licked his lips slowly relishing the taste of you lingering on him. The corners of his mouth curled up as he leaned back on his elbows, looking at you through lazy, half-lidded eyes with his hard cock straining against his boxer briefs that seemed to say he thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it.

Your mornings typically began with Logan wrapped around you if you two spent the night together, his warmth enveloping you in a cocoon of comfort. You were used to waking up to the gentle rise and fall of his breath, his presence grounding your thoughts. But this morning, something felt off. The warmth was still there, but it felt distant.

As you stirred awake, blinking the sleep from your eyes, you sensed his body tense beside you. Logan lay on his side, facing away from you, his muscles coiled tightly, as if a spring had been wound too far. You shifted closer, instinctively seeking the warmth of his skin, but he flinched at your touch. Confusion washed over you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” you asked softly, your heart beginning to race with worry.

He let out a quiet sigh, one laced with frustration. “Nothin’��” he replied, his voice curt and laced with an edge that made your stomach twist. It was immediately apparent to you that something was very much wrong. His muscles were taut beneath the surface, and that familiar intensity in his eyes had dimmed into something stormy and conflicted.

You tried to brush away the tightening knot of anxiety forming in your chest. The memory of the night before replayed in your mind—Logan waking up from a nightmare, his claws extending instinctively as he thrashed in his sleep and accidentally grazed you. It wasn’t the first time this had happened.

“Logan, it’s okay,” you assured him, reaching out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m fine. Just a scratch. It didn't hurt that much.”

The look he shot you was scorching, a mixture of anger and concern. “You don’t get it,” he snapped, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling blankly, avoiding your gaze as if it burned.

Your chest tightened as you tried to understand his sudden defensiveness. “Logan, I promise I’m okay, and you didn’t mean to hurt me. I know that.”

He finally turned his head to look at you, his expression darkening further. “That’s the problem. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I did. And what if it happens again? What if one day I really hurt you? What then?”

The weight of his words settled heavily in the air between you. You opened your mouth to respond but he interrupted you. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he said, his voice low and dangerous, like gravel sliding down a steep incline. “Wantin’ to be with someone like me, someone who could accidentally kill you—what does that say bout’ you?”

His words felt like a slap, reverberating through your mind and echoing in the hollow of your chest. You recoiled as if he had physically struck you, confusion and frustration mingling sharply in your veins. “Logan, that’s not fair,” you managed to say, but your voice was barely a whisper, barely breaking through the wall of hurt he had just created between you.

“No, maybe it’s not,” he shot back, his eyes darkening with an intensity. “But it’s the truth. You think you can save me? You think you can handle the mess that comes with bein’ with someone like me? It’s fuckin’ stupid, and deep down, you know it,”

The weight of his words felt suffocating, each one thrusting deeper into the cracks forming in your heart. Emotions surged—hurt morphed into anger, and that anger demanded to be unleashed. But before you could gather the words to fight back, you watched as he broke away, rising from the bed with a suddenness that made your heart drop.

“Logan, where are you going?” you called after him, rising slightly on your elbows, your mind racing to process what had just happened. “We need to talk about this!”

He didn’t respond, merely shoved himself into his jeans and put on his tank top and flannel, an uncharacteristic coldness radiating off of him. “I can’t, alright? I gotta get to work,” he said curtly, as if that explained everything. His gaze remained firmly fixed on the floor, refusing to meet yours.

“Work?” You were incredulous. “You think running away will solve this? You can’t just walk out on us because—”

“Because what?” he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “Because I care bout’ you and actually value your life, unlike you seem to? I’m not some hero. I don’t deserve that kind of loyalty. Not from you. Not from anyone.”

With that, he turned abruptly, striding out of the room. You felt a mix of rage and hurt swell within you as you sat there, alone in the silence of the room. The door clicked shut behind him, the finality of the gesture echoing long after he had gone.

You sank back onto the bed, feeling hollow, the tension lingering. The realization hit hard: this was more than just an argument.

Days turned into an agonizing stretch of silence, each moment feeling longer than the last. You had tried to brush it off at first, convincing yourself that maybe Logan just needed time to process—or perhaps he had truly needed to focus on work and clear his head. But as the hours turned into days, doubt and worry edged into your thoughts, gnawing at the corners of your mind.

You found yourself staring at your landline phone, waiting for it to ring for a call that never came. It was both frustrating and heartbreaking.

On the third day, you decided to take action. You grabbed your car keys, took a breath, and made your way to his cabin. The familiar trail to his place felt different now, weighed down by the uncertainty that hung heavily between you. Each step felt significant, as if you were crossing an invisible line that had been drawn the morning after your fight.

You knocked on the door, your heart pounding in your chest. You waited, listening for the sound of his heavy footsteps, for him to swing open the door with that playful smirk he often wore. But silence answered you instead. Your heart sank. You knocked again, louder this time, a desperate plea echoing in the stillness. Still no response.

“I know you’re in there!” you called, frustration slicing through your worry when you heard movement inside. “Logan, please!”

You waited, leaning against the rough wood of his cabin’s exterior, staring at the door as if willing it to open. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling small against the weight of your longing for him. What if this was it? The thought made your breath hitch in your throat.

Sighing heavily, you finally turned away, dragging your feet back down the path, a sense of defeat washing over you.

Another week passed. You kept yourself busy—work at the clinic, visits with friends, a nice dinner with your colleagues—but nothing seemed to fill the void Logan had left behind. You avoided topics that steered too close to him, clinging to the hope that maybe he would show up unexpectedly, an apology or an explanation poised on his lips.

But he didn’t.

As the clock ticked down another night, you sat on your couch with a bottle of wine. The flickering light of the TV cast shadows across the walls and your mind drifted back to every moment you’d shared with him.

In a moment of desperation, you picked up your landline, dialed his number, slightly hesitating, and then finally pressed the call button. The phone rang… and rang… and then shifted to his answering machine. “Hey, it’s me,” you said, your voice cracking slightly under the weight of your emotion. “I don’t know what’s going on. If you’re avoiding me, just… please talk to me. I can’t stand not knowing if this is it… if you’re done with us. Just call me back, okay?”

You hung up, tears threatening to spill over but refusing to give in.

The days turned into two weeks without a word from him. And now you were pissed.

The clinic buzzed with the usual activity of a Tuesday morning: patients filtering in, the gentle hum of conversation punctuated by the occasional laughter among the staff. You moved through the halls like a ghost, each interaction feeling muted as the weight of your anger toward Logan settled deep in your chest.

You had spent the last week wrestling with a whirlwind of emotions, shifting between sadness and confusion, but today, as you gathered patient files, anger surged to the forefront. It was infuriating—Logan had always been so unapologetically strong, yet here he was, hiding from his feelings like a coward.

As you rounded the corner with a stack of charts in hand, you bumped into Remy, one of your regular patients who was recovering from a tendon repair. Remy was known to be quite flirtatious, and today was no different as he flashed you a warm smile.

“Good morning, Doc. You look especially gorgeous today,” he said, leaning a little too close. His flattery was harmless, but a twinge of annoyance flickered within you, as it reminded you of how absent Logan had been recently.

“Thanks, Remy. How are you feeling today?” you asked, attempting to redirect the conversation while navigating through the tight corridor.

“I’ll be better by the end of our session,” he winked, casting you a sidelong glance that seemed a little too suggestive.

“Let’s focus on your knee, alright?” You replied, your tone light but firm.

“Of course, of course,” he replied, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But when you’re ready for a bit of fun outside this place, you know where to find me.”

You smiled politely, forcing yourself to ignore the way your stomach churned. Remy’s attention felt comforting in a way, but it also made your mind drift back to the emptiness Logan had managed to create with his silence.

As you conducted your rounds that day, you couldn’t help but replay Remy’s comments in your mind and questioned: Were you single again? Were you ever in a relationship with Logan to begin with? It wasn’t like he had ever formally asked you to be his girlfriend. You two were also fairly private so you didn’t even know how many people really knew that you two were dating… At this point you didn’t even know, had you two been dating?

When your shift ended, you slumped into a chair in the break room, exhausted, and decided on a whim to meet up with some friends at the local pub. You allowed the comfortable chatter to take over and pushed aside lingering thoughts of Logan. The first few rounds of drinks went surprisingly smoothly. You found yourself glancing at Remy, who was at the bar, playfully chatting with the bartender, his broad grin contagious. As the clock neared midnight, you found yourself teetering on the edge of tipsy and decided it was time to go home.

As you approached your front porch, the warmth of the evening air enveloping you, laughter still lingered in your senses. Remy had insisted on walking you home, and though you appreciated the company, his flirty comments had started to grate on your nerves. Just as you opened your mouth to express your gratitude and send him on his way, your heart stilled at the sight before you.

Logan stood there on your porch, arms crossed over his broad chest, shrouded in. His hazel eyes were locked onto Remy, an unmistakable flicker of rage simmering in his gaze.

“Logan,” you said cautiously. “What are you doing here?”

He didn't immediately respond, opting instead for a piercing look that practically burned through Remy. You could feel the unease radiating off of Remy, who took a half-step back, demeanor shifting as he realized that he was not welcome in this moment.

“I came to see my girl,” Logan finally said, his voice low and steady. But there was an underlying growl to it.

My girl. What the fuck?

You took a sharp breath, the tension thick in the air between Logan and Remy. "Logan," you said, stepping forward instinctively, trying to defuse the situation before it escalated.

But Logan didn’t take his eyes off Remy. "You should go,” Logan’s voice dropped an octave, the anger simmering right beneath the surface. “This ain’t the time for chit-chat. So why don’t you do yourself a favor and fuck off?”

Remy caught off guard, faltered, his usual bravado faltering under Logan’s heated gaze. “Hey, man. I was just walking her home. Didn’t know she was spoken for,” he stammered, attempting to maintain some semblance of confidence, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “No harm done.”

You shot a warning glance at Logan, trying to communicate that this wasn't how you wanted things to go.

But Logan shook his head, the tension in his muscles visibly tightening. "You don’t know who the fuck you’re dealing with. So back off, or I’ll make you wish you had." His words were a low growl.

“Logan! Stop it!” you cried out, frustration flaring in your chest. You turned to Remy, who was now inching backward, clearly sensing he had overstayed his welcome. “Have a nice night, thanks for walking me home.”

With one last lingering look at you, Remy stepped away, before turning on his heel and walking briskly down the street, not risking another moment in Logan’s intimidating presence.

As the sound of Remy’s footsteps fading into the distance, you turned to Logan. “What the hell was that?” you shot, crossing your arms defensively. “You can’t just scare people off like that!

Logan’s expression turned from furious to frustrated, his brows knitting together. “You’re angry?” he asked incredulously. “What the fuck was he even doing here?”

“Logan, are you serious right now?” you countered, hotly. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks. You think barking orders is going to make this any better?” Your heart was racing as emotions jumbled together in the heated air between you. “You don’t own me. I can handle myself and that includes talking to someone without you marking your territory.”

“You’re mine,” Logan’s low voice was suddenly dark, not as composed as before. “and I’ll be damned if anyone else thinks they can take you from me,”

You rolled your eyes. Men.

“What does that mean?” you scoffed, frustration bubbling back up, daring to step toward him. “You’ve hurt me. You’ve made me feel like this—like I’m nothing to you. And then you show up here, acting like you own the place, and expect me to just accept that?”

Logan's intense gaze softened slightly, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface. “Look, I know I’ve been a goddamn mess,” he said. “I didn’t mean to disappear on you, but I—” He stopped, inhaling sharply as if weighing his words. “I’m not tryin’ to be an ass, okay? I just… I love you. And I can’t—”

“What?” you asked softly, shocked at his admission.

Logan took a deep breath. “I’m in love with you,” He swallowed hard, glancing away momentarily. When his gaze returned to yours, it held a new intensity, a desperation. “I thought that was understood.”

“How would I know that? You walked away from me! I deserve better than that. You can’t just expect me to be waiting for you while you work through your feelings,”

He ran a hand through his dark hair, frustration radiating off him in waves. “I get it, okay? I messed up. I didn’t wanna drag you into the chaos of my life. I thought you’d be better off without me. I thought you’d be safer.”

“Safer?” You shook your head, disbelief flooding your chest. “Logan, you’re not a monster! What you have is a gift —”

“A gift?” He hissed, cutting you off. “You can return a gift,” he said with disgust.

“You don’t scare me,” you murmured. “I want to be there for you, I really do, but you’ve got to let me in… or else I can’t be with someone who’s going to keep me at arm’s length,”

The hard lines of his jaw, which had been set in defiance moments before, slackened slightly. “Don’t say that,” he pleaded, the gravel in his voice giving way to a softer, more urgent tone. “I can’t lose you,” he said, stepping even closer, a desperate edge in his voice.

“Then stop acting like a bruised animal and just be with me, Logan.”

In one fluid motion, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours with a fierce urgency. He held you firmly, as if he were afraid you might slip away, his fingers threading through your hair, anchoring you to the moment.

Gradually, he pulled back, just enough to catch a glimpse of your eyes, searching for any sign of doubt. Instead, he found a spark of desire mirrored in your gaze, and the corners of his mouth curled into a satisfied smile. "You're mine, doc," he said again. “And I’ve been yours since the first time I walked into town,”

A tentative smile graced your lips.

“You know,” he said softly, as he searched your gaze, “the first time I saw you help Mrs. Hudson cross the street, I thought, ‘Who’s that beautiful light walkin' through my darkened world?’ You weren’t just another pretty face; you were somethin’ different.”

You blinked, surprise dancing in your eyes as you processed his words. You had thought the first time Logan had noticed you was the night you first crossed paths in the alleyway, but it seemed he had been observing you from afar.

“I had no idea,” you whispered.

“Didn’t know how to approach you,” he admitted, his tone shifting, like a man admitting to his sins. “You... you were so different from anyone I had ever known. Treatin’ people with genuine respect, believin’ in the goodness of others… somethin’ I nearly forgotten existed. And I was scared. Scared you’d see what I was—a mutant—a mess. So, I kept my distance. Until I couldn’t anymore.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He had been watching you all this time.

“Don’t run away next time things get tough…don’t shut me out,”

“I promise,” he replied, his forehead resting against yours. “No more runnin’…”

“Logan…” you whispered, breathless. “Did you really mean it? Do you love me?”

“More than anything,” he confessed.

“Logan, I…” you started. “I love you too,” you reassured him, fingers trailing along his jawline feeling the rough texture of his beard beneath your touch. You watched him relax slightly, his muscles unclenching as he leaned in closer, inhaling deeply as if memorizing your scent.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against him, and you could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart against your chest.

Logan lay beside you after taking you apart expertly and reminding you that you were in fact his. He traced idle patterns across your arm, fingers gentle yet insistent. Tonight, his usual gruffness was layered with a vulnerability, there was a sense of urgency in the way he held you and fucked you, as if he feared you'd slip away if he let go for even a moment.

His name had escaped your lips in a guttural moan when he thrust his cock desperately inside of you. You craved every part of him, wanting him as close as possible, and his rhythm was urgent, almost frantic with desire. He felt so good inside of you, and you found yourself pleading for more, urging him to go faster. His fingers gripped your hips tightly as he drilled his cock furiously inside your cunt and whispered complete and utter filth into your ear.

Silent sobs shook your body, your back arching off the bed as your body exploded in complete pleasure. He remained steadfast, continuing to feed you his cock, grunting and growling above you, his primal sounds reigniting the tightness in your belly. His teeth scraped against your neck while he changed his angle and brought his fingers to your clit, unexpectedly catching you by surprise and making your pussy seize around his cock again as you came violently getting lost in the sensation of him in and around you.

His thrusts became erratic, his hips slamming into you, and he let out a moan into your mouth as he got closer to his end. You felt tears fill your eyes at the strangled “Oh fuck, I love you,” that left his lips, suddenly. Dropping his head to your shoulder, his body soon erupted, and you felt his warmth dripping down your thighs. Breathing heavily, he fought to catch his breath, he lingered there for a moment, savoring the warmth of your skin against his.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a quiet rumble after he returned from the bathroom to press a warm, wet rag between your legs and cleaned you off as gently as possible. His hand moved to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, drawing you closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, enveloping you as he nestled against you, forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the intimate silence.

As he tangled his legs with yours, you noticed how he clung to you, his grip firm yet tender. It was as if he were anchoring himself to you, grounding himself in the moment, wanting to shield you from the demons that haunted him. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

“There’s this professor I met years ago,” he said. “He has this school. It’s... a place intended to house those who face discrimination—mutants like me. It’s meant to be a safe haven, an educational and training ground to help people like me learn to control our abilities.”

“You want to go there?” you asked, your mind racing as you processed the implications of his words.

He nodded. “I contacted him. That’s why I disappeared. I think he can help me. Help me get control over these nightmares. The claws… I don’t want to live in fear of hurting you again,” he confessed.

Your heart ached at the weight of his struggle. “Logan, if you think this can help you…”

“It can,” he interjected. “But I’d need to leave for New York. And that means…” He paused, apprehension etching lines across his brow.

“I’ll come,” you said, almost breathless. The words were out of your mouth before you even had a chance to think it over. “I’ll go with you.”

Logan’s expression shifted, a host of emotions flickering across his features—relief, gratitude, and a hint of something you might dare to call joy. “You’d really join me?” he asked.

You had a life here—friends, work, a routine that felt like home. But as you looked into Logan’s eyes, you realized he was your home.

“Yeah,” you replied. “I want to be there for you. Besides,” you added playfully, “New York could use a dose of my charm.”

A smile broke over his rugged features, not just any smile, but one that radiated a sense of peace you knew he'd probably long since buried. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, breathing in the scent of your hair. “I love you, Doc,”

“I love you too, Logan,” you replied softly, fingers threading through his hair as you leaned into his embrace.

Here was a man who had ventured into the darkest corners of his psyche seeking help, a journey that would be filled with challenges. And here you were, choosing to leap into the unknown with him, ready to face whatever lay ahead. Together.

TBH, I originally wanted to write a more explicit smut scene for these two because lord knows this man is un-fucking-believable in bed and that his dirty talk alone would put me in a puddle. However, I went for a softer approach with this fic.

Soft!logan girlies unite 😭

Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

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valentinevirgo · 2 days

Text

Into the Unknown (mini-series)

18+ account - minors do not interact

wolverine/logan howlett x doctorfem!reader

Rating: E

Status: Complete

Warnings: Smut (18+MDNI), language, alcohol use, mutual pining, sexual tension, fluff, flirting, jealousy/possessiveness/protectiveness, insecurity, slow-burnish, angst-ish, pet names, I guess reader has a nickname (doc), domestic!logan, (any additional warning will be listed in each chapter)

A/N: This accidentally became a mini-series so I decided to create a master list for these two lovebirds. However, it has been written in a way where each part can be read as a standalone. Happy to take requests moving forward if people would like to see additional moments in their relationship.

Part 1: Into the Unknown

Part 2: Cool Girl

Summary: You and Logan get settled into your shared apartment near the X-Mansion as Logan joins the X-Men and begins training to control his powers. You start to feel insecure being just a human surrounded by powerful and beautiful mutants- you don't share your feelings with Logan and decide to be a 'cool girl' about it.

Part 3: Weekend Getaway

Summary: Logan surprises you with a romantic getaway to celebrate your 1-year anniversary together. He opens up about his intentions for the future with you and building a life together.

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valentinevirgo · 2 days

Note

I KNOWWWW!!!! I read this fic recently where carmy and reader kinda didn't get along in the kitchen and that idea has been PLAGUING my mind ever since 😭

Imagine the first time he sleeps with reader is after a night out drunk, and he wakes up at her apartment. The memories soon come back and he's suddenly hit with the fact that he did hook up with his stupid annoying coworker. And she's currently at the kitchen, making breakfast and singing along horribly to some song.

I'm going feral pls send help 🏃‍♀️💨

- 🐝

Your back crashes into the outside of your apartment door as Carmy’s body presses into you. There’s barely any rhythm to the way he’s kissing you, it’s just pure desperation. You’re trying to dig through your purse for your keys, but Carmy isn’t making that easy.

His lips taste like alcohol and cigarettes. It shouldn’t be a pleasant taste, but you can’t get enough of it. You can’t get enough of him. The alcohol clouds your brain too much for you to care about making out with your coworker.

“Lemme—lemme get the door open, Carmy,” you manage to breathe. You shift around so your back is against his chest; he still has you pinned to the door. Carmy pulls your hair back off of your neck while you dig for your keys, leaning down to press hot kisses to your skin.

You’re about to put the key in the lock when you feel his hips shift against your ass. You gasp as his clearly evident hard-on grinds onto you. Your hands shake with excitement as you unlock the door, which Carmy wastes no time to open and push you inside, letting it slam behind him.

He has you up against the wall within seconds, lips meeting yours fiercely. You drop your purse on the floor, and thread your fingers through his hair. He groans when you tug at his roots, using the opportunity to speak.

“You want this?” Just three simple words, but it’s obvious what he means.

“Please, Carm.”

He goes right back to kissing you, but this time he lets his hands trail all over your body. You start walking backwards in the direction of your bedroom expecting him to follow, which does with zero hesitation.

Once in the bedroom, the clothes go flying, discarded all over the floor. You need this, and clearly he needs it, too.

Carmy fucks you hard. He keeps you on your back so he can watch your every reaction. Normally, he would try to be gentler, but you’ve pissed him off too many times in the kitchen this week for him to be soft and gentle.

His hands dig into your hips, and his lips suck at your neck. He’s worried that if he doesn’t keep his mouth occupied that drunk words will slip out of his mouth.

Meanwhile, you’re probably moaning loud enough to wake up the neighbors. It’s not like you can help it. You’ve never been fucked this good. Carmy’s cock stretches you out perfectly. It hits so deep inside of you that you start seeing stars everytime he bottoms out.

It’s no surprise that it doesn’t take long for the both of you to cum, and it takes even less time for the both of you to fall asleep.

When Carmy wakes up, it’s to an empty bed and a staggering hangover. He’s confused as hell until the memories start flooding back to him. It’s in flashes at first; the feeling of fingers in his hair as his lips move against another set of lips. Then it grows into moans echoing in his ear, and a tight warm heat enveloping his cock.

He looks around the room to get his bearings and it hits him. He fucked his coworker last night. Shit.

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valentinevirgo · 2 days

Note

would it be possible to request carmy and elementary school teacher!reader like the plot could literally be anything I just love the thought of him bringing food for the class and being surrounded by a bunch of little kids who want to ask him questions and play with him and he’s all shy at first and loves watching reader with the kids…i’m feeling so soft rn 😭

hi my lovely anon!! im so sorry for letting this rot, i hope you're still hanging around to read it!!

field day is one of the best days of the year for a kindergartener. they run as much as their little bodies allow them, play games all school day, and have their bellies full of a delicious lunch. this year, that lunch is provided by none other than your boyfriend's restaurant, catering mini beef sandwiches for the kids.

you step behind the table to kiss carmen on the cheek when your class gets to the lunch station. he smiles and his arm wraps around your waist, muttering to you, "y're so good with those kids, 's drivin' me crazy."

you blush at his implications and smile when he leans in to pepper your cheek with a few quick kisses. a squeal interrupts the moment, the sound from one of your students who points at the scene with a grin. she shouts your name before asking, "is that your boyfriend!?!" her friends giggle, some of them remarking on how boys have cooties, and the little girl continues to stare at you excitedly.

"since you all have such curious minds," you start, the whole class's attention focused on you now, "this is my boyfriend, mr. carmy."

carmen smiles, giving your students a wave. they all giggle excitedly, greeting him with a staggered chorus of hi mr. carmy!

"alright, alright," you say with a smile. "we only have two field rotations to eat. so come to me for some hand sanitizer, then get your sandwich from mr. carmy."

the kids file through the line one at a time, choosing which sandwich they want, and what flavor chips will accompany it. one boy asks carmen, "do you make all the beef sandwiches?"

your boyfriend chuckles, shaking his head. "no, i don't make all the sandwiches bud. usually i'm makin' other sh- stuff." his cheeks heat up a little at his near slip, but the boy just nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and carmen asks him "now, what d'ya want, kid?"

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valentinevirgo · 3 days

Text

Under Pressure

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x Reader

Rating: 18+ eventually - mentions of miscarriage, drugs, and language

Summary: You’re a top chef from Atlanta, who gets scouted for a program to help integrate temporary chefs into restaurants across the US to bring something new to each restaurant. Your assignment? The Bear, in Chicago. Your new head chef? Carmen Berzatto.

THE BEAR

DAY 1

Your morning started off rough, the coffee pot in the short term rental wasn’t working, and you barely slept the night before in anticipation of this day. Your boss Ryan had already sent you a good luck text knowing how nervous you probably were. This was a new program where restaurants were switching out chefs for a few months at a time to bring in new ideas, and hopefully improve business. You’d been scouted by Natalie from the Bear, and as soon as you heard that it was a chance to be in Chicago with your brother for 3-6 months depending on how well it went, you jumped at the opportunity.

Your rental was just a few minutes walk to the restaurant, Natalie had scouted the place out for you over a few FaceTime calls, and the company organizing this program handled everything else.

You took a few deep breaths before walking into The Bear, where you were greeted by Natalie’s smiling face. She must have spotted and announced that you were standing outside waiting, because by the time you were walking in you could see heads peeking through the kitchen window. You were dressed casually, not knowing what to expect for tonight- what station you’d be put at, or if you’d be dealing with the front of the house at all. You wiped your nervous, sweaty hands on your jeans before shaking her hand and introducing yourself to her.

Her smile was warm, and she held out a hand to you, “it’s so nice to see you in person finally! Welcome to the Bear, we’re so excited to have you here. And thank you for being so willing to come spend time here.”

You offered a smile, your southern accent slipped out more than you meant to, “Thanks Natalie, I’m looking forward to it. I’ve heard so much about this place.”

“Please, just call me Nat, okay? Your accent is precious- it’s even more in person.” She offered another big smile to you.

“Yeah,” you laughed, “at dinner last night I had three people say something about it so I guess it’s stronger than I thought.” You scratched your neck nervously, “am I dressed okay? I didn’t know how you guys were with tattoos, but I figured I could stay in the back tonight if I had to and wear something to cover them up tomorrow-”

“Please, you’re going to fit right in. C’mon back here and I’ll introduce you to everyone. They’re all prepping for the day, you got here at a perfect time.”

Nat lead you into the kitchen, where the team was already starting to prep for the day. You looked around at the organized chaos and smiled to yourself, it felt like a good fit already despite the nerves still in your stomach. You could tell they took pride in their kitchen by the pristine countertops, and the organization of each station. You were too busy looking around to realize that everyone had stopped what they were doing and had their attention on you.

Nat clapped to get everyone out of their strange daze, “Hey everyone, listen! Here’s our guest chef we’ve been talking about. Just a reminder, she’ll be here for 3-6 months depending on how things go, so treat her nicely, all of you. She’s here to help us, bring in some fresh ideas, and maybe even get things running a little bit smoother.”

You waved at everyone nervously with a small smile, “Hey everyone. I’m really excited to be here. Nat’s done a wonderful job telling me all about everything amazing y’all already have going on for you, and I’m honored to be here. I couldn’t believe I was scouted over my head chef, Ryan.”

A woman in the back made a comment, “that’s because we need more calm in this place. That one beside you can get a hot head sometimes, we needed another woman in here. I’m Tina, by the way.” She smiled at you, and you looked to your left at the well known chef you had heard about already - Carmen Berzatto. You may have been all the way in Atlanta but you knew him and you knew his reputation. He was shorter than you had expected, but his presence was strong.

Carmen was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, and you felt like you were under his microscope. You knew how he felt, you were a guest in his kitchen, and you knew what it was like to have someone who could potentially be invading upon your space. You’d read all the articles, done your research and you knew this kitchen ran like a well oiled machine.

“Good to have you here, Chef.” He spoke calmly, and extended his hand, his large one completely enveloping your small tattooed one. You saw him take a glance at them, but he made no comment.

Another girl stepped forward, a much warmer smile on her face, “I’m Chef Sydney, and we’re excited to have you here even if someone doesn’t know how to show it.” She was motioning her head to Carmen and you just shook your head with her.

“I’m Richie,” a tall man emerged from the side of the kitchen, “welcome to the jungle of this kitchen. We’re all a bunch of fuckin’ lunatics, so I wish you the best of luck.” You laughed at his introduction and shook his hand politely too.

“Believe me, I’ve worked in chaos before. I fully believe I can keep up with it here.”

“You? A Michelin star chef have worked in a wild kitchen before? That’s hard to believe.” You blushed at the fact that he’d also done his research on you. It was something you were proud of accomplishing so early on in your career, but you stayed humble about it. “But you’ve never worked with bear over there. He’s a tough one.”

“Shut up, cousin.” Carmen snapped at him quickly without looking up.

The rest of the team laughed, the tension easing slightly as they adjusted to your laid back energy.

Nat guided you over to Carmen’s station where he had resumed his prep for the day, “As we discussed on our calls, Carmen’s in full charge of the kitchen. He’s the one who will keep you updated everyday, and if you need anything, or if he makes you cry, tell me or Richie.” She winked as Carmen tensed and rolled his eyes.

“Your kitchen is beautiful, I heard about all the renovations.” Carmen nodded, his expression was serious, but not angry.

“Thanks, it took a lot to get here.” He put down his utensils and walked you over to a blank prep space, “You’re on sauce for tonight, think you can handle that?” You nodded, “alright then, we’ll get you settled.”

You took your place in the kitchen, already starting to acclimate to the flow of the kitchen after he explained everything to you. The staff started out initially a little wary, and you could tell by their glances, so you tried to play it as cool as you could, which seemed to make everyone warm up to you quickly. You knew you tended to have an exterior calm demeanor, no matter how you were feeling inside, but your quick wit fit in perfectly with the jokes floating around all night.

You felt Carmen’s eyes on you almost the entire first shift, and you wondered what it was about. Was he regretting his choice of you over Ryan? Were you overstepping in some way he wasn’t voicing to you? Thoughts about you being unwanted were already starting to intrude on your thoughts, and because of your overthinking, you had one small slip up with the sauce that you hoped he hadn’t seen, but his raised eyebrow seemed to clue you in that you weren’t as sly as you thought.

“Won’t happen again, Chef.” You said, as you passed the fixed dish to him. He observed the plate, nodded and called for it to be taken to the table.

EVENING

The kitchen was finally quiet for the night, and you were sweaty. Your hair had made it up into a bun on top of your head, your bangs stuck to your forehead, and you had shed your layers of chef coat down to your simple black t-shirt. You loved staying past close, the lack of clattering dishes, orders being barked, “behind!”, “hands!”, etc. hadn’t been spoken in about 20 minutes and all you could hear were softer noises of things being scrubbed down.

Carmen was busy wiping down the counter tops after you’d cleared them all off, and he’d dismissed everyone else to go home. He didn’t say it to you, and you didn’t want to seem lazy on your first day, so you took the initiative to start organizing prep for tomorrow thanks to the lists and clipboards all around. You appreciated the way the kitchen was similarly organized to yours, but his was a little more controlled, and yours a little more relaxed.

“So, that accent of yours.” Carmen had a smirk on his face as he glanced up at you, “didn’t know people in Atlanta sounded quite like that.” He raised an eyebrow at you and you chuckled.

“I’m actually not from Atlanta.” Carmen leaned against the countertop, crossing his arms again, ready to listen. “I’m from a tiny town a few hours outside of Atlanta, went to school-”

“Oh, I know where you’ve been. We can skip all that.” You wiped your hands nervously on a kitchen towel and leaned against a different counter, facing him. He was trying to intimidate you, but you weren’t giving in. “So, you landed in Atlanta, huh? That’s a good food scene.”

“Yeah, it’s been a ride. I started in this tiny diner back home as a teenager, nothing fancy, but I learned a lot there, and that’s what originally made me want to become a chef. My parents would always ask what I wanted for my birthday and from about age 10 and up, I’d ask for a nice meal at a fancy restaurant in the big city.”

“That’s cute.” Carmen was listening intently and you were wondering what his intentions were with this conversation. “How would you say today went? Feel good about it?”

“Actually, yeah. You definitely know how to run a kitchen. I mean- I didn’t think you didn’t, but I felt really comfortable here and only fucked up once so I would say that’s pretty good. You run it like it’s nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s nothing, I’ve been doing it for a while now. You get a pass for today, but we don’t have time for fuckups, even if they’re small, m’kay? I could tell you were on the verge of a panic attack once you noticed I saw it so I let it slide since you fixed it, but I expect perfection every day, just so you know.”

You nodded, understanding completely since you were the same way. “Understood, just first day jitters.” You glanced around again, “You can tell this is a special kitchen. You, or someone has put a lot of heart into it and I can tell just from the first day of being here, feels right at home. I was so nervous about it.”

There was a look in Carmen’s eyes that you couldn’t quite figure out, “Yeah, we’ve put a lot of heart into this place. All of us. And we’re trying to keep it that way.”

You nodded understanding him, he was setting some soft boundaries already about not wanting to change much. You could tell he appreciated you noticing that he’d put his heart into it as he went back to cleaning off the counters, it was something you hoped people would always feel in your own space.

Carmen glanced up again, “So really, what brought you here? Other than the program, why Chicago- the Bear? We don’t have a star.”

You pause, unsure of how deep you wanted to go with the answer. You started to smile as you spoke, “I needed a change. And when I was offered the opportunity by the program, and here was one of the options, after speaking to Nat, I knew it would be the right move.”

You couldn’t help but turn your smile into a grin as you felt an understood respect between the two of you that couldn’t have happened during service earlier today. You were much more at ease now that he understood why you were here.

The air between you two was more comfortable, as you were finishing up the last bits of the closing duties. You heard Carmen clear his throat, trying to keep his tone casual as he glances over at you, wiping down the last of the counters.

“So, you’ve got anyone waiting for you back in Atlanta? Married, dating...?”

You looked up, raising an eyebrow at him as you felt a smile creep onto your face. This isn’t the first time you’ve been nonchalantly asked about your personal life in a kitchen, by a male especially, and you could tell he was just curious by his other questions about where you came from.

“Not anymore. I was married, divorced now. A uh, very brief marriage.” You could tell the word shocked him, it did most people.

“What uh, what happened?”

You sighed, finishing up completely for the night. “Yeah, married very briefly- it didn’t last long. Six months, to be exact. He started cheating on me after I got sober, and I found out six months after we got married.”

You watched as Carmen’s eyebrows knitted together, something in him darkening a little. “Thats fucked up.”

You nodded, “Yeah, it wasn’t easy. He was an enabler, and I guess he couldn’t handle the positive changes I was making for myself. The most fucked up part, was he told me he was cheating on me while I was in the hospital miscarrying, from all the goddamn stress he was putting me through. He left me there alone, and moved his shit out of my house and once I was discharged, I came home to a half empty house. So, that’s why I needed Chicago.” You don’t know why you were so vulnerable so quick, and you regretted immediately when there was a moment of silence between you two that lasted just a little too long.

“Thats really fucking heavy. I uh, I’m really sorry. I wouldn’t have asked if I knew about all of that.” You nodded, appreciating his understanding. “How long have you been sober now?”

“Two years and a few weeks.” You said simply. You saw a look in his eyes again as he scratched at his eye, but not saying anything back. You sighed again, “Sorry for just… laying all of that on you. The city, restaurant, pretty much... everything was tied to him, to that past life. I just needed a small break, a fresh start. Ryan was really supportive, and I still can’t believe I got picked over him, so thank you.”

Carmen nodded, “Yeah, yeah. I totally get needing a change, finding something new without the weight of the past can be hard but I think we’re all glad you’re here. Sydney and I talked for a long time before we decided on you.”

His eyes were softer now, and you could tell there was more he wanted to say but he didn’t allow himself to be anymore vulnerable than he already was.

“Well, I think that’s enough for today. You did a good job today, Chef. Thanks for putting in the extra work tonight too, you didn’t have to do that.”

“If you don’t mind, it’s kinda my favorite part of the day to participate in, I like the quiet before going home. Helps me relax some and leave anything at work, at work.”

Carmen nodded, “Well, it wasn’t expected but it was appreciated. I know they’ll appreciate it tomorrow too when they come in.”

You two walked out together, and told each other goodbye and went your separate ways.

You picked up your phone to call your brother who was living in Chicago too- he had been for a while, you had had dinner with him last night and you knew he was eagerly waiting to hear about your first day.

“So, is he hotter in person than in the pictures?” Your brother asked before he even greeted you, and you heard his boyfriend Blake laughing in the background. You turned around to see Carmen still walking the opposite direction.

“God, shut up. I don’t know, I’m just here to work. My day was fine, by the way. Actually only fucked up once and I didn’t get yelled at.”

“Probably because he thinks you’re cuuuute.” Blake was teasing- you knew at this point you were on speaker phone.

“Fuck both of you.” You were blushing at this point. “I’m working at one of the best restaurants in the city and all you care about is how hot the chef is?”

“C’mon, he’s practically a model. His arms- are they that big, or are they photoshopped?” You rolled your eyes, you should have known this was coming from them.

“They’re really that big and only a little distracting, okay?” You bit your lip, trying not to smile. “He’s alright.” You couldn’t let them know about the post work conversation you both had.

“Ugh, just imagine him all sweaty and yelling out orders. I’d thank him for yelling at me.”

“Blake, come on! I’m a professional chef and you’re being ridiculous.” You were glad they couldn’t see your blushing face, because there were a few times tonight you were thankful the kitchen was as hot as it was because his voice did sound rather… hot as he was barking orders. The way he had full control over his staff, versus your calm demeanor in your kitchen. “He’s intense, but he’s really good at what he does.”

“Ugh, the hot brooding type, and the skills to go with it? I bet he’s good with his hands.” Blake said, and you hollered for your brother to take over the phone call before you got overwhelmed.

“Stop it, he’s my boss.” You continued walking at a fast pace to get back to your apartment.

“So no sneaky make out sessions in the walk-in?”

“BROTHER! GET YOUR PARTNER OFF THE PHONE!” You yelled as you laughed.

“I’m glad you had a good day.” Your brother had picked up the phone, finally. “And who knows, maybe the hot chef with the temper is just what-”

“Fuck off! Both of you!” Your heart was actually warm at the teasing, you knew they were worried about you and wanted the best for you.

“I’m glad you had a good day. Even though you have to let us know if things heat up with you two.” Your brother spoke.

“Thanks, and I truly needed the laugh. I’m almost to the house now, so I’ll talk to you both later.” You ended the call, biting your lip to hold back a smirk as you thought about your day. You plopped down on your couch, thinking of nothing but the intense chef you spent the whole day with, and now you couldn’t get him off of your mind.

THE BEAR

DAY 2

Your second day started off different than the first. Maybe it’s because you were more comfortable, or because you let some walls down last night, but you felt a lot of tension in the air tonight as you were all busy during dinner service.

Carmen had assumed his position at the pass, his eyes constantly scanning the kitchen, but you felt them burning into you, and every chance you looked at him, you caught him stealing a look at you.

Your technique was not one to be fucked with, honestly. You were smooth, well practiced, and efficient. You knew what you were doing, and you were doing it really well. Other members of the staff had complimented you all night, and you couldn’t thank them enough for their kindness.

What you didn’t know, was that this was starting to gnaw at Carmen already. His temper was flaring as the orders picked up, and his voice had a new edge to it that had you making sure you were doing everything perfectly tonight.

You knew he knew about you, and you felt respected by him after last nights talk, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he was acting like this tonight to prove that this was his kitchen, no matter who was receiving the compliments.

“Sauce, NOW! We don’t have all fuckin’ night for this!” He yelled out harshly, and you responded completely unfazed by this tonal change.

Your hands picked up the pace, working quicker than before and more precise than before as well. It seemed to piss him off more that you weren’t barking back, just yet at least, and you couldn’t let him get under your skin like you knew you were under his.

“Yes, Chef, sending sauce now!” You observed him as he took the plate. He analyzed everything about it, and you knew what he was doing. You’d seen it time and time again in men-ran kitchens. They loved to critique the women more than anything and they were willing to throw out a perfectly good dish just for the sake of their ego.

“Too thick. Sending back, didn’t I tell you we don’t have time for this?” He handed it back to you, and looked elsewhere, barking out another order.

You nodded and immediately got back to work, adjusting the sauce the tiniest bit because you knew it was the perfect thickness. It was identical to last nights, and he hadn’t said anything about it last night. Your eyebrows were furrowed as you put together the dish again. You wanted to argue back the more you thought about it, but you decided not to.

Everyone was on edge at this point. Carmen had turned into the chef you’d been warned about, the volatile, temper tantrum throwing chef. You glanced up at Sydney and she offered you a smile with her shrug, mouthing that it was okay.

Carmen’s frustration continued to build as the night went on, and it’s as if each dish you sent up that was perfect only pissed him off more and more. You could tell it was bothering him.

“C’mon guys, move faster! We’re behind as it is!” He snapped and you looked back over at him, as he was glaring daggers at you.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself, but picked up your pace even more, staying just as precise as before. You weren’t letting him get to you, and you could tell he was growing more frustrated. He was being too hard on you, but he couldn’t stop- he was starting to feel lesser in his own kitchen and it was only your second day. How the hell could you do this for three months?

You sent up another flawless dish, and he glared at you.

“Carmen, I’ve got this.” You put your hand on top of his gently. He froze and snapped his eyes back to you. You were quiet, and confident, and it wasn’t something he was used to having to deal with.

“I need this shit done my way.” His voice was low, and his jaw was clenched. Okay, maybe your brother and his boyfriend were right. He was kinda hot.

You locked eyes with him, “I’m aware. This is your kitchen, I’m just here to help, chef.“

There was a thickness in the air between you two, and he paused before speaking. You realized in that moment that Carmen was going to be hard on you just because you were good. He’s not used to being the one not being complimented, or in control. Somehow, your calm demeanor had changed the air of the kitchen and almost made it seem like you were the one running it because you were being so efficient, and that’s what pissed him off.

The rest of the night continued on, but you could tell Carmen was exhausted in every way possible. He’d pushed you and everyone else too hard tonight. You were cleaning up your station with ease, not letting it show how defeated and beat down you had been made to feel, but you knew it was because of his insecurity.

One by one, the kitchen clears up. Carmen leans against the counter with his arms tightly crossed, his biceps practically bulging out of his tshirt, watching you finish up. The room is quiet again, but the tension from earlier still lingered in the air.

“Been on my case all fuckin’ day, Carmy.” You’d picked the name up from everyone else around you and decided to pull it out while you two were alone. “What’s the problem?”

Carmen stiffens slightly at the sound of your voice, the nickname rolling off your tongue so smoothly, but he doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he pushes off the counter, walking slowly towards you, his jaw tight. He knows you’re right—he’s been harder on you than anyone else.

“I’m just making sure things get done right.” He answered through his clenched jaw.

You raised your eyebrow at him, matching his posture and pose. You could smell bullshit from a mile away. Your frustration was simmering, and you tried to not let it show. “That’s not what this is about. I’ve been running kitchens long enough to know when someone’s got a problem with me. So what’s the fucking problem?”

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. He leaned against the counter next to you, and you could tell he was searching for the right response. He was quiet, and less defensive when he answered. “You’ve been doing everything right. That’s the problem.”

You titled your head, completely confused by his answer. “Not following here. Like, at all. I get picked on when I do things correctly? Because that’s… not exactly what I signed up for, Carmen.”

Carmen gripped the roots of his hair and let out an exasperated breath when he looked at you. “You’re good—really fuckin’ good. Better than most people I’ve worked with. And it’s... you’re throwing me off.”

You watch him, your brow furrowing as your mind starts to race. You know exactly what it’s like to work with people who can’t handle someone who’s just as good, or better, than they are, especially men. But Carmen’s answer feels different- he isn’t just being competitive.

You dropped your attitude, “You feel like I’m stepping on your toes?”

You watched as his sharp jaw got tighter, and he looked away from you as he avoided answering you. You let him simmer, waiting for him to come up with what he was trying to say.

“Yeah, I mean, maybe. You’ve got the Michelin star restaurant, the experience... It’s hard not to feel like I’m being compared to that. You’ve been here 2 days and everyone already loves you and what you’re making.” Ah, he felt like he was going to lose control of his kitchen.

You felt your frustration melt a little but as you calmed your voice down, l“I didn’t come here to compete with you. I’m here to help. That’s it.”

Carmen exhales, and you hope he realizes that’s all you’re here for.

His voice was low, “I know... it’s just...” He pauses, insecurity written all over his face.

You finish the sentence for him, “It’s hard to let someone else take some of the control.”

Carmen nods, his eyes meeting yours again. You totally got it- you know what it’s like to be in his position, to feel like you have to prove yourself every day, even when you’ve already proven it a hundred times over.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

You smile gently, feeling the tension between you two easing as she steps even closer, standing just a few steps away from him now.

“Look, I promise I’m not here to take over. This is your kitchen. I respect that. But I’m good at what I do, and I think we can make this place even better if we work together. I can take whatever step back that I need to. Fuck, put me on dishes tomorrow. But you can not take this insecure shit out on me tomorrow. I’ve paid my dues in hell kitchens before and I know yours is not one, but you’re not going to make it one for me either. I’m here to help.”

He nods, his shoulders relaxing a bit. “What’s your favorite late night snack?”

“What?” You looked at him like he had two heads because he changed the subject so quickly.

“What’s your favorite late night snack? You’re here late enough, what can I make you?”

“Nothing, I’ve got some leftovers at home.” You lied- you had something frozen at home, but honestly you were probably just going to eat a piece of bread with peanut butter before you pass out.

“Nah, I’m making you something. If you don’t tell me anything I’m gonna just pick something.”

“But we already cleaned!” You stomped your foot, and that earned a smile out of him. “Grilled cheese.”

He clapped his hands together, “Yes, that sounds delicious. Garlic butter or salted butter?”

Your mouth was already watering, “garlic butter of course.”

“That’s the correct answer.” He got to work quickly, not making a mess of the counters to undo any of your work. You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, and saw it was your brother so you answered it.

“You’re still there?” He asked you.

“Yes, I’m still here. Stop stalking my location or I’m turning it off for you. Closing down a restaurant takes a while.” You said back to him, quickly. Carmen turned around to watch you as you paced the kitchen and he waited for the pan to warm up.

“You sure you’re just closing the restaurant?” His partner chimed in.

“Blake, shut the fuck up.” You knew you were as red as a tomato. Carmen mouthed the word, “what?” “My brother and his partner think you’re the hottest chef in Chicago.”

You held the phone away from your ear as they both cussed you out and yelled at you for outing them, saying they’d never be able to show their face at the restaurant.

“Then quit giving me shit!” You yelled back.

“How was today?” Your brother asked, calmed down.

“It was…” you looked around and Carmen had turned back around to the pan on the gas stove. “It was a day.”

“Oooooh. You’ll have to give the hot tea later. About the hottie.”

“Stop iiiiiiiiiit.” You whined, and Carmen turned around again, laughing at you. “I gotta go, you two go to bed. It’s past your bedtime.” You hung up the phone before they could say anything else, and you placed your phone on the counter. “Sorry. He lives like, five minutes down the road and he is so excited to have me in town that he calls me all the time, and checks in on me-”

“You okay over there? You look a little flustered.” Carmen teased you, and you were mortified.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“You two seem pretty close.”

“Yeah, we are, we’re actually twins.” You were born first, and you would always brag about it.

“Oh shit! That’s cool.”

“Yeah, except I got all the brains apparently. He’s an idiot and doesn’t know how to act. Sorry about all the uh, stuff.” You vaguely motioned, and blushed, suddenly focused on the fact that Carmen’s arms were naturally flexing as he flipped the grilled cheese sandwich in the pan. Your brother wasn’t completely wrong.

“He thinks I’m the hottest chef in Chicago, does he? Don’t twins like, share brain cells or something?” He turned around to make you blush even more.

“God, stop it, Carmen. It’s been two days and you’re technically my boss, so stop.” You buried your face in your hands, until you felt two hands grab onto your wrists and pull them away.

“Sorry, I overstepped. I was just going along with his teasing. Is he as southern as you?” He squeezed your hands before he let go and went back to the stove.

“God, no. He learned how to talk differently in high school and he never got his accent back. Moved up here for college and stayed ever since.”

“So you’ve come up here to see him before?” He was cooking a sandwich for himself and he was testing the sides to see if they were done yet.

“Once or twice. Not enough, I’m really glad to be able to be here to see him for this long.”

“You know, the program is kind of a placement program too, so if you wanted to-”

“I’m not trying to get ahead of myself here. I’m just needing a vacation from Atlanta, a working vacation, and somewhere that everyone doesn’t call me ma’am.” You joked.

“Triangles or squares?” Carmen asked, putting the sandwiches on paper towels.

“What?” You were confused at his question.

“You seem like a square sandwich kinda person, don’t tell me you like triangles?”

“Is there any other way to cut a grilled cheese, Berzatto?” He raised his eyebrow at you and said nothing, just cut the sandwich into four slices. “They taste better.”

He laughed at your childish comment, “you’re honestly not wrong.”

You helped him clean up the small mess he made and walked out of the restaurant with him again, but you both hesitated at the door tonight.

Carmen’s hands were shoved into his pockets as he cleared his throat, “Hey, you wanna come in early tomorrow and help me with the special?”

Your jaw almost dropped to the floor. You weren’t expecting this kind of integration into the staff or menu yet- three days in. This was a huge deal.

“You really want me to help?”

He scratched his head, “Didn’t we just have a conversation about how you were here to help? I think you’ve got some good ideas, and I think you can handle it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will.” You tried to fight back the smile you had on your face at the recognition he was giving you after a bad day today.

“Just uh, don’t be late.” He teased you.

“I wouldn’t dare.” You teased back, already wishing this was the Carmen that you were dealing with every day for the next three months. “Thanks for the sandwich.”

“Thanks for everything tonight, Chef.” You blushed again at the comment and waved bye as you made your way to your home, your cheeks keeping you warm the entire walk back.

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valentinevirgo · 3 days

Text

Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - Meeting him (part I)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

You can find the reader's origin story here.

Warnings: no proof reading, eat the rich baby kind of vibes, reader is uncomfortable at first, not impressed!reader, language, deep down Bruce is the kind of guy who likes to be bullied by a pretty girl

When your boss picked you to go to Bruce Wayne’s charity gala, your first thought had been: “Oh I’m going to be such a little nuisance!”.

It was only when you started to wonder how to dress, that you realised that the event was actually being a nuisance for you. You took so much time trying to decide what to put on, what kind of makeup and hairstyle to do. You knew appearances were important, and you didn’t want to be at your disadvantage in such a place.

And yet, even if you had put on your best dress, your best shoes and your favourite jewels that your grandma gave you right before her death, you felt… cheap.

You were clearly out of place and you knew that people were looking at you from the corner of their eyes. You were getting uncomfortable. But you went to Falcone’s events when you were a child and you knew one thing: when you are among vultures, you can show no weakness. So you tried to keep you back straight and to look like you were doing great. There was no way you would give the joy to all those rich assholes to make you run away. It was only fueling your hate against them.

You had thought you were going to eat and drink well at this gala, but all this money disgusted you too much to actually enjoy yourself. You saw too many people dying from hunger in the streets to be able to bear any of this.

You were looking around, taking mental notes of everything before you felt a presence behind you. You turned around and were greeted by a tall and broad man, wearing the nicest suit you ever witnessed. He gently smiled at you but you saw it didn’t fully reach his eyes. It was just a polite act. You instantly recognised the dark hair and the blue eyes. You hadn’t thought Bruce Wayne was that big though.

It didn’t mean you were impressed.

Not one bit.

The man seemed to observe you with interest - probably because you weren’t all over him at the instant you saw him - before extending his hand for you to shake.

“Good evening, you must be Mrs L/N.” he kept smiling

“Indeed, Mr. Wayne. I guess it wasn’t very difficult to spot me in this crowd” you said as you shook his hand politely.

“What do you mean?” he asked

“Oh don’t pretend, I know I’m not dressed as nicely as your usual guests.” you replied.

You perceive a little glitter of curiosity sparkling in his eyes. Bruce Wayne was probably not used to being talked to like that, especially from women. But you weren’t afraid or impressed by anyone. How could you when your past was full of dangerous people? Bruce Wayne seemed to think of a proper reply before deciding to be honest and he nodded his head.

“I’m grateful your newspaper agreed to send someone. I know you do not have a very good opinion of me, which I absolutely respect. I’ve read the paper you wrote about me last week, about the fact that my company took part in the destruction of the Amazonian forest and in child labour in poor countries. It was truly an impressive work of research and I’m thankful you saw it, wrote about it and published it. I had been too busy with different projects to realise any of this was happening. I would have appreciated it if you had let me know first hand though.” he told you to which you raised an eyebrow

“And? Did anything change?” you replied

“Indeed. I want to let you know that all of this stopped and that I’m doing everything I can do to repair the bad my company caused. It won’t happen again. I promise.” He said and you could tell he was sincere or at least trying to sound like he was.

“Good. At least you take responsibility. And if anything else happens again, I’ll be there to make sure you do know about it.” you hummed which cause the ghost of an amused smile to appear on Bruce’s face

“I don’t worry about it indeed.” he paused. “By the way, you write very well. I’m glad to be able to put a face on such… sharp and true words” he added, and you let him show how surprised you were

“People don’t usually like my sharp words” you shrugged but you were yourself getting quite curious about the man now.

“It did hurt quite a bit but… I wish that my spokesperson would write that well. Or that I would myself have such a way with words. At least it helped me to see the truth and… Well it was quite refreshing. People don’t usually talk about me that way, or just about my last nightstand.” he explained

“Oh yes, don’t worry, I really don’t care with whom you slept last night as long as you didn’t abuse or rape them” you smiled and Bruce Wayne’s eyes widened before he let out a very amused laughter.

“I didn’t think your words were also that sharp in person” he commented “Do you want us to go somewhere else a little less noisy so you could do the interview you had prepared?” he offered to which you agreed.

On one hand, you were surprised with how the evening went by.

Your first disgust for the man started to change into real curiosity. You were still unimpressed by him, but you could tell there was something more than just the rich philanthropist playboy act. Bruce Wayne had secrets. But unlike usual people, you didn’t seem to be able to find a way for him to spill them for you. Something was unsettling about him. You wanted to discover so badly what was going on; you were a curious cat.

On the other hand, Bruce Wayne quickly understood that not only were you good with words, you were also good at asking the right questions. More than once, he was about to let go of his “Brucie” persona because of how smart your interrogations about him or his enterprises were. At some point, you were even met by silence because the man had no idea how to answer your question about all the “toys” that Wayne Enterprises was producing and yet never let the army, the police or the government use. Actually, you were wondering who was buying those equipments and why it was so difficult to find who it was. Bruce asked you how you knew about this and you let him know you dug into his financial reports.

His silence was a challenge for you.

As the discussion kept going on, you realised you now wanted to know everything about the man, his real personality and all his secrets. The persona he was using in public was pure bullshit. You might have rolled your eyes at him once or twice.

Bruce tried his best to not react, but deep down he had no idea what to do. He had thought it was going to be an easy interview and that once he would have you sit down with him alone, he would have been able to manipulate you, so you could finally write something nice about him. He realised he had never been more wrong in his whole life. He also realised that the more he was feeding you his usual answers to journalists, the more you were pressing the subjects. He just couldn’t make you believe him and his sweet little lies. He couldn’t charm you either. Bruce could also tell that his attitude got the exact opposite reaction he wanted from you. He wanted you to relax around him, but as time passed, the more you were eyeing him as if you were certain that he was a lot darker and a lot more dangerous than he wanted everyone to believe.

Bruce hated to admit it but he found you incredibly attractive.

Of course you were beautiful, but you were also so smart and observant. You were ruthless to him, in a polite manner which was even worse. You were merciless; you were asking the questions you had to ask, without care for his ego. He didn’t know if he should ask you out on a date or ask you to work for him. At some point, he managed to finally say something that made you laugh (it was a self derogatory comment) and he decided on the first option.

A part of his mind knew he was playing with fire with you. Still, he asked you out.

You thought about refusing at first, but then agreed. You needed to know what the great Bruce Wayne was hiding. For you, it wasn’t a “real” date, it was just part of your work.

At the end of the interview, you were more than happy to come back home, your head full of new theories about the man.

Alfred joined Bruce, surprised his master was still sitting down fifteen minutes after your departure.

“How did it go, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked

“Awfully” Bruce replied “Asked her out though, and she said yes” he added

“I’m not too certain if that’s a good thing or not, Master Bruce” Alfred raised a questioning eyebrow

“I don’t know either” Bruce hummed

Bruce Wayne fell asleep that night, wondering what the fuck happened tonight and wondering why he was so excited to see you again.

PART 2

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

@alishii

Taglist for this series <3

@esposadomd

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valentinevirgo · 4 days

Note

heyyyy ryyyyy <333

since ur requests are open i thought id go ahead and ask if you're mayhaps open to anything for batmom? i don't have a completely solid idea but maybe smn like batmom has been getting threats or maybe hate or smn from somebody and everyone's reactions and how they get hella protective?

obv no pressure and you definitely do not have to write this

hope you have a great day bb

Heyyyyy, so this grew hands and wrote itself, I hope you enjoy it. It did end up with a lot of backstory.

Earned Position

5.3k words

You knew this would happen. Once your relationship with Bruce got out there would be an influx of love and hate. You also knew that everyone else knew that as well. It was common knowledge than anyone around a celebrity of sorts would experience that.

Of course you did the normal things, turned off most notifications and only looked through areas online you knew would mostly be safe. You blocked tags and and only followed people you knew or ones who didn’t post about drama.

When you did stumble onto hate, you moved on. If someone kept sending you nasty messages you blocked them, when they made other accounts to keep sending the same things, you changed your settings so only those you followed could message you.

It wasn’t something you wanted to deal with but it was something you could handle. Something you started mentally preparing yourself for when Bruce’s attention on you lasted more than 4 dates, even more so when you caught yourself daydreaming about him.

You were not going to let random bitter people on the internet destroy your happiness like they did their own. Your family however, wanted to destroy what was left of your haters' happiness. Something you were trying to curb, but trying to tell a family of vigilantes who considered you the best mom in existence not to destroy your haters was like talking to a brick wall. Over the years, you had gotten used to it. It barely even registered anymore. But there had been a recent influx of the hate and while it didn’t bother you, it bothered the rest of your family. None of them could stand people talking bad about their mom.

While you hadn’t been there while the older ones were young, the second you had introduced yourself to them, you had taken a very important role in their lives. None of them realizing it at first. All of them had gotten used to the random women Bruce brought home that it took a little while for them to realize how important you were.

Dick wasn’t sure at first. Thinking you were just another girlfriend that wouldn’t last long. So he didn’t really interact with you much. Ignoring your existence when it wasn’t too rude, or at least obviously rude. Until one night when he was staying at the manor and had a nightmare about his parents death.

Bruce had an open bed policy. As long as there was still room for him, his bed was open. A policy he had started when Dick had gotten old enough he was worried he wouldn’t be allowed to go when he had a nightmare. Bruce had always reminded all his kids, that nightmares don’t go away just because you’re older and that needing comfort wasn’t something they would outgrow.

The thing was, you were there. Girlfriends didn’t mind when children did it but they never liked it when his adult kids did it. The shaking in his hands and the way he saw them fall in the darkness of every blink told him the only way he was getting any sleep was with someone.

Hopefully he could just slip into Bruce’s side and leave before you woke up. That was the plan until he found Damian on Bruce’s side and you had been pulled closer to Bruce taking up what was left. You moved a little and Dick took that as his sign to deal with it himself until he heard you whisper his name. He hummed so you knew it was him and not some random stranger standing over Bruce’s side of the bed.

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on.” You lifted the blanket next to you, “Bruce told me you guys come here when you have nightmares. There's plenty of room over here for you.” Dick hesitated for a second before giving in. He needed sleep anyway. You weren’t when you said there was plenty of room, Dick had most of your half of the bed. Once he had settled on his side, facing away from you, he felt you pull the blanket over his shoulders.

“Night Dick, sleep well.” For some reason, that was what did it. Once the tears started they didn’t stop. Silent sobs made him shudder and he felt one of your hands gently rubbing his back. “Oh Dick.” There was no pity in your tone and he found himself rolling over and curling into you. Your chin resting on his head while you rubbed his back.

The next day, he followed you around like a puppy. Your side of the bed became his favorite when he had nightmares and it wasn’t long before he turned to you for general comfort over anything.

Jason met you at his grave. Neither of you exchanged words, but he caught something in your gaze he didn’t quite understand. He also wasn’t sure why you were at his grave either, he didn’t know you when he was younger.

When he saw the Gotham News post about Bruce and Your 2nd anniversary, it brought more questions than answers. Why were you at his grave alone? Let alone longer than a few seconds. It was an odd way to gain more of Bruce’s affections.

Every Tuesday you would be there, leaving flowers and talking softly to the stone. Every time you left, you would smile and nod, the look in your eyes he couldn’t figure out was still there. Every time he would strain to heat what you were saying and only be able yo a few words here and there.

6 months into it, the routine changed. You brought a blanket and Basket with your usual flowers. You did what you normally did with the flowers but instead of talking to the stone you waved him over. When he didn’t move, you stopped what you were doing and looked at him.

“Jason Todd, I have been keeping your secret for 6 months. Helping me spread this blanket and having lunch won’t change it.” He stared at you while you waited expectantly. Eventually when he could get himself to move, he came over and helped. He sat down where you motioned for him too, all while trying to figure out how you knew.

“Bruce mentioned this used to be your favorite when you were younger so I asked Alfred to teach me how to make it. I hope it's up to your standards.” He looked at the plate of food you handed him. It was almost overflowing with food, all of which reminded him of the good times back at the manor before he died. “Alfred also sent your favorite cookies when he heard I would be eating at your grave.” The bag of cookies was placed next to the basket, within easy reach.

“Why?” Was all Jason managed to choke out around the lump in his throat.

“I decided early on in life, no matter who I was with, I would love their family as my own. My grandfather hated my grandmothers side and it caused a lot of pain in all the generations. I decided I would never do that to another family.” Jason found himself back in control enough to start eating.

“So when I started dating Bruce and he told me about you, I decided to treat you like you were my own. Even though I had never met you and you were dead. Most of what that meant was keeping your grave clean and always making sure there were fresh flowers. While I did that, I would tell you everything that was going on.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your eyes, they may be a different color but they looked too similar. So I did a little digging and found pictures of your biological pictures to place the face shape it matched. I think however you look more like Bruce then either of them.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“As much as I would love to. It’s your choice. You’ve been keeping this to yourself for a reason. If I can help you get to a place to tell them, I would love to. But I won’t say a word until you're ready. However, I would like to keep having lunch with you.”

A year later, Jason reintroduced himself to the rest of the family a lot calmer than originally planned and was glued to your side anytime he felt overwhelmed that night. Every Tuesday after that, lunch was scheduled.

Tim was nervous when it came to you. He was still living in the manor so he saw you more than the older two. You always seemed nice and respected his privacy but Bruce was always with you so you obviously would.

It was when he wasn’t around that worried Tim. Bruce attracted golddiggers and they were always mean when Bruce wasn’t there. When you were given a copy of the key, Time braced himself.

Of course he knew that if he told Bruce anything that happened like that, Bruce would break it off. He had always told them that they came first. But he also knew that Bruce liked you a lot. All the other ones Bruce liked a lot that turned out to be horrible, he broked it off. Tim had seen how it had made him upset and he really hated doing that to him. Maybe he could deal with it for once.

So when Bruce left for a business trip, Tim was Expecting the worst. What he didn’t expect was for you to knock on his door and ask if you could join him. When he agreed and stepped back so you could come in. He expected you to go to his bed or his desk chair not, the oversized bean bag on the floor.

“I have a question for you but you can’t tell Bruce yet.” Here it comes. “What would a funny way to tell him I know he’s Batman?” Tim wasn’t expecting that one. “I was thinking a lot of batpuns but his paranoia is too bad for that.”

“How did you figure it out?” You walked him through your process and didn’t say anything as he wrote parts of it down. Once you finished explaining the process for Bruce, you explained any way it was modified in figuring out their identities.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Red Robin.” Tim found himself getting excited.

“You know those notes you leave him in his office?” You nodded. “You should leave those in the Batcave.” You considered it but your thinking was interrupted but Tim shouting.

“No! One night when we’re all in the cave, you could bring some snacks!”

“You just want snacks when he’s lecturing you don’t you?”

“Maybe..”

“Alright, but you have to tell the others so they can tell me what snack they want.”

So Tim slowly and carefully went through all his siblings, letting them know you figured it out, Bruce didn’t know, and what the plan is. Every time he relayed a snack to you he’d watch how carefully you’d write it out to make sure you had it correct or look up recipes if you couldn’t find it in stores.

Two weeks later, Tim was the one who sent the signal in the middle of a lecture everyone was receiving and he got a front row seat to see Bruce’s face when you walked in and handed out snacks before giving him a kiss and telling him to be nice and leaving.

Any other worries were left in the dust when you helped him win the nerf war for the best seat in the home theater. He thoroughly enjoyed his spot next to you while Bruce swore revenge from the other side of the room.

Damian treated you politely but that was it. His mother was still alive and he didn’t want another one, one was more than enough. Not only that, but you were weird.

One time when you were over, you found one of his report cards. Immediately you were praising him. He didn’t understand why, he had basically failed one of his classes with an A-. You should be disappointed like his mother would be, not hanging it up on the fridge and telling people not to touch it. Definitely not taking him out for ice cream and calling him so smart. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he walked past it, but he still was.

When he was practicing his violin and Messed up, you were supposed to tell him to stop failing, that he should be better. Not smiling at him and telling him he’s making good progress. You should be telling him that he should have memorized that piece in a day. He shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he finally does memorize it, it took him 4 days to learn it.

When he was struggling to learn a language, you were supposed to tell him to work harder. He could do better, after all, he already knew so many. Instead you just smiled and recommended a break to refresh his mind.

When he snapped at you in Arabic, he expected you to be upset since you didn’t know what he said and it was obviously not something nice. Instead you set the rule that if he was going to use Arabic to speak to you when upset, that he had to teach it to you and if what he said wasn’t something you had learned yet, he had to tell you in english. When he told you what it meant, you didn’t even get upset. He definitely shouldn’t be as excited as he was when you actually started learning.

So many more little things piled up, leaving Damian confused. The differences between how you and his mother treated him was so big he didn’t know how to process it, he liked you and all the little things made him happy in a way he hadn’t really felt. But he still loved his mom, When he had enough of it, he asked you to stop. He still wanted to love his mom. Once again, you did something you weren’t supposed to.

“Oh Damian, I’m not trying to replace your mom nor am I trying to make you feel like you can’t love her or she doesn’t love you. Your mom and I show our love in different ways and its ok for you to love or like both of us. You mother loves you and she will always be allowed in your life if thats what you want.” You weren’t supposed to do that, but Damian was really glad you did.

Barbara wasn’t sure how you would react to her. She wasn’t just Bruce’s kid. She had a loving family she went back to every night. Most people weren’t really a fan of that, one of Bruce’s past girlfriends had some strong and hurtful things to say about it.

When you took her for a day out, she found herself warming up to you but still waiting for the other shoe to drop. One of the new places you had planned to go, didn’t have wheelchair access. Like all the other girlfriends who had done this, she expected you to be annoyed that your plans had to change or you would just leave her outside while you shopped.

You didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, just looking at what was next on your list and starting the trip there. When Barbara stared a little longer at a new movie that was in theaters, tickets and snacks were bought and you listed to all the lore she told you about before it started.

While it had been a nice day, Barbara wasn’t convinced. One day was easy to fake. Sure she had lots of fun, but Barbara was used to fakes when it came to Bruce’s girlfriends. Of course she wasn’t complaining about you being nice, she just wasn’t sure how long it would last.

“Did you hear about that boutique?” She looked up from her food to look at her dad. “That new one that you tried to go to with Bruce’s girlfriend? Well there was a report that it didn’t meet the Americans with Disabilities act and the boutique is in trouble. People are speculating they’ll have to close down.”

Later that night, Barbara looked into it. They were in trouble, pretty big trouble from the looks of it. Towards the end of the article she found the name of the person who reported it, she wasn’t sure who she was expecting. Not you for sure but the Name Y/n L/n took her by surprise and filled her chest with feelings she couldn’t describe.

The boutique ended up closing but a new one opened. Once it was open, you were the first to ask her to go. That weird feeling came back when she wheeled herself up the ramp and through the door you held open for her. Later that night, in the privacy of her room. She decided she liked you.

Steph seemed like she liked you, she acted like she liked you, she didn’t really like you. Sure you were nice, Bruce loved you, the others were warming up to you, but she wasn’t sure how to feel about you. So she stuck with not actually liking you but pretending to.

So when she was around you, it was all smiles and jokes. She wasn’t a big fan of it all but she did it because she knew you were important to Bruce and that was enough of a reason for her. She knew Bruce and the others could see through the act but as long as you couldn’t, that was enough.

When Bruce announced he had to leave for a business trip right before she could hand him the parents visit for one of her AP classes, something the new teacher liked doing. She tucked the paper away. When Tim gave her a questioning look, she shook her head and later swore him to silence.

Every time she heard someone mention their parents were going, she felt a pang of jealousy in her chest. Every time Tim mentioned bringing it up to you, she swore him into silence again. It wouldn’t be the first time no one showed up for her. She was however thankful you wouldn’t be at the manor as much so she didn’t have to pretend to like you.

When the day arrived, Steph was not having a good day. School dragged on slowly. Slower than normal. When school finally ended, she had to sit in the classroom and watch everyone else that was in her class leave and the parents of her classmates show up while no one was there or coming for her.

Someone sat in the seat next to her, she expected another family member of one of her classmates. Definitely not you. She couldn’t return your smile, too unsure of how you found out, the fact you actually showed up, and how she felt about you being there. You leaned a little closer so that the others in the room wouldn’t easily overhear.

“I know I’m not your parent and someone you just pretend to like so if you want me to leave I will. But I figured someone was better then no one. Oh, and Tim wanted me to tell you he didn’t spill. Your teacher called the manor because no one had RSVPed for you and I answered it.”

That night, as Steph showed off all her hard work to you, the charade fell. She actually enjoyed her time with you and the boost of pride as you oohed and ahhed over all her projects and listened to her explain all the little details. That night, Steph realized, she didn’t need to keep pretending. She liked you, until she found out you didn’t like her favorite show but a nerf war solved that.

Cass could tell you were different then the other girlfriends, your body language as you interacted with all of them showed it. However that didn’t mean she knew how to interact with you.

She had learned that she was fairly hard for new people to interact with. She also knew she had trouble interacting with people she wasn’t fighting. So it wasn’t a surprise when it started rocky.

What was a surprise, was when you found out she was still having trouble reading and writing, you stepped in to help. Well, that wasn’t the surprising part, a lot of girlfriends did that. The surprising part was the amount of patience you had when it was only the two of you.

When one method didn’t help, you tried another. Never once did you snap at her or call her a name. Everytime you got frustrated you would stop and look at her, say something along the lines of “If I had as much trouble with this as you do, I wouldn’t want to keep trying. You're doing absolutely amazing! I’ll keep looking for other ideas, but for now, lets take a break and get a treat.”

Cass wasn’t sure why that always made her feel better, but it did. Every treat you brought was something you made just for the tutoring sessions and it always reminded her of what Alfred had told her once. “Something made with love for you will always taste better.”

And when a method that made it a little easier to learn was found, Cass found herself smiling along with your cheers. Bad days where she couldn’t seem to make any progress were always met with the same excitement, cheers, patience, and treats that all the others were.

Cass still wasn’t sure of what to think of you exactly, but she knew she liked you and that you cared about her.

So when Tim saw the new rise in hate, a sibling meeting was called. They all went through each site, blood boiling as they saw what people were saying about their new parent. Plans were made, declarations of war were ready, and anger fueled all of them. Bruce could tell something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what it was and as long as it didn’t get out of had, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to deal with it.

War was declared in an interview by Steph. The lady was asking questions when the topic switched to Bruce, then you. The reporter was clearly trying to subtly find some dirt on you and Steph was not going to stand for it.

“Oh yeah! Y/n! She’s the best!” She put on her best press face. Trying to hide her anger over the hidden intent. She didn’t have to lie or act when talking about you but the change in the lady’s face going to disappointment when she didn’t get anything she wanted was making her look very punchable.

“She’s always showing up for us and making sure we’re doing ok. If Y/n and Bruce were to break up, I think most of us would go with Y/n.” The way the lady kept trying to get anything really got on her nerves and Steph decided she needed to get out of there before she started using the lady’s face for target practice. You wouldn’t like that.

Cass was the first one to resort to violence. They had asked a thinly veiled question, basically asking if you were a golddigger. So she punched him in the nose and leaned down to flip the camera off. She hated interviews already but that made it so much worse. She hoped you wouldn’t be too upset with her punching the guy though.

Jason, surprisingly enough. Did not get violent… physically. He did however curse one out and threaten him when the reporter implied you were forcing them to say nice things. When the reporter kept pressing Jason broke his mic and told him if he ever heard him talking bad about you again, a broken mic would be the last of his worries. Jason knew you would be disappointed but he had held back, he didn’t shoot the guy like he wanted.

Tim threw his coffee at one reporter because he heard them say you were nothing but a regular person who didn’t deserve any attention. He then took over her segment, threatening the company to air it or he would make sure they went bankrupt. Once he finished his threats, anything he said was praising you name. Telling everyone how amazing you were and how much they all loved you.

Barbara made it a point to bring up everything you did for the community when they tried to throw some shade at you in an interview. She had documents to prove it and hacked their systems to add them into the interview so they couldn’t claim it was fake. She also made sure to run over his foot when she left.

Dick punched a reporter when they tried to ask him what you were really like behind closed doors. He told them the truth, that you were just as good, kind, patient, and loving behind closed doors as you were out in public. He didn’t throw a punch until the reporter disregarded that as asked again because she couldn’t be that good. Dick knew a lecture would be coming once you saw, but he would rather sit through a lecture then let anyone tarnish your name.

Damian spent 10 minutes cursing and threatening a reporter in Arabic when they asked him if you had ever hurt him. When he was done, he told them in english, that if he ever got asked that question again, he would impale them. He knew you were going to make him sit down and translate everything and the general response you would give but he didn’t care, no one speaks bad about either of his mothers.

Bruce figured out what was going on after Steph’s interview. He saw the ones where they assaulted or threatened the reporters and made sure his lawyers were on standby to keep the kids out of trouble. After all, he had seen more than they had.

He had watched as you tried to connect with Dick early on, how you worked hard to try and get somewhere. He had woken up before you when Dick had come in that night and heard how you handled it. He had woken up the next morning to find you holding Dick close, like you were trying to protect him from the nightmares. He had seen how you never turned Dick down when he wanted comfort, no matter how serious or silly the matter, and he had heard your excitement when you told him Dick liked you.

Bruce had seen the way you never missed a visit to Jason’s grave, on a visit of his own, he saw how much care you showed the stone marking it as his lost son. While he hadn’t been sure why it was alway the same time on Tuesday, he didn;t mention it. He felt the way you would sob in his arms after each visit, a year after the tradition started, you always said you had promised not to tell and he watched as you kept that promise even if it tore you to pieces. Once the shock and tears wore off for a little bit, he could see the trust that Jason had in you.

He heard the way you questioned if you should have a key to the manor, you didn’t want to make Tim uncomfortable in his own home, or how you questioned if you should visit while he was gone. Not wanting to stress Tim out when there was no reason too. He saw the way you and Tim grinned at each other when you brought snacks down for all the kids he was currently lecturing. He head the excitement in your voice as you told him about the tour Tim had given you of the Batcave and the shared laughter as you and Tim worked together to win the nerf war.

Bruce saw how you worked to give Damian the affection he didn’t think he needed. He felt you crying in his arms upset over the fact Damian thought you would be angry because he made a mistake or struggled in a class. He heard you practicing your Arabic as you got ready for bed and he watched as you stress paced over whether or not you said the right thing to him about his mother.

He saw how angry you had been when you came back from your day out with Barbara. He had heard your call with your lawyer as you tried to figure out what to do. He saw you going through the laws and making a list to make sure your lawyer didn’t miss any. He heard about the movie you didn’t particularly care about and the lore you remembered in case of another because you wanted Barbara to have someone she could tell all of her favorite things too.

Bruce saw the pictures you had taken from the school night. He heard all the details from you as you praised Steph’s work. He saw the way Steph stopped acting around you and the silly arguments the two of you would get into for fun. He heard the way you would listen to her as she verbally worked out her problems. He saw the way Steph looked for you in a crowd, the way she knew you were there but not where you stood exactly, the thought of you not being there never crossed her.

He saw the way you stayed up late, researching different ways to teach reading and writing. He heard the patience and kindness and you worked with Cass. He saw the way you always made a treat just for Cass to have after each lesson because you wanted to reward her hard work. He heard the way you cried for Cass when she had a bad day and got frustrated with herself because you knew she was smart and you wanted her to see it too. He heard your celebrations when Cass made any progress, no matter the size.

Bruce heard, saw, and felt the way you worked hard to have a relationship with his kids. How you had mourned for their losses, celebrated their wins, and felt their pain. He saw the way his kids blossomed under your care, growing to be better and more confident in themselves. The way you cared for them as if they were your own flesh and blood. So when he was asked about his kids behavior, he said as much.

“Y/n has worked hard to be accepted by them. She’s given so much of her time, effort, patience, and love and never wanted anything in return. She always shows up for them, no matter what the occasion is, big or small, it doesn’t matter. If they want her there, she’ll be there. Everytime they need or want her, she’s there. She never judges them and treats them as if they were her own blood. Of course their upset and lashing out, people are insulting the woman who has cared for them more then most of their biological mothers.”

Later, a clip of you scolding Bruce and all the kids went viral. While you were scolding them over their behavior and making the kids who had reacted with violence or threats write apology letters because asking mean questions does not make it right to respond badly especially when its someone just trying to start drama. Everyone one noticed that there was no actual bite to your tone and no anger when they all refused to stop acting like that. In fact, there was a small soft smile on your face as you shook your head at your family.

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valentinevirgo · 5 days

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i NEED to hear your thoughts on reader's arguments with boxer!carmy. what's their first argument about? who usually caves first?

you, anon, are a hero and a scholar and are about to receive the greatest blurb in the history of the the tumblr industry (pls someone understand this reference 😭😭)

BUT IT ALL SERIOUSNESS, this is fucking gold; i love you for sending this.

tw!! ooooohh they get into it yall. carmen being a man (ik, i’m sorry). some suggestive content. happy ending.

bf boxer!carmy and reader fighting!!

concept 1. concept 2. bf boxer!carmy hcs.

ok, so, me thinks bf boxer!carmy and his pretty broad actually argue a lot. so often it teeters just on the edge of being unhealthy. but, they also know each other and realize they’re two petty asf ppl (😭😭). so, even though they argue often, it’s usually over stupid shit, or their little fears (like who was supposed to wash the dishes that night, or how carmy’s profession holds a great deal of power over his life, enough to take it away—

she tries hard not to think about it too much; that argument is a losing game).

if carmy’s being frank, it’s half the reason he’s so fucking obsessed in love with her. she’s feisty—she’s trouble, and carmy’s never been good at staying out of it, even before he was the one starting the fights.

however…

when they fight—oh boy! do they fight.

i’d like to think bf boxer!carmy has a hugeeeee jealousy problem (lil insecure loser ☹️🫶🏽), and so that’s usually how their more heated fights begin.

i think their very first BIG fight has to do with a mix of his jealousy issue and the nature of how their relationship came to be.

allow me to set the scene:

so carmy wins the fight against timmy boy (surprise??) and starts talking to his pretty broad, finds out her and timmy aren’t exclusive, just messing around, and takes the green light.

a few weeks go by and everything is going smoothly—you know, the usual, extravagant dates and expensive gifts, lots of pampering and affection from both ends; the rose-hued, honeymoon stage—and carmy invites her as his plus one to some big party/event for his job.

he knocks on the front door of her apartment at 7:15 pm on the dot with a stunning bouquet—baby’s breath and lilies and anemones—of flowers in his right hand. he’s dressed to the nines; a fitted black tux—double breasted, with peak lapels, and slightly high-waisted trousers—and a brown dress-shirt, first thee to four buttons undone (whore 🥸) with a black chiffon, nearly iridescent slip over it that makes that same brown look an earthy, rich green at a swift glance. one gold bracelet, one gold ring for each hand (middle and pinky fingers), his unnecessarily attractive little gold hoop earrings, and a simple gold crucifix hangin’ ‘round his neck.

he raps his busted knuckles against the door with his left hand, and then patiently leans against the frame and awaits the telltale sign of her heels against the hardwood floors.

he counts to seventeen before her front door is swinging open.

the first thing he notices is that smile (that smile, the one she only ever gives to him—not eddie (god forbid), or nacho, or benny, or fucking timmy—just him). pearly whites, with bow and cherry gems (i loveeee teeth gems if my pfp didn’t make that clear), on display, framed by those plump, painted lips—brown liner, blackberry pink lipstick, and a nice, shiny gloss—that never seem to leave his head; burned into his memory, melded to his mind.

his eyes drop to the baby pink toes he’s become far too fond of, the white strap and silver chain of her dior heels placed prettily over top. flits his appraising gaze up to her ankles, the left one wrapped in the anklet he gifted her on their fourth date, a (boxing) glove charm hanging from the gold link. up—up, up, up—they go, trailing the soft ruffles and tedious buttons lining her long sleeve knit dress, hem hitting just at her shin, tight fitting—cinched to her figure—with a swoop neckline that shows off just the right amount of cleavage.

he stops when his eyes find hers again, brown sugar and saccharine.

he pushes off the door frame and steps through, ‘til they’re standing toe to toe and her head is awkwardly bent backward so she can keep eye contact.

“hi, bear,” she chirps, soft and taunting. grins at him while her jewel adorned hands slide up the smooth lapels of his tux.

the left corner of his mouth kicks up into a smirk as he snakes his left arm around her waist, dragging her closer.

his head spins with the scent of cinnamon and evergreen, and he wants to nuzzle in her neck because of it.

“hey, cub,” he rumbles back, and neither of them acknowledge the way she practically melts into her, she just curls her fingers into his lapels, and he tightens his hold on her waist.

she looks at the flowers in his right hand, “those for me?”

carmy turns his head to look at the flowers, lifts his hand with a noisy crinkle to present ‘em to her.

still, he shakes his head, puts on his best poker face and huffs, “nah, i’m taking that real pretty broad down the hall on a date tonight. just dropping in to say ‘hi’.”

her grin drops, face flat, eyes narrowed.

she unfurls her fists from his jacket, starts pushing him away, out from where he came.

“well, since we’ve finished swapping pleasantries—”

this time when he huffs, he’s huffing out a laugh, “i’m kidding. hey, baby, i’m kidding. swear.” he drops the flowers (unimportant; he can get more if she really wants them) to the ground at the side of their feet and wraps his other arm around her waist, crowding her space, barely giving her room to breathe, let alone slip from his grasp.

she wriggles in his hold, still shoving uselessly at his firm chest. “carmen, let go—”

and, well he’s definitely in trouble, but there’s not much to be done about that now, is there?

he takes both her tiny, pounding fists and locks them behind her back in one fell swoop “never. now look at me.”

she looks into the hallway, just over his shoulder, to piss him off.

his eye threatens to twitch.

“look at me, cub. don’t make me say it again.”

she rolls her brown sugar eyes, but does thereafter shift her gaze to look at him. raises an impatient brow.

“i’m sorry for saying that. it was a shitty joke—”

“it wasn’t fucking funny, carm.”

he grunts, “all right. wasn’t funny, i’m sorry, baby.”

she continues to glare at him for another 30 to 45 seconds, but then her shoulders are slumping and her face is scrunching in that cute little pout and she’s whining like a sweet little baby.

“wasn’t funny, bear,” she grumbles, and carmy snickers.

“y’already said that; gimme a kiss.”

she shakes her head, fussy, and now it’s carmy’s turn to raise an impatient brow.

“what was that? speak up, baby.”

“no,” she groans, stomping her foot, trying to free her hands from behind her back, but there’s no way she’s getting out now, not if she wants to act like a brat.

“try again.”

“n—”

he yanks her into his chest, “try the fuck again.”

but when has she ever just willingly rolled over?

“let me go, carmen.”

“give me a fucking kiss, cub.”

—

they show up to carmy’s work gathering an hour and a half late, but who’s fucking fault is that (this, too, is a losing game)?

when they step into the venue together, all eyes immediately fall on them. how could they not?

carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto, the bear, and his new girl.

timothy ‘timmy’ grayson’s ex girl.

they don’t let it phase them, the side eye and poorly disguised whispering, just find their way to their way to the open bar and mingle with their inner circle.

the night quickly descends from business to casual, but that could just be because they were so late. as the older patrons slip out, the inconsequential jazz humming in the background is shut off, and then the ceiling is shaking with the bass of keep it g by asap rocky.

somehow, carmy’s on his second glass of bourbon and his girl just finished her third glass of wine and they’re…tipsy.

it’s not even like the song playing is inherently sexual, at all, really, but carmy’s lips are trailing over the back of her neck, uncoordinated—messy—and his fingers are digging into her hips because the way she’s fucking grinding on him should not be legal.

“god, cub,” he grunts in her ear, rolling his hips back into her.

“mhmm,” she moans in the back of her throat, subdued, swallowed down, and places her hands over his that grip at her like a lifeline. she lets her head fall back, settle in the crook of his neck so she can nose at the hinge of his jaw and suck a pretty hickey there, too.

he fully thrusts into her, the bass of the speakers muffling the too audible slap of their bodies connecting.

she squirms and squeaks, “bear!”

he growls, “what?”

she giggles in the shell of his ear. “down, boy. i gotta hit the restroom.”

carmy, very reluctantly, lets her slip from his grasp and venture to find the woman’s room. he nurses on another drink—whiskey, this time—but paces himself as he waits for his girl’s return.

that is, until he sees his girl in question talking with timothy fucking grayson. then, he downs the rest of his drink like water and calmly—calmly—walks up to them.

now, if (and this is a very big fucking if) carmen wasn’t being a complete a***** ******* ****** ***** *****, then maybe he would’ve noticed the rather unkempt state of his pretty broad, her soured expression and guarded body language.

he was being a complete redacted though, so he just steps behind her with his chest puffed and his jaw set, just itching for timmy to say something fucking stupid.

and that stupid fucking smirk on his stupid fucking face might scratch that itch just enough to satiate him.

“what’re y’doin’ with my girl, timmy?”

he doesn’t register the way she bristles against him at the term.

my girl.

“just makin’ friendly conversation,” he shrugs, still smirking, and carmy has never wanted his knuckles to split so fucking bad.

“friendly conversation?” he nearly coos back, the condescending, possessive prick. “why don’t y’find someone else to go make friendly conversation with, yeah? fuck off.”

he walks away before timmy boy gets the chance to respond, dragging his girl behind him.

when they make it back to the bar, he finally has the decency to assess his pretty broad. or, hound her, more like.

"what was he sayin' to you? and what the hell were you doin' with him in the fuckin' first place? if he bothers you again you come straight to me, understood?"

he's met with silence.

he frowns, looks down at his girl to find the same expression on her face, and goes to repeat himself. "i said, underst—"

"take me home, carmen."

his frown deepens. he bends in the knee to try and catch her eyes, but she turns her head away as soon as he glimpses her brown sugar irises.

"cub—"

"take me home, carmen. now."

and they've fought, all right? small tiffs here and there, "pick your fucking shoes up, carmen!", "stop fucking touching shit, carm!", "god, carmen, just leave me alone!" but this is different. deeper.

he's still frowning as he nods, mutters "okay," softly, as to not upset her any further, and places his hand on the small of her back to guide out of the venue doors and out to the valet.

usually, after a date, carmen will pull in to a parking space and get out first to open the passenger door for his girl and walk her up to her apartment, before either getting sent off with a goodnight kiss or getting tugged through her front door to continue where they'd left off.

this time, though, she out the door before the cars even full parked.

carmen rushes to keep up with her takes the stairs to her apartment two at a time.

"cub, wait up!"

she does no such thing.

in fact, she only seems to move faster in lieu of his request (brat).

he nearly misses his window to at least say goodnight to her, with the way she quickly keys into her home and tries to slam the door in his face, but a foot in the frame easily rectifies that.

"hey!" he barks at her, shoving the door open and slamming it shut after him.

"don't slam my damn door, carmen!"

"don't try to slam your damn door in my damn face, then!"

she frustratedly groans, arms flailing in exclamation. he watches her cautiously as she looks frantically for something—something, anything—before she's bending down to take off her dior heels.

clearly, something has pent up—boiled, festered—within her, because she chucks a shoe at his head (and for someone so unassuming, she has a damn good arm).

he ducks just before it can hit him, instead banging into the wall.

"what the fu— ow!"

she doesn't miss the second time.

"fuck you, carmen!" she screams at him.

"fuck you! you just threw your fucking shoe at my head! twice!"

"and you fucking deserved it," she cries, taking a step closer to him, pointing an accusatory finger. "you dick!"

"what the fuck did i do?" he shouts back, taking a step forward himself, brows furrowed in frustrated confusion.

"you— y-you—"

he takes another step toward her, "huh? i what? spit it the fuck out, baby."

not for the first time, she pouts like a kicked puppy, and her hands brace on his sturdy shoulders, and she pushes at him, angry. but, certainly for the first, carmy actually loses his balance. nearly trips over his feet with the way he stumbles backward.

"ugh, asshole! you made a bet!"

he frowns, bewildered. "what?"

"don't fucking lie to me, carm—"

"baby, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"stop fucking calling me that!" she screams, "with timothy! you made a bet with him before the fight, a bet on me!"

carmy's mouth hangs open, forming to phantom explanations that all fall too short or get too intimate—personal; she doesn't need to know the backstory, the why in his road to success. she can't, not yet. not so soon.

she shoves him again at his lack of response, and, for the second time, carmy stumbles back.

"fuck you, carmy!" she screams, eyes brimming and— fuck, she was not supposed to find out this way (well, ever, really, but surely not in this way). he racks his brain for sufficient a justification.

"fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! is that how you fucking see me? i'm just another belt you meatheads pass around and compete for? fucking kill yourselves over?"

"that's not true, baby—"

"i'm not your fucking baby!" she goes to shove him again, but he's ready this time, steeled. she throws her weight into each nudge and push and shove she gives to him, grunts and grumbles through the exertion of it, but he's stock-still like a statue now, and immovable force to be reckoned with.

"you done?" he mutters when she's huffin' and puffin' too hard to keep going.

her eyes snap from his chest to his baby blues, glaring. "fuck—!"

"—me? yeah, you've already said that, several times actually. now are you gonna let me explain, or do you wanna keep screamin'?"

her eyes, somehow, narrow further, teeth barred.

carmy prepares himself.

"do i wanna keep screamin'? well, since you fucking offered," she gripes, pounding her fists into his chest again. and he lets her. "you don't fucking think, do you? just puff your chest and fucking take it if you want it, right? god, carmen, i'm not some fucking toy—"

"i never implied that you were—"

"so you didn't bet you could fuck me better than timothy at the weigh-in?"

he snaps his mouth shut.

she scoffs, shakes her head. "un-fucking-believable," she mutters under her breath.

she sighs, and the (arguably) worst is over. but it's not like he necessarily welcomes the tears, either.

she sniffles, red-rimmed eyes sparkling in a pool of saltwater, and weakly shoves at his chest again.

"f-fuck you, bear," she weeps softly, voice cracking, head hanging, and carmy's never wanted to fix something so badly in his whole goddamn life. more than mikey. "i thought you fucking liked me—

"i do—!"

"stop lying—!"

and suddenly, carmen's had enough.

"be quiet," he barks.

the room falls silent.

he sighs, grips hers arms to keep her close and up right. drops his head to rest on hers, eye-to-eye, and she's too tuckered out to fight it.

his adams apple bobs, "i'm sorry, y/n," he whispers, and she doesn't think she's ever heard him so earnest before, so sad. "i'm sorry i made a bet on you, and hurt your feelings because of it. you're not a toy, or a belt, or any other prize, boxing or not; you're a human fucking being. and i'm sorry."

she sniffles again, and he takes her lack of shoving and yelling as clearance to continue.

"i'm not fucking sorry it worked, though." he can feel her tense, so he hurries on before she gets the wrong idea. "i'm not fucking sorry i saw you in that damn pink dress, in your damn pink heels, with you fucking pink toes. i'm not sorry that i talked to you after the match, and made good on my promise to timmy."

"carmen—"

he squeezes the sides of her shoulders, "i'm not sorry 'cause i do like you, cub, so fucking much."

she lifts her head, teary eyes blearily finding his, and she frowns up at him, like she doesn't believe him.

"why're lying?" she whimpers, all watery and sad sounding, and carmy just wants to swaddle her in a blanket and kiss her tears away.

he smiles gently at her, "m'not lyin', baby. do you think i'd still be here if all i wanted was a fuck and duck? that's what the ring girls are for, cub."

she makes a face at him, "ew! g-ross, carmy, don't—!"

he bites back a smirk. "you drive me insane," cuts her off, sliding his hands from her arms to her shea butter smooth palms. "you drive me up the fuckin' wall, actually. but i love that about you. i love that you don't take anyone's shit, including mine. love that you put me in my place, and tell me off when i step out of line." his tongue peaks out to lick his chapped bottom lip before he continues. "i love the way you curl up in a ball every night before bed because you can't sleep any other way, and i love the way you bitch and moan about your bones feelin' too stiff in the morning because of it." he regards her fondly, eyes flitting over every feature. “i love your teeth gems, and your long ass nails. i love it when you’re bare-faced and bushy-tailed, or when you’ve got a— what is it?”

she chokes on a snotty laugh, “a full beat?”

“a full beat!” he repeats, enthusiastic and beaming. they both take a moment to giggle, carmy’s hands finding purchase on her hips to draw her in, chest to chest. “i am sorry i hurt your feelings, cub, so fucking sorry. but i would make that bet ten fuckin’ thousand times over if it meant i’d end up anywhere with you.”

and now she’s crying for a whole different, much sweeter reason.

she pouts at him cutely, “bearrr!”

and it’s like nothing even happened.

“whaaat?” he groans, feigning annoyance. “snotty girl, look at those tears,” he tuts, “such a crybaby.”

“that’s not fair—!”

“hush,” he muses, walking them back toward her bedroom, deft fingers working to unfasten the many buttons of her dress. “you talk too much, anyone ever told you that? whatever, you should let me fuck you.”

“what?”

“you should let me fuck you.”

“you literally ate me out for an hour before we left, that’s why we were so fucking late. and who says you fuckin’ deserve it?”

carmy smirks, that’s his girl.

fuckin’ trouble.

he quirks a brow at her, fingers pausing their decent.

“you gonna let me earn it?”

—

a/n: hope u like it babies bc getting this done made me SICK (im serious i can’t fucking breathe right or swallow properly anymore 🙂‍↔️🫶🏽)

not proofread!!

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valentinevirgo · 6 days

Text

Labyrinth ⥃ Aemond Targaryen

Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, very very gentle, angst angst angst angst!!!, humiliation, reader is Daemon & Laena’s oldest daughter, no description for reader (besides white hair) you can imagine her however you like, Aemond is a vulnerable & insecure baby girl, like he is really really insecure, mentions of murder, fluff, nightmares, chronic pain, mentions of Aemond’s injury, anxiety attack, babes are in looooove, English isn’t my first language<3 it’s very heavily plotted and the smut is at the end of the story.

Word count: 11.5k (she's so long but worth it)

a/n: I’ve always wanted to write something with this kind of trope, especially when it’s from the man’s pov, and there’re so little fics that get into the depths of Aemond’s pain and suffering so I needed to try and write something that says his part of the story as well! Please please tell me your opinions and favorite lines of this piece! I’ve worked sooo hard for this fic and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Reblogs and comments are appreciated<3🩷

A very special thank you to my babies, @namelesslosers & @neptuneiris for beta-ing and supporting my ideas😭🫂✨

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?”

Aemond watches the scene unfold in front of him; his mother seeking justice for him, slashing Rhaenyra’s forearm with the dagger in her hand, spilling her blood in fury.

He looks around the room, finding you scared behind your grandfather, looking at him with wide teary eyes. He scowls when he sees how you look at him with pity, thinking he is a deformed monster in your eyes, to his best friend’s eyes.

You leave the hall in a rush, and he scoffs at how unbearable he must look for you to go in such haste, allowing this injustice to wreck his world and him to cope with the aftermath alone. How could you leave him like that? What happened to all the hours he helped you build that stupid sandcastle next to where Vhagar lays? Did you forget every moment, every laughter you had together?

He stands up and walks to his mother, telling her that Vhagar is worth it. But is it true? It might be worth gaining the largest dragon alive, but in the back of his mind, he thinks about how he has lost you.

No, you left him, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He is the one with his eye in a tray, he is the one who needs tending to for the first time, and you left him while he and his mother were humiliated by Rhaenyra and her bastards.

The morning comes sooner than expected, the milk of the poppy knocked him out immediately last night. He walks down the stairs where his family is gathering to leave, his mother holding Helaena’s hand while god knows where his father is, probably saying his goodbyes to his daughter and Princess Rhaenys.

Aemond moves toward the hill that Vhagar is sleeping on, catching the sight of you waiting for him next to the sandcastles he helped you build yesterday after your mother’s funeral.

“What do you want?” he asks, standing in front of you, trying not to frown too much to loosen his stitches.

“I-I wanted to ask how you were doing…”

“After leaving me all alone? You were my friend! I needed you and you left me! And you ask how I am after I got my eye cut out?” He shouts at you, waking up Vhagar from her drowsy nap.

“I-I don’t have any excuses, but Aemond, please—” “No, I hate you! I hate your stupid hair, your eyes, your laugh, even-even your sandcastles! They are so childish and-and ugly!” “I know you are upset with me, and I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but please let me—” “No!” he yells at you again, marching toward the castle next to your feet before he stomps all over it, screaming and crying while he ruins the perfect sculpture he himself has made for you.

“Aemond…” the sob that wrecks through you makes him stop, but you are not looking at his feet, you are looking at his face, crying for him. He doesn’t spare a glance at you when he walks to climb Vhagar’s saddle, but guilt overwhelms his emotions and dread fills him.

You just wanted to talk, and he treated you so poorly even if his anger was justified.

Oblivious to him, as soon as he and his family were gone, you ran to your grandmother, crying in her arms and begging her to allow you to study with Maesters, in hopes that someday you may help your childhood friend with the pain he will carry for the rest of his life.

•••••••••••

Jacaerys’ name day, another pathetic excuse to have his sister and her pups in the capital under the same roof, drinking and wasting the crown’s money. He can’t blame them though, they’re desperate to get on the lords’ good sides by showing off their heritage, going with songs and praises for the heir after his mother.

Unnecessary, stupid…

Aemond groans, running his hand over his face as he wakes up with the sounds of banging in the hallway. He knows that they’re arriving today, and he’s aware that the royal chambers should be ready when his sister makes a face, but to wake him up at such an early hour after the rough night he had should have severe consequences.

With another deep groan, he sits up on his bed, looking at the sea from between the sheer curtains of his room, watching the sunlight shine bright on the surface of the water, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already taking turns in the sky over the city.

He stands up, looking down at the soaked undershirt he had on during sleep, exhaling deeply as he pulls the fabric off, slamming it down on the couch as he walks to the balcony to get some fresh air. The morning breeze hits his sweat-covered chest, stinging the empty socket of his eye.

He knows he should go back inside, to cover his scar and avoid pain from the cold wind, but the contrast of the coldness of it on his heated skin is soothing his mind, calming his beating heart. He will regret it during the day, but for now, after experiencing yet another nightmare, he needs to feel alive again.

As soon as the sharp pain starts from the depths of his skull, he moves back, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed. He stands straight, his nails digging inside his palms as he controls, or tries to control his breathing.

It always starts like this; a sting, then another one but sharper, then a minimal pain that surrounds his scar, and finally, the stabbing pain all over his face followed by the worst headache someone can ever endure.

He reaches for the nearest surface he can lean on, knuckles turning white as he keeps his weight up, trying not to fall on his knees just yet.

He can do it, he has done it countless times.

Aemond steadies himself on his feet before he sighs shakily, walking towards the clothes his mother’s servants laid down for him yesterday. It is a simple outfit; a leather tunic with black pants and a fresh beige undershirt. Nothing too fancy, and nothing less regal that a prince should wear.

He takes his time while getting ready, allowing the phantom pain of his eye to fade away slowly. Before he can button up his tunic, his chamber servants come running in, putting a bowl of water with a warm towel on the side desk while they prepare his breakfast. He covers the left side of his face with his hand so as to not scare them with the unbearable sight of the empty space in his face.

He watches them with a sleepy gaze as they clear the room, slamming the door behind them. Aemond sits in front of his mirror, taking the brush in his hand to untangle his unruly hair.

There are no thoughts in his head as he stares blankly at his reflection; he hates his scar with a passion that could set the realm on fire. There is no gentleness in his features, everything is sharp, angular, and rough. There is no trace left of the boy he was before his nephew took out his eye.

Doomed before he could even try to become someone worthy.

He ties his hair, revealing more of the healed wound and the dark empty socket on his face. Sometimes he gets stuck inside the labyrinth of his head, running and running until he reaches the middle, but it’s never enough. At the end of the maze, someone drops dead; whether he kills them or they kill him. There is no escape from these dreams, from these self-destructive thoughts that haunt him day and night.

He reaches for a box on the vanity, pulling out the sapphire gem before reaching for an ointment Maester has given him to help the gem fill his eye socket without pain.

He looks at himself again; he looks less like a brute, the gem adds to his beauty but in his mind, it’s not enough, it’ll never be. He sees his brothers, healthy and handsome, being subjected to women’s attention all the time, and sometimes he wishes desperately to be in their place, to be able to talk to a lady without frightening her. But he has learned that a maimed man is less worthy than a whore in Streets of Silk, so he exercises and trains daily to become worthy again, to live up to his Targaryen name. There are deep yet little scars adorning all over the skin of his hands and arms — a reminder of how he has become the man he is.

He eats his breakfast in silence, tension rising in his shoulders as the smoke of the candles on his desk reaches his eye. He drops his spoon on the table, blowing the candles out before he reaches for his eyepatch.

He has told everyone that there shouldn’t be any scented candles in his rooms, but as it seems no one ever pays attention to what he has to say, not even to help with the pain of his eye.

He stands up, knocking a few plates on the table to the floor, smearing fresh fruits on his carpet. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, but he can’t care less about anything other than the fact that he needs to join his family in the throne room — and he does after he grabs his dagger and secures it in his belt.

“Ser,” Aemond nods at his appointed guard, earning a ‘good morning, my prince’ from him. Aemond walks down the stairs with his head held high, scoffing at the servants who make a path for him hurriedly, trying to avoid being seen by him or see him.

The bustling of the castle is irritating; everyone is running from one corner to another and decorating the keep for their princess’ arrival. He is not annoyed that he has to reunite with his sister and nephews, but because he has to endure their presence for longer than necessary, to look them in the eye and act civil as if the pain he copes with already isn’t enough torment from them.

He nods at Ser Cole, who follows him into the crowded hall, eying everyone who is waiting for the Realm’s delight. Aegon and Helaena are standing side by side, his sister is clutching Aegon’s arm tightly as the crowd makes her feel small under its gaze. His mother looks at the throne silently, and he can see the hesitation in her eyes — how are they going to go through these weeks of celebration, they have no idea.

“Good morrow, Mother,” he whispers as he stands behind her, his eye softening at the small smile she gives him, “you look radiant this morning.”

“Hush you, sweet talker,” she chuckles lowly, rubbing his arms lovingly, “have you heard about the Velaryons’ arrival?”

“Lord Corlys is coming as well?” he asks, shifting on his feet nervously, his fingers tightening slightly on Alicent’s elbows, “I did not know…” “Neither did I, darling. They shall arrive at the same time as Rhaenyra, at least I know Daemon’s eldest will.”

“Driving on dragonback, obviously,” he mutters, sighing shakily.

Alicent notices his hesitancy, she gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes, “Do not project your anger on her, she was but a child.”

“Yet she kept silent that night. She was supposed to be my friend,” he says, looking away from his mother, lowering his head in shame, beating himself for letting his emotions take hold of him.

“Give your courtesy and leave if you wish not to talk to her,” Alicent smiles sadly at Aemond, patting his cheek before they both look at the doors of the hall.

Something in his guts drops when he sees Rhaenyra entering, her family walking towards them, all smiling and laughing as if they aren’t going to experience the most dreadful weeks of their lives.

“Your grace,” Rhaenyra says, trying to break the visible tension between the families. The crowd goes silent, and the only thing they can hear is the soft exhales of the people close to them, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what happens in a few seconds.

“Princess,” Alicent smiles, “welcome back to your home,” she replies politely, giving Daemon a half courtesy before she congratulates Jacaerys for his eight-and-ten name day.

“Aegon…”

Aemond looks away from his sister as she acknowledges them all, instead his eye finds Daemon’s who is staring back at him with a smirk on his face. Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver, and Daemon chuckles at that, giving him a challenging look.

He looks back at Rhaenyra who says his name, giving him a forced smile before she turns around quickly and asks for the King.

“He is quite unwell, he shall join us in the evening,” Alicent explains, telling the maids to make haste and set the garden ready to start the celebrations; nothing too fancy for the noon, a tea gathering in the garden to reunite everyone, or at least to make sure the court has something to gossip about.

Aemond follows them slowly, taking time to observe each and every one of them. He can’t shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his chest as his eye finds Lucerys Velaryon, laughing and looping his arm with Rhaena. He looks away immediately, lips forming into a sneer as he walks with his hands behind him, grinding his teeth while he thinks about how he was robbed of everything good because of that bastard, because of the hideous scar he gave him.

The garden is filled with new bushes; roses, lilacs, daisies, and surprisingly winter roses. The sight would have been quite beautiful if all this fuss wasn’t for his nephew. He walks away from the crowd, making his way toward his siblings who are trying to appeal content with the events. Helaena is in her own world, lifting a worm from the ground as she counts its feet. Aegon is gulping down his wine while he listens to Daeron telling him about whatever book he has read these past few days, or at least he seems like he is paying attention.

Aemond sighs, grabbing a goblet of wine himself to nurse on it as he tries to distract himself from the chilly wind that hits his face. Luckily the eyepatch covers his eye socket fully and doesn’t let the cold breeze hit his scar, but the tension in his bones has remained from the morning rush of pain he experienced earlier. It’d be best if he left this pointless gathering earlier anyway.

“How are you faring this beautiful morning, brother?” Aegon asks him, grinning sarcastically. Daeron groans in response, even though the question wasn’t meant for him. Everyone can tell he is fed up with Aegon’s constant teasing of Rhaenyra’s family coming back to Red Keep.

“Well enough to know I will be leaving in a few minutes,” Aemond replies, sipping on his wine as he catches Luke stealing glances at him. Pathetic, he is too scared to even look at him properly, he is glad though, it gives him a sense of comfort to know the mark he has left on his face scares him enough to keep him away from him.

“Can’t do that! It’d be rude if you left without saying hi to our favorite Velaryons.” Aegon smirks, tipping his head back as he laughs at Aemond’s sneer.

“As much as I hate to say this, but the idiot is right; you can’t give them more reasons to resent us,” Daeron says, looking at his older brother with kind eyes, “besides, they are here anyway.” he points at the passageway leading to the garden, catching the sight of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys walking side by side toward the crowd.

Aemond’s heart stops for a second when his good eye lays upon you, following your grandparents with a gentle smile grazing your lips. You are a sight to behold; silver hair falling around your shoulders like curtains of moonlight that shine bright like a diamond beneath the morning rays of sunshine. Your gown the bluest of blue that shows your devotion to your mother’s house, and your lips painted pink in the most alluring way…

Aemond’s eye sees a sight his mind can not comprehend, too unreal and beautiful that makes him doubt if he is seeing you with his sapphire eye through the patch.

His face is blank, but his heart is beating so fast he can hear his pulse in his ears. His eye follows you, watching you bow before his mother and sister, looking away immediately to find your sisters already giddy to hug you. Rhaena is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around you while Baela approaches you slowly, letting her twin have her moment with you.

He doesn’t move from his spot, he can’t move even if he wants to; he’s struck between shock and something he can’t pinpoint; he can only say for sure that he hopes it’s a rush of adrenaline of not seeing you for so long.

The only time he looks away from you is when Daeron pats his back and encourages him to join everyone to say hello and welcome your family to the Keep. He doesn’t need to say a word, just a nod at both Corlys and Rhaenys is enough, but when you turn around to greet him and his siblings, his breath gets stuck in his lungs.

You look at him from beneath your lashes, beaming so radiantly at him that he almost forgets the pain in his eye or the pain he has caused you the last time he saw you. The world around him fades away, the noises become distance as his sky-blue eye finds yours easily, and he has to swallow sharply while he desperately tries to keep his face stoic and serious and not show you how he is panicking from inside, palms sweaty and lips drying while he gazes at you, his childhood friend who… suddenly the bubble around you breaks and he remembers how you abandoned him that night at Driftmark.

“My lady,” he says in a hushed tone, watching your reaction closely.

“My prince, it’s so good to see you again,” you grin at him, “I hope you are doing well.”

“As well as a half-blinded man can do,” averting his eye from you, he regrets the words he said immediately, flushing a bit in embarrassment, but when he looks back at you, your smile hasn’t left your face, if anything you look at him with empathy and much kindness that he has a hard time believing you are real; it’s been too long since anyone has looked at him with such sincerity.

“Darling,” Daemon steps closer to them, ruining the moment for Aemond to say something, anything to take back what he said earlier.

He watches your smile wavering a little when you look at your father, hands fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. He notices how you try to ignore your father and Rhaenyra as they approach you, a tense smile on his sister’s lips while she tightens her grip on her husband’s arm.

“We have missed you, the girls, and I,” Daemon says, reaching to caress your hair as gently as the Rogue prince can, “you did not visit us at Dragonstone.” “I don’t like it there, the castle unnerves me,” You reply softly, “I rather enjoy the silence of grandsire’s castle.” “You are a Targaryen, you should visit your ancestor’s sit,” Rhaenyra tries her best to persuade you to think about coming back with them, leaving your lovely grandparents alone.

“I’m a Velaryon just as much as I’m a Targaryen, but ‘tis not a matter we should discuss at such a joyous day, don’t you think, princess?” you say, and Aemond sees it in your eyes how desperately you wish for the conversation to end. Aemond watches his sister’s words falter, her confidence crumbling with each word that you utter. Your statement is not rude, not even filled with malicious intent, but the mention of your Mother’s side of the family makes the Targaryen couple uncomfortable.

“I would have loved to stay and talk with you, Father, but I’m afraid the journey on dragonback has left me starving. Please, excuse me,” you nod at them before walking past them to the corner where Aemond and his siblings were sitting minutes ago, reaching for a glass of wine to gulp down.

Aemond doesn’t spare a glance at the couple, following you closely so he can sit in silence and out of the sun, truly not wishing for another fit of agony that consumes his skull.

“You have grown, Aemond,” you sit beside him, turning your head to look at his side profile, “no longer the child who used to build sandcastles with me when I would visit the Keep.”

“Yes, no longer a child with friends. Spending years apart without any contact, surely you are not that surprised how I have turned out to be,” he scoffs at your words, frowning when he turns around and finds you chuckling gently, “Did I jest about something I’m not aware of?”

“No, no, I just remembered how we promised to never let anyone break us apart, but you were the first who did so; you stomped your feet on my sandcastles the morning after my Mother’s funeral. You are right though, no ravens were exchanged, but I do hope you’re still the sweet prince who helped me study.” your lips twist into a small smile.

You are not angry with him, how can you not be angry with him? You had spent hours after they freed your Mother’s soul into the sea to find the perfect place to build your sandcastles and he ruined them the morning he was about to leave.

Your teary eyes have haunted him from that moment to this day.

“I apologize, I did not wish to remind you of that night,”

“I’m reminded every time I look into a mirror, do not concern yourself.” his reply is curt as he gazes at you, your eyes full of sadness and sympathy for a man you no longer know. Or maybe you know him too much, he thinks.

“I look forward to spending time with you, my prince. I hope we can catch up on each other's lives.” “Perhaps we can,” he sounds unsure of himself, Getting to know you again while you have turned into a woman grown — the most beautiful woman he has ever seen at that — is going to be a challenge he does not know he welcomes or fears greatly.

•••••••••••

He leaves sooner than he should, hiding in his room with a warm towel on his face as he soothes the pain of his eye, the headache he had since morning finally fading away. There are so many thoughts lingering in his head, and ironically, they are all filled by you; your gown, bright smile, and gentle personality.

He groans, so frustrated that he has met you a few hours prior yet you have consumed his every thought. If he focuses hard enough, he can see the labyrinth of his nightmares, the hedges are covered in ivy, suffocating as they reach for air — he thinks of him as the hedge, and how easily he has let you wrap yourself around his thoughts this quickly.

Weak, he thinks to himself, he’s weak.

He sits up, dropping the towel in the bowl on his nightstand, breathing deeply as he looks around his dark room, spotting a lit candle on his desk in the corner.

Sometimes it baffles him how his room represents his inner self so openly; it’s not messy, no, but if you squint you can see the abandoned book in the foot of his chair, ink dripping from his pot on the carpet, the candle illuminating the trail of black paint on his desk. It seems as if his room is showing the ugly part of itself to his eye, and for a second he thinks about how he sees himself — an ugly monster with an unsightly scar.

Aemond leaves his room a few minutes after fixing his eyepatch and hair, walking to the king’s solar to join his family for dinner. He walks with his hands clasped together behind him, looking straight to avoid eye contact with anyone who sees him on his way up the stairs. He doesn't expect to see you of all people, heading out of your room to take the same path as him.

“Aemond!” You say his name with such enthusiasm that has his heart racing again, beaming at him as if you are excited to see him. How could you be this giddy to meet him? No one has expressed to be happy to spend time with him, let alone smile at him the way you do. Is this an act of modesty? It has to be, he thinks, or else it does not make sense at all.

“My lady,” he bows his head politely, “How come you are late for such an interesting gathering?”

You giggle a little, walking side by side with him, “I was spending some time with Helaena’s children. Oh, they are such sweet babes!”

“Indeed they are,” he replies quietly, watching you curiously as you round him to stand on his good side, “what are you doing, My Lady?”

“I did not realize I was on your blind side, Aemond, forgive me,” “There is nothing to forgive,” he sucks in a harsh breath, pondering over your response for the rest of the way til King’s solar. The silence is oddly comfortable even though he gets a bit nervous when you keep glancing at him.

There’s an unusual warmth spreading through his chest, he can’t understand it — it can be his heart since it’s beating too hard and fast, or perhaps even his lungs! He can’t even breathe properly, but at the same time, he feels… right, much better than before. He blames you for the conflicted emotions, it’s all your doings, he is sure. Because whenever he looks at you, he feels as if his clothes are suffocating him, his ears ring while the world fades around him, and the center of his world becomes you.

Weak, worthless, he has just met you, yet all these years apart seem blurry to him, as if he has known you since the age of the Firstmen; so familiar and comforting, even though you left him alone the night he needed you the most.

The guards open the door to the solar, and Aemond follows you inside, his eye wandering all over the room, taking his surroundings in. His mother and Rhaenyra are sitting at the table, his nephews are standing on their mother’s side while Aegon is trying to listen to whatever lecture Otto is giving him.

He watches you walk to your sisters, wrapping your arms around Baela and Rhaena as they both start talking to you about the things they have done during the past years you’ve been Lord Corlys’ ward in Driftmark.

“You’re staring,” Daeron says out of nowhere, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts but he doesn’t look away, he keeps his eye trailing on you until you turn around and catch his eye as well, smiling broadly at him.

“I am merely observing,” he replies, but knows his brother is right. It’s only the first dinner but he can already feel his eye itching to be on you again.

“Whatever makes you happy,” Daeron shrugs, leading him to Aegon and Helaena to sit down.

He finds an empty seat next to him, thinking Daeron is the one who’d sit beside him, but when he sees it’s you who reaches for the chair, his heart leaps to his throat before he composes himself quickly, pulling it out like the prince he is.

You give a smile that is worth countless gold dragons, and for the second time today, he questions if the sapphire is a magical eye, because the world turns a bit brighter and less dull when he looks at you. He sits next to you, his eyebrows twisting into a deep frown when he sees Lucerys at the other side of the table engaged in a deep conversation with Rhaena, playing the role of the happy family quite well.

Everyone stands up when the guards bring in the King, everyone except for Helaena but neither she nor Aemond pays any attention to others. One is busy playing with her hairpin, and he is busy admiring your ethereal face as you kiss the king, your uncle’s cheek, thanking him for having you and your grandparents in his home after so many years. As soon as Viserys sits behind the table, you take your place next to him again, giving him a small smile before you turn your head to listen to what his father has to say.

He knows what his father is about to say; first, he thanks them all for coming, paying special attention to his grandsons and Rhaenyra while he lies over and over again about how much he loves them all, how they should never let the House of the Dragon fall into ruins, oblivious to the fact that not Rhaenyra nor Alicent were the ones who broke the family into different agendas, but it was him who started the flame.

Tonight, Aemond doesn’t look at his sister to attend to her. His eye is solely on you, taking in the shape of your lashes kissing your cheekbones, carving the silhouette of your nose and lips in his memories. He looks at the way your lips curve into a grin, cheeks forming into the most beautiful shape he has ever witnessed.

You turn your head a little to glance at him, catching him red-handed while he tries to play it cool, but he finds that he is not powerful enough to look away from your blown-out pupils and the orange hue that’s cast on your irises softly.

He breaks the eye contact, a scowl forming on his face as he reaches for his goblet of wine, nearly throwing the goblet across the table when he hears Lucerys laughing at the two of you.

You beat him to it before he could open his mouth, “Is there something funny, Prince Lucerys?” your voice is so soft and slow, almost humiliatingly sweet, and funnily, it terrifies Luke.

Aemond smirks as he watches his nephew stuttering over his words while everyone around the table sits in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the young prince to say something, anything.

“I was surprised by how fast Uncle Aemond took a liking to you, given his looks and all,” he explains, sarcasm dripping like honey from each of his words.

Fucking bastard, Aemond thinks to himself as an ugly sneer sits on his face. As much as he wants to leap toward him and cut off his tongue, he can’t — not when you put your hand on his over the hilt of his dagger.

Your skin is so smooth atop his calloused one. The way your fingers wrap around his wrist sets his body on fire, burning the skin in a way unknown to any man, but this is no ordinary burn; there’s no trace of fire, no long-forgotten ashes of his bones are visible, instead his fingers twitch for more, begging for more skin to skin contact, but he pulls his hand away from you without looking away from Luke’s blushing face.

“Your words are mean for no reason, Lucerys, given how it’s been your doing that has caused Aemond his scar,” you say, “I find him quite handsome actually. He was my beloved friend when we were younger. There are, of course, many feelings between us. Nothing has happened out of the blue for you to mock him for.”

“I-I apologize, good sister, I wasn’t…”

“It is not me who you should apologize to, it’s Aemond. I have taken no offense on my behalf but I do believe you owe him an apology.” You explain, sipping from your glass slowly while keeping your eyes on Lucerys.

No one, not even the King has the strength to intrude into the situation, maybe in doubt of saying something to hurt you, or perhaps you’re just speaking the truth, and for once, everyone fears your gentle mannerisms.

“I apologize, uncle,”

Aemond’s stare is blank as he looks at Luke who’s chewing the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He nods, not bothering to reply to him; he will never forgive nor forget what he has done to him, crushing his hopes and ruining his worth for a lifetime.

“Let us put our differences aside, and become a family again,” the king says, coughing before he reaches to drink from his cup.

The dinner goes smoothly from there and to Aemond’s surprise, he engages in more conversations with you. He does not talk too much, he’d rather listen to your giggles and stories rather than talk about his boring and miserable life.

His eye always lingers on you for far longer than it should, not in an inappropriate way, but more in a sense of intrigue and curiosity, trying to understand you from his perspective. He simply can’t though; you are worlds apart. He is a cold-hearted, broken, and worthless man when it comes to your bright and beautiful personality. Even if he gets to know you again after so many years, he would never think himself worthy enough to be in your presence.

“Aemond…?” you call his name oh so sweetly, making him feel as if he is on top of Vhagar, flying atop the city while the wind blows in his hair; it makes him feel alive.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Are you alright? You look quite flushed,” You smile sweetly, reaching to put the back of your hand on his cheek, flustering him even more than he already is.

“Yes, yes, I might have had too much wine,” he doesn’t know who he is trying to convince; you or him? By the sound of it, it’s him who needs to be convinced that it’s the wine in his blood and not the same unknown feeling he gets when you look at him. No, it is definitely the wine. It has to be.

“Oh, well then, I wish to spend more time with you if you are not against it,”

“Why would I be?” he asks almost too quickly, making you chuckle at his… enthusiasm. If he can even call it that.

“Then I’d be overjoyed if we could rebound what we had as children.”

•••••••••••

After the dinner, something between you and Aemond shifted; he spent more time outside his room, he was calmer and less serious, and the pain in his skull was almost gone. You joined him in the library a few times in the next few days, meeting each other at your door to attend the meals side by side, and almost everyone could feel how he was changing the longer he had you close, almost turning into the little boy he once was.

Both of you forget your last interactions as an act of mercy for the other.

With your insistence, he agreed to miss the tourney being held for Jace’s nameday to sneak out of the castle and take you to the beach. He did not need much convincing, but when you gave him those doe eyes with a little pout on your lips, he felt weaker than he ever did and gave in immediately.

Aemond helps you down the rocks near the shoreline with your small hands in his, taking cautious steps down to not trip over and hurt yourself. He keeps his eye on your feet instead of his, worrying more about you than himself even though he is stepping down with his good eye on you, not looking where he is going.

That seems to be a bad decision, because the next second, not only does his foot miss a small rock, but yours slips on one too, tumbling into his arms as the two of you fall on the soft sand, Aemond’s arms wrapping tightly around your back to keep you steady.

He looks at you, panting as his eye widens at the closeness; your faces are inches away from each other, and he can feel your soft rushed exhales on his lips. You look like a goddess atop him, the sun illuminating your silver hair, reminding him of the last sennight when you arrived and your hair made your face shine even brighter.

He has never seen such a beauty before, sure he has seen the ladies of the court, but your Valyrian beauty combined with sunlight and the blue hue of the sky has him mesmerized, not realizing how his hands are gripping your waist while he stares at you.

You giggle at first, then break into a fit of laughter while you lean more into him, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh wholeheartedly.

He chuckles lowly at first, then matches your laughter and throws his head back, holding you on him by one arm while the other comes to run over his face.

“I have never heard you laugh so freely before,” you say after you have calmed down, putting your palms on either side of his face while you hover over him.

“I don’t remember having a reason to do so,” he replies, smiling up at you.

“I’m glad that I’m able to bring joy to your life, you deserve it.” leaning down, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek before standing up, smoothing down your skirt.

He is at loss of words, speechless to his core. He deserves it, he thinks, do you truly think a monster like him deserves any chance of happiness? How are you not disgusted by him, his scar, his sour and mean tongue? How can you ever leave a butterfly kiss on someone as unworthy as him?

He looks at you from where he is staying lying on the sand, watching as you extend your hand to him, rocking on your heels in anticipation so you can go and wander on the beach and reunite with the sea.

He grabs your hand, standing up on his feet as well. There is sand in both of your clothes, but you have just begun your venture and won’t stop until you are satisfied.

You don’t let go of his hand when you start jogging, pulling him with you as you giggle in delight. And he observes you as he always does; wind in your hair, waves crashing against the shore while your laughter fills the air around him. He doesn’t realize his smile has widened and he is following you just as excited, letting the sand and the sea separate you from the outer world.

“You promised you would make a sandcastle for me!” you say, pulling him behind you to the spot where you would sneak away as children, sitting down to get to work.

“I did not,” he replies, unbuttoning his tunic so he can stay under the sun without being bothered by the heat.

“Fine, you did not. But you ruined the one we built together at Driftmark so you owe me one!”

He chuckles at you, his dimples on display as he shakes his head, “Alright, I will make one for you.”

It took you a good few hours to finish the sandcastle; it could have finished much sooner if you hadn’t thrown wet sand at him, cleaning your dirty hands with his white cotton undershirt just to annoy him — and it worked. In a second, he was chasing you around the beach with hands full of wet sand curved into balls, throwing them at you.

And here you are now, fingers laced together, shoes in one hand as you both walk on the shoreline, letting the waves cool your feet. You point at the sunset, leaning on his side when you come to a stop to watch the sky change color as the sun goes down.

Aemond on the other hand, looks at your calm face that is glowing under the pink and orange sunlight. How did he get so lucky to be blessed by such a beauty to lay his eye upon? Maybe he truly deserves this unknown feeling that spreads through him like fire and makes his fingers tingle and his heart beat in happiness. Maybe he deserves to be loved by you and love you unconditionally in return.

You turn around, dropping your shoes before you reach up to cup his cheeks. He closes his eye and basks in the attention you give him; so unique and pure. He drops his boots as well, arms circling your waist to pull you closer.

Aemond doesn’t dare to open his eye, fearing that he might ruin this perfect moment as you trace the lines of his lips, his cheekbones, and his jaw. You are so gentle with him, something he is not quite used to. It has always been him, alone in a cold room, but now and here with you, he feels as if he can breathe again, and forget every pain he has endured to reach this moment of his life.

“Open your eye, My Prince,” you whisper before you peck the corner of his lips, pulling him in so you can rest your forehead on his.

He obligates, sighing shakily when he finds you already looking at him. Your gaze is so genuine that somehow scares him, a rush of destructive thoughts comes into his head, but you seem to notice it from how his hands shake on your waist.

“Don’t think about anything, just… just focus on me.”

He does as you say, his brain shutting those annoying voices at the back of his head down as soon as your nose brushes against his, your soft lips brushing over his so endearingly. He is hesitant at first but when you peck him again, he moves forward as well, meeting you halfway until his lips are locked with yours.

You taste as sweet as the strawberry cakes you had this morning, if not sweeter. The way your lips move together makes his head hazy. You are kissing his breath away, leaving him begging for more. His chest moves up and down quickly when you break the kiss, and you caress his thin swollen lips, bruised by your kisses and lack of air, while he admires you from head to toe.

The sun has set, but the glimmer of love has risen inside of Aemond’s broken heart.

•••••••••••

A kiss here and there, more sneaking around the castle and to the beach until the main event for Jace’s birthday arrives. He is in his mother’s solar, listening to her talk about how lovely you are and how much of a wonderful couple you would make with him if only you weren’t Daemon’s daughter.

“Mother—”

“You should dance with her tonight, my darling!” Alicent says, running her hands over his arms when he stands up and approaches her, “I have heard Daemon has plans of betrothing her. Obviously, he has yet to find someone suitable, but he is thinking about it.”

Aemond’s heart drops when Alicent says your father is looking for a suiter, fortunately, Alicent sees his surprise, shock, and fear. She reaches to cup his cheek, forcing him to maintain eye contact while she talks, “Don’t let her go if you truly wish to have her. I know that she would stand strong against her father and Rhaenyra, but she would need your support and love as well to feel brave enough to turn down a good match.”

“They would make her happier than I can ever do, Mother,” he replies, his voice breaking slightly. Losing you terrifies him, and he is aware that his mother can read him like an open book, shushing him while he inhales sharply.

“I have never seen her happier than I have with you, and I have never seen you this happy and lively, darling. Be selfish for once, choose your happiness this time.”

“How can I choose my happiness over her life?!” he asks harshly, frowning at his mother.

A knock interrupts Alicent before she can respond, and the guards open the door for you to step inside the queen’s room.

“Oh, I apologize, it was not my intention to interrupt you.”

Aemond seems to be struck by your beauty; your body is wrapped in a teal-colored gown with a low neckline that leaves your shoulders and collarbones on display. Your silver hair is braided with some parts of it pinned up, some strands framing your bare neck.

“You look so beautiful, my darling,” Alicent says, nudging Aemond a bit forward when she sees how he is looking at you.

“Thank you, my queen. You look very beautiful as well,” you look away from the queen, smiling when he approaches you slowly, “you said you were going to wear something close to this color and I decided it would look quite good to match. How do I look?”

“Enchanting,” he breathes out, reaching to hold your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “You look breathtaking, My Lady.”

“So do you, My Prince.”

“Shall we then?” he offers you his arm and you accept without hesitation, looking back to see if the queen will come with you and she assures you she will come with the King.

“You said you were going to retrieve me from my chambers for the party,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you walk toward the great hall.

“I am deeply sorry. Mother wanted to have a word with me,” he explains, dropping a quick kiss on the crown of your head.

“Is everything alright, Aemond?” you ask him, and he chuckles at how adorably your brows twist into a frown in worry. “Yes, darling, she merely wished to remind me to make sure you have a great time tonight. You are our special guest.”

“Does that mean you will dance with me?” you ask, holding his hands in yours before you reach the hall.

“We shall see,” he brings your hands to his lips again, leading you toward the hall, bowing and nodding at the ladies and lords who take it upon themselves to greet you.

You come to a stop in front of the table, Rhaena coming to hug you and twirl you around, gasping at the sight of your beautiful gown, gasping even louder when she sees how your dress matches Aemond’s tunic.

A ghost of a smile finds its way on Aemond’s face as he watches you get flustered at your sister’s attention to details, but soon, his eye hardens when he finds his uncle glaring at the two of you. Tonight will change the course of so many lives.

He watches you laugh with your sisters, pointing at the empty chair next to you so he would sit close by all night. With one last glare at his uncle, he walks to his seat and pours wine into his cup, blushing a bit when he hears you laughing again. You are not even laughing at something he has said and he is the one who gets flushed.

He is knee-deep inside these new feelings but he welcomes the challenge with open arms. Or at least he tries to do so without Daemon being an obstacle to his plans.

He looks at you when Rhanea and Helaena pull you to the dancefloor for the new song, pairing up with different lords to dance with, but what catches his eye, isn’t who you are dancing with, but more than who Daemon is talking to. He recognizes the lord to be from the south, probably a Tyrell, and when his uncle and the lord look in your direction, he knows something is not right, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his stomach.

He watches the lord closely as he makes his way through the crowd to get to you, bowing and introducing himself before taking your hand to dance with you. He can see how uncomfortable he is making you, probably discussing his sick desire to have a wife and kids while he dances with a Targaryen-Valeryon goddess.

“Stop glaring and do something!” Baela slides into the seat next to him, hissing the words at him while she keeps her eyes fixed on you as well, “I don’t like you, I will never like you, but you make her happy. Do something before our father ruins her life because of Rhaenyra.” “I thought you liked your stepmother,” Aemond chooses to ignore most of the things she said.

“It’s Rhaenyra’s schemes, please, Aemond, my sister deserves to feel appreciated. I have never seen any lord take an interest in her the way you have. You are the only thing she could talk about in the last few days. I will beg you if I have to.” Aemond turns his head toward Baela, letting her words calm down the hesitancy he has toward courting you. There are far more handsome men than him in the court, yet, he is the one who is blessed to hold you and kiss you, to gaze into your eyes and see forever in them.

He hisses when he feels a sting in his skull, not now, no. The pain can’t start now. He gulps his wine before he nods at Bela and stands up to walk to the crowd in the middle of the hall, catching your eyes for a second before he has to bow and start the dance with a lady he does not care to engage in a conversation with.

He thinks about how much he has changed in a few days; there will always be a part of him who thinks he’s not worthy of your affection, that you can do better than him, but also the thought of you in another man’s arms sets his skin ablaze. He is torn between keeping you all to himself or letting you have a wonderful future with another guy who can stand by your side and make you proud, who is not maimed and scarred like him.

Luckily, everyone needs to change their partner and he reaches with his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side, grinning when he hears your delighted shriek. “My Prince Aemond,” you say, squeezing his hand while the two of you twirl around the room.

He doesn’t wish to say, but the tempo is too high for me, and it worries him that somehow he might make a fool of himself or you if he trips over someone’s shoe on his blindside.

“Lady Targaryen, you look like a Valyrian Goddess, my beloved.”

“Why thank you, my good prince. I have to say that this color truly brings out your beautiful eye,” you reply coyly, tipping your chin up while you bite your lip.

“You are playing with fire, darling.” he leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing a feather-like kiss on your earlobe without anyone noticing.

“I’m a Targaryen, Prince Aemond, fire is in my blood,”

“Is that so? Well, I must say—”

He doesn’t know what happens, or how it happens, but in a second he can’t see you when he twirls you around him, and suddenly, the weight of your waist isn’t in his hand anymore.

“Aemond!” you fall down by his feet, and he sees that his boots have caught the edge of your heels, making you twist your ankle in the wrong way and causing your fall.

What have I done?

I dropped her.

I did this.

What happened?

His eye has widened in fear, and he is frozen in place, hands shaking slightly as he feels the crowd around you look in your direction, staring and gaping at him before the hushed whispers start to fill the room.

“Aemond, look—”

He can’t look at you. He will never be able to live with himself for humiliating you in the way he did tonight.

Stupid, weak, useless good for nothing, Aemond. If another lord was dancing with her, he wouldn’t have dropped her. A prince but less worthy than a common whore.

With trembling lips, and a pain blooming in his eyesocket, he dashes out of the room, leaving you on the floor.

His vision is blurry, the pain is getting worse and the air is stuck in his lungs. He can’t breathe, no, he doesn’t deserve to breathe. How can he when all he wanted to do was to dance with you but ended up hurting you? How could he hurt you like this?

He skips the steps, running to his room while he groans in pain, the stinging is getting stronger, the agony in his nerves is spreading through his skull and it only gets worse when he opens the door to his chambers to find not only scented candles but the windows and the balcony door is open as well.

“You are dismissed!” he shouts at the guard before he slams the door shut, “Ah!” He tumbles down, gripping the nearest chair to keep himself on his feet at least before he falls on his knees, clawing at the eyepatch to pull it off as if it’s burning his skin.

The pain is like a dagger, stabbing him over and over again until even his knees don’t have the strength to keep him up. He falls on the floor, curling into a ball while the pain spreads through his face, and he finally breaks down, bursting into tears from agony and humiliation. If only he wasn’t in pain… if only his eye wasn’t cut out…

Aemond doesn’t hear when the door opens, nor he can see who the person is. Tears have flooded his vision, but as soon as he feels your soft hand on his arms, trying to help him sit up, he flinches, backing away from you while he gasps for air, feeling his tunic clinging to his sweaty body.

“Aemond, please let me—” “No, no, no, no…” he stands up hurriedly, walking to the balcony on unsteady legs to get some air in his lungs, only to be met by a freezing wind that makes the chronic pain in his eye even worse. He drops to his knees again, this time the sounds of his gasps and painful yelps are louder than before.

You rush to his side, kneeling in front of him to cup his cheeks, kissing his clammy forehead before you wipe his tears away gently. He lets you touch him this time, too exhausted to utter a word, to push you away even if he has to.

“It’s going to be okay, Aemond, let me help you,” You help him on his feet, making sure to have your arms wrapped tightly around him while he leans his weight on you, trusting you to take care of him, even though the voice in the back of his head is telling him to push you out of his room.

“Gently, my love, gently,” you help him lay down on the bed, pecking his cheek again, rising to get the smoke out of the room but his hands shot up and grabs your forearm tightly.

“Stay, please,” he whimpers, his beautiful eye tearing in pain.

“I will, my dearest, I just need to blow out the candles and close the windows, and I’ll be back in bed with you.” You reach and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon his knuckles before he lets you go.

He can’t see you clearly, but your shadow moves from side to side frantically, blowing the candles on the balcony so the smoke won’t get inside again, shutting the windows quickly so the cold wind doesn’t bother him anymore before you come to bed again.

You unlace your gown, taking it off so you can tend to him more easily, pulling at the few pins inside your head to let the strands fall freely around your shoulders. You climb onto the bed, a jar of his salve and ointment in hand with clean rags in your other as you sit comfortably next to him, helping him take off his tunic and pants.

Aemond lies on the pillow on your lap, sniffing as you look at his face; bare and raw of emotions with his sapphire glinting in the low lights of the room.

“My love, you need to help me pull the gem out,” you whisper, almost sound scared of him, or scared of what you might see.

“No, it is an unbecoming sight—”

“Nothing about you is unbecoming. You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on, and for you and your suffering, I begged my grandma to allow me to study about your condition with the Maesters,” you lean to kiss the bridge of his nose, “the skin around your eyesocket is swollen, if we do not pull it out now, it shall make it more unbearable for you.”

He hesitates for a moment. While he would love to ask you about why you studied something so gruesome because of him, he can’t help but feel so wanted. The pain is getting worse, sure, he has to pull the gem out anyway but to hear you say how you have begged Rhaenys to let you partake in those classes, to maybe someday help him with his pain… that truly makes him feel fuzzy all over.

“Alright…” he whispers, gritting his teeth in pain as he reaches out with his fingers to grab the side of the gem, pulling it out slowly while he groans and the pain nearly knocks him out. “Shouldn’t we use something more—” “Take it out, take it out—I don’t care how!”

You nod, tears falling from your eyes as you watch him writhe in pain more as the two of you pull his sapphire out, leaving a heavily swollen and empty eyesocket on display. His hand falls limp on the bed while you drop the gem into a clean bowl before pouring some of the ointment on a rag, gently holding his face in one hand while the other daps slowly over the scar and his ripped eyelids, pressing a few kisses here and there to soothe his whimpering.

He clings to your arms and waist tightly, letting his tears fall freely while you soothe his pain away, falling into slumber easily beneath your gentle touch.

•••••••••••

He is running.

Where is he? Why is he running?

He looks around him, finding himself in the labyrinth he always sees in his dreams.

The hedges are covered in ivy, the walls have gotten taller and the paths are thinner.

What’s this smell?

He steps closer to the source of it, taking different routes until the smell gets worse and stronger. He knows where the center of the maze is, he has been here countless times.

He turns around, finding the space of the labyrinth of his dream, but he doesn’t expect to see you there, not while standing with your nightshift covered in maroon, hands dripping with thick droplets of blood as you look at him horrifyingly.

“Darling, are you alright?”

“Don’t- don’t come closer,” you say, taking a step away from him.

“I don’t understand, why—” “You did this to me!” screaming at him, your hands cover your heart, and he finally sees how your chest has been ripped open and blood gushes out of the wound.

“I was not here—”

“You did this to me! You hurt me, Aemond!”

“Aemond!”

“Aemond!”...

He jolts up, gasping for air, hands clutching the bedsheets as he experiences another nightmare. He looks at you, finding you awake and alarmed while you rub his back, eyes filled with worry and pain for him.

“You should leave,” his voice is barely above whispering, his nails digging into the palms of his hand while he blinks his tears away.

“Aemond—” “I will only hurt you, why don’t you understand?!” he asks, raising his voice a little.

He is torn between needing you to wishing you were gone; he can’t cope if he ever hurts you again.

“You have not hurt me, you won’t hurt me.” “I killed you in my dream! You fell in front of everyone and twisted your ankle because of me, I humiliated you! How can you say I won’t fucking hurt you? I have already done it.” He explains, but instead of pushing you away, he welcomes you when you pull him down into your embrace, holding his head tightly in your neck as he sobs uncontrollably.

“It’s not your fault, I should have been more careful. I won’t let you ruin yourself for something that was a mistake on my behalf.” you kiss the side of his face, rocking him from side to side while he calms down eventually.

“Don’t push me away, I love you, Aemond. Let me be here and help you carry this heavy pain with you.”

He doesn’t reply, but his arms tighten around you.

He looks at how you lay back on the pillows, gently pulling him in your arms until he is lying in your chest while you play with his hair.

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

•••••••••••

He opens his eye slowly when he feels someone caressing his hair, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face. Smiling a little, he finds you admiring him in his sleep, taking notes of every line and deep of his skin.

“It’s very rude to stare,” he says, his voice thick and raspy from all the crying he did last night.

“Not when he is my lover,” you whisper back, nuzzling your nose against his, “you look like a fairy when you sleep.”

“No one has ever told me that. How do you come up with such unique ways to describe me?” He leans over, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while he waits for you to answer.

“You are a wonderful muse for poetry, I shall start writing about your hair and eye!”

He keeps his lips sealed to your skin, sucking and nibbling until he is satisfied with the marks he has left. His pupil is blown out with a newfound lust; how can he not desire you when you are lying in his arms with your wild white hair plastered over his pillows?

“You are staring,” he chuckles at how breathless you sound. He hasn’t even begun to do anything and he already has you melting under his touch.

“Can you blame me? I have the most exquisite lady of the realm in my bed.”

“What happened to the insecure boy I held last night?” You ask while leaning up towards him, pushing him down on his back so you can straddle his narrow hips.

“It’s still here with us in this room, but he has begun to heal. You have helped him when he had no one,” his palms rest on your thighs.

“I need you,” it comes more as a plea, but Aemond obliges and flips the two of you over, hiding his face in your neck to prep it with kisses while he whispers that he needs you too.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a kiss, moving them together with a rhythm that encourages him to take the next step.

His hand inches downward, pushing past the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him.

“I-I have already lost my maidenhand…”

“I don’t care, I have you now,”

He silences your whine with another deep kiss, his fingers circling your clit until you are squirming and bucking your hips into his palm, your arms pulling him in by the shoulders.

He breaks the kiss, watching you take a deep breath when he pushes one digit inside while he tugs at the front of your shift, pulling it down until your tits are on display. He covers your chest with marks and bruises the same time another finger enters you, making you gasp loudly in pleasure.

He stretches you on his fingers, thrusting them in and out slowly at first, but soon he is speeding up, his patience running thin as he scissors you open not roughly to make it hurt, but to make sure you are ready to take him.

“A-Aemond, please, need you closer,”

He nods because he too can feel the need to become one with you, to take you as his, or more so you take him as yours.

His breeches are thrown on the floor, followed by his undershirt immediately as he takes home between your spread legs, one hand holding him up while the other guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. You both gasp in union when his tip nudges past your muscles, pushing in slowly and gently until he is sheathed inside you completely.

You throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your nails dig into his naked chest as he lets you get adjusted to his size.

“Can I move?” He asks, leaning down over you as he cages you beneath him, both of his forearms holding himself up against the pillow under your head.

You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he finally caves in and moves slowly; pulling his hips back a little before driving in.

The next minutes pass by him gently making love to you, circling his hips and kissing you, bringing you closer and closer to your highest point. You know you both are close when his groans and moans grow louder, and your voice matches his tone as he quickenes his pace, the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the chambers of the prince.

You both finish together; you with a gasp of his name, and him with a loud groan of yours as he fills you and you gush around him. He trembles above you, whether it is for the climax he experiences or the overwhelming love he holds for you.

He watches your face twist in pleasure — the pleasure he is giving you — and he memorizes every sound, counting each lash that he can while he himself rides his high with you.

He drops face down on the bed next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you look at each other with a satisfied expression on your faces.

“They would ask about our whereabouts if we are late for breakfast.” You say, giggling when he groans in absolute disgust — he is not ready to leave this room and face the world again when he knows he can stay and take you again, thrive in your attention and love for all day.

“Must you ruin this moment for us? Now I can only think about how to face your father after what we did.”

“You should look him in the eye and ask for my hand,” you sit up, throwing the cover off of you before getting off the bed “and you shall do it with the braids I do for you,”

“You are impossible,” he says, but he knows that behind his words, there is no hidden intent, nothing but adoration and playfulness.

“Come, sit!” You pull him off the bed as well, leading him to his vanity before pushing him down on the chair, both of you stark naked as you brush his hair slowly.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, his reflection doesn’t disgust him, it doesn’t scare him or make him self-conscious. He feels… beautiful, he feels worthy again of having this life, having you as his.

“Do you wish to know what I see when I look at you?” You ask him, letting his soft hair fall around his shoulders before you lean down, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He nods, hands coming to cover yours where they caress the skin above his heart.

“I see a broken man who needed to be saved. I see a boy, fierce and strong as he claims the largest dragon alive. I see my friend who danced with me in different gatherings, my beloved friend who built sandcastles with me and helped me with my Valyrian studies. I see my Aemond, finally freed from the labyrinth of his mind.”

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valentinevirgo · 6 days

Note

omg yessss I live laugh love the thought of carmy sighing with you kissing his stomach. it makes me think of things you do that unintentionally has carmy weak in the knees

like kissing the side of his neck when you're cuddling — or that time you placed your hands on his hips when squeezing to walk behind him at a crowded party.

he loves it when you play with his hair but will never directly ask you to do it, so he'll silently hope you'll do it whenever you two are together.

absolutely loses his mind when you do that thing while making out where you bite his bottom lip and suck on it, then go back to kissing. or when you bite his shoulder during missionary.

🩷🩷🩷

Yes yes yes to all of this.

This just goes with the fact that carmy definitely has physical touch as one of his love languages, but he doesn’t realize it for a very long time because he’s so touch starved.

So when he gets into a relationship with you, he starts realizing just how much he likes it when you touch him. It’s the little things that get him the most. Like when you curl up into his side on the couch and nuzzle into his neck. The sensation sends goosebumps all over his body.

One of his favorite ways to cuddle on the couch is by laying directly on top of you, with his head on your stomach. It gives you access to his hair so you can twist his curls around your fingers, and play with his hair.

Oh please when you’re making out with him? He nearly passes out the first time you bite his bottom lip. He has no idea it would have such an effect on him, but it nearly sends him to his knees. He groans into your mouth, and you pull away, thinking something’s wrong. “You okay, Carm?” After you’ve pulled back, you’re able to take in the sight of Carmy in front of you. His lips are red, swollen, and covered in a sheen of saliva. Carmy’s panting heavily with blown out eyes when he speaks.

“Why did you—why’d you stop? I liked it.” His voice almost sounds a little hurt that you stopped kissing him.

“Just wanted to check to be sure. Let’s keep going, yeah?”

From there, Carmen learns just how much he likes it when your teeth sink into him, in particular when he’s fucking you. He knows you’re about to cum when you bite at his shoulder; it’s become basically a habit for you, and Carmy can’t get enough of it. As soon as your cunt pulses around him and you bite his shoulder, he’s spilling into you the next second.

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valentinevirgo · 7 days

Text

Religion

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

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

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

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

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thus, her chambers became her prison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, husband.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, I-I ought to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She swallowed hard as the question spun in her head. Am I finally worthy of you, Aemond?

She wouldn’t dare ask him.

“What is it? Are you unwell?”

She was too lost in her thoughts to even hear his footsteps on the terrace. As her gaze flew up, she read the deep concern on his face, all lumped in the steep furrow between his eyebrows. He must’ve seen her grimacing, thinking she was in some pain. She was, but she was too much of a coward to tell him.

She resumed her fanning, averting her gaze and stretching her legs out further on the floor. “I feel like I’m boiling.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He deadpanned, raking his eye over her disheveled state; sprawled on that chair with her legs slightly open, her white chemise all crumpled and unbuttoned, and a bead of sweat on the forehead, in the crevice of her swollen breasts. He thought the times when a mere look at this woman would make him hard were gone once the novelty of having a wife, someone rightly and thoroughly his, had dissipated. He was wrong.

“I’m well aware of my lack of decency.” She replied, seeing how he was staring, the little inquiring curve in his eyebrow. “I’m afraid I care very little about decency at this moment. Blame it on your son.”

His lips curled up, watching her gather her loose hair with one hand while she kept fanning herself quickly with the other.

“Are you still inclined to believe for certain that it’s a boy?”

“I know it’s a boy. Only men can be this insufferable.”

That little smile on his lips lingered, deepened, and then he moved, going to stand behind her. “Let me.” He said, and took her hair between his hands. She couldn’t see what he was doing but got the gist as she felt his deft fingers moving and her neck free to get some air. When he walked around the chaise to sit beside her, she saw that his hair was loose. He had tied her hair with the black lace he always wore to prevent the silver strands from ending up in front of his eye.

She loved to see him like this: hair loose, eyepatch lost somewhere in a drawer, sitting next to her, even without saying a word. The sapphire seemed to match his eye, glowing a soft violet under the setting sun. She felt that familiar lump in her throat, as she stared at him, a restless thing flowing through her whole body, demanding to be released only to be trapped under her teeth, biting down her lower lip, starved and yearning.

“A little bird told me you put a hound on my trail.” she said at one point, shutting her little fan.

Aemond didn’t look surprised to acknowledge that she knew. He had actually ventured with himself about how long it would have taken her to realise he was spying on her every move.

“You are well aware of my duties now.” He said, turning his head to look at her. But not quite. His eye seemed to linger everywhere at once, fleeting, snatching a look here and there, her legs, her sweated neck, her belly…his own testament, as if she wasn’t one already.

You left your mark on her just as she did on you. Those were Alys’ words, at which he had ugly sneered. And she had laughed at the sight, eerily, as someone who owned the truth. I’m your spoil of war and yet, you speak to me ten paces away. What are you afraid of, Kinslayer? That your skin would burn like brimstone if you touched another woman?

“Besides,” he resumes “any lady would be flattered by her husband’s genuine concern.”

“You could flatter me in different ways.” was her prompt answer and she moved incredibly fast, given her impediment, getting close to him until she filled his nostrils. She smelled different since she was pregnant. A thick smell, musky. She tasted differently. Sweeter and somehow sourer. He swallowed at the mere memory. “We have talked about this.”

“And I’ve talked to the Maesters.”

His head spun around, forcing her to stifle a smile at his ever strictly reserved nature.

“They said there’s nothing wrong, or remotely dangerous, if we…engage in our conjugal duties.”

He tried to ignore her hand, her fingers traveling up his arm like a spider’s legs. “Did you need the Maesters to learn that?”

“No, but you do. You hang on their lips…I wish you hung on mine.”

Aemond heard her voice dropping a tone, and dropped his chin down, looking at her hand roving on his chest, shamelessly slipping beneath his dark green doublet, skin to skin. She glided on his planes slowly, making sure to trap one of his nipples in the little hollow between her index and middle.

“I don’t need them to know about my private matters.” He said mindlessly, trying to hold a grip on his thoughts.

“Seven Hells. It baffles me to witness how prudish you desperately want to appear while I perfectly know how debauched you really are, to the bone.”

“My debauchery is confined to these four walls.”

“Oh, is it? What about that time on our way to the Grand Sept?” She tilted her head, so she was talking almost in his ear. “Do you remember?”

Her hand on his chest was burning, or was it his own skin? His own flesh simmering wherever she touched him.

“Don’t do that.” She whispered when she saw his long legs cross. “Let me see. You have condemned me to do nothing else.”

His eye chased her hand as she grabbed his knee and pushed to uncross his legs, so that she could see, the outline of his cock through the breeches, see how he ached for her. “Do you remember what you did in the wheelhouse?” She asked again, looking at him; the sapphire was the only thing flashing violet now. His eye was pitch black.

“You put your hand beneath my gowns…” she said and her hand slid up against his thigh “you grabbed me, harshly.” And she did the same, forcing his mouth open and a shallow breath out of his throat. “And you grinned…because my garments were soaked.” he closed his eye for a moment, perhaps recalling, or maybe because her hand was moving, palming all his length through the breeches.

“And then you slipped your fingers underneath…” and again, she did just so, unbuckling his belt and sinking her hand in. He opened his eye, and basked in what he saw: that sort of silent, desperate plea in the little wrinkle between her eyebrows, in her heaving chest, in the way she was rubbing her legs together.

Thus, just when she was about to grab him, he grabbed her wrist instead and crashed his mouth against hers with a low growling sound. She could do nothing but moan, giving him open room to slip his tongue in and taste every corner, driving his body closer and closer, but not too much as to crush her.

She, on the other hand, felt free, finally, to roam, to rummage. Her hands grabbed and pulled everywhere, at his doublet, the collar, the buttons, the thin white shirt underneath it all, until everything was loose, and she was free to touch him, all the while making the sweetest wanton sounds, close to desperate whines. “Please, Aemond…” she begged freely, holding his face “just this once…please…”

He shushed her with another harsh kiss and with a free hand, he clutched her white nightgown into his fist, pulling up, enough to stick his arm between her legs. She spread them for him, panting with anticipation, and stopped breathing altogether when he cupped her core with the large palm of his hand. Aemond trapped her lower lip with his teeth, biting softly upon feeling how wet she was, dripping on his fingers, so much that he wished to fall on his knees and wipe it clean with his tongue.

“Please…” she breathed, barely rocking her hips to urge him to touch her.

“Hush.” he said, and curled his fingers, brushing his fingertips against her centre, gaining a delicious wince from her. “Tell me of the wheelhouse.”

She smiled breathlessly, her eyes hungry and heavy, full of lust. “It was the first time I wore green.” she started to tell. “We were still betrothed. I wanted to impress you.”

“Hmm. You certainly did.” He remarked, watching her closely while rubbing his index pad against her entrance, teasingly, making her squirm. “Go on.”

She felt like burning, her face hot for the sun, the baby, the ache in her lower belly, stirring and coiling. “You told the White Cloak to take another round…” she said, breathing with her mouth open. “You grabbed my waist and forced me on your lap.”

“And you pushed me away. Twice.” he’d laughed, flashing a grin that made her willing to shove him away, to pull him closer. “What a farse you put on.” he continued, leaving a chaste kiss on her neck that resulted in her writhing some more, pushing her pelvis against his hand. “I had to cover your mouth for your mewling. You were so fucking loud.”

It was then that he finally granted her some mercy, slipping one finger inside her drenched lips, spilling a long gasp from her.

“No. Not quite.” He observed cruelly and slid another finger, this time gaining a proper loud moan. “That’s more like it.”

His two fingers started to pump slowly, and yet she was making the lewdest sounds he’d ever spilled from her, arching her back as far as she could, scrunching her face almost in pain and pulling at his collar, twisting, as if he were torturing her instead of giving her pleasure. She made his cock stir painfully, his teeth grind for the ache, for the fact that she was coating his whole hand. “Easy now…” he warned her, his tone all husky. “You don’t want to come already, do you? ‘Tis the only thing you’ll get from me, sweetling…you better make it last.”

She whined in annoyance, forcing another grin on his ruthless lips, and with that same ruthlessness, he slowed his ministrations, only to cup one of her breasts with his free hand, squeezing softly until the thin, silky fabric slipped down, revealing her pink, swollen nipple. “I must say…I’m relieved you will summon a wet nurse…so these will be all mine.”

She had to stifle a breathless laugh at that. “Being jealous of your child is a bit too much, even for you…”

“Oh, my love” he crooned, freeing the other breast “I am jealous of the clothes on your skin.”

Wasting no time, he wrapped his lips around her nipple, causing her to arch against him once more, one hand flying down his shoulder, fisting his doublet, twisting it as he swirled his tongue and hummed with delight dripping from his tone, as if he were tasting honey, and the sweetest ever made.

His fingers resumed their frantic rhythm, sinking deep inside and stretching, hitting that special spot that made her sight go black, reduced to a mess of sweat coating every inch of her skin and a string of moans growing hoarse and high-pitched.

“Are you close? Hmm?” he rasped “How about another? Can you take another for me?”

He slipped a third finger in, causing her to wince and cling to his shoulders with her mouth open in a silent scream. “Good girl.” He praised at the sight. He wished he could savor it for a little longer, he wished to keep doing that again and again, until the sun went down and rose again, until there was nothing but ruin around them.

But she was so close now, he could feel it in her tensed arms around his shoulders, in her clenching walls around his hand, and quite frankly, the ache in his breeches was unbearable, twitching at every moan and squelching sound of his fingers inside her flesh.

She came loudly, curling her ankles on the ground and writhing in his hold as if in a delirium. He kept her still, his hand buried inside her, feeling the quick pulsing that rivaled the one in her heart. And he watched her, gasping for air and throwing her head back, utterly spent, hair all sticked to her forehead. In his eye she had never looked this beautiful.

He pulled his fingers out, making her wince slightly, and brought them to her mouth, smearing her spent desire on her own lips, like the final touch to a painting. And then he kissed her, humming at her bittersweet taste. He held her face gently, grabbing her jaw and angling her head to taste her better, eliciting a blissful sigh from the back of her throat that made his hardness throb. As if she had felt that, her hand had slipped between them with purpose, sinking past all his layers and taking hold of him.

She rejoiced in the little whimper he gave her, and started to work her hand up and down, making it impossible for him to kiss her any further, if not for a sloppy and panting mess of spit and teeth.

Given the unbearable pressure building past his navel, he knew he wouldn’t last long. And she knew that too. But she didn’t want to have him this way. Awkwardly, she stood up and spread his legs to make herself some room, but as soon as Aemond, despite the lack of blood in his mind, caught her intentions, he stopped her, grabbing her arms firmly.

“No…” he croaked. “Not on your knees.”

She couldn’t help the little surprise on her face. Aemond had never been this considerate, especially in bed. He could be gentle in his own way, subtly. Little hidden things in the way he would run his fingers through her hair once she had reached her peak, the way he would regain air once he’d spilled inside her, breathing into her neck and running his lips lazily against her skin. But most of the times, he was very diligent, all focused in giving her and himself the pleasure they both craved; he was somehow harsh, ruthless, a mirror of who he was outside the bedroom, possessed by some kind of urgency that would break her in the most beautiful and cruel way and put her back together at once.

But then again, she imagined the promise of his heir living inside her was affecting even one of the most ruthless of men.

She sat down again and watched him stand up, his breath labored and open-mouthed as he looked down at her, working the few laces of his breeches still tied. She didn’t need an invitation, an order, a mere tilt of his chin to sit upright and put her hands alongside his snatched waist.

She looked up, and he found himself swallowing hard, cursing silently at the sight of her looking straight into his eye with his cock a breath away from her, all hard and glistening on the tip. Shamefully, he thought that would have done it for him.

A coarse grunt left his lips as soon as she wrapped her mouth around it, teasingly swirling her tongue on the slit without ever averting her gaze from him. He hissed painfully when her lips started to travel along his length, trying with all his might to hold back and not spill into her mouth so soon.

She, on the other hand, seemed eager to watch him come undone, just as he had done to her a few moments earlier. She started to suck him eagerly, like a starved creature, because on all those nights and days when he had taken her apart, learning every inch of her and how to bend it to his will, she had done just the same.

She knew how to make him wince and moan openly, while on her knees on their bedroom floor or on a fucking terrace during a late afternoon, with likely anyone to walk on them at any moment. With the Gods watching.

She didn't care. The Gods didn't care for them anyway. Let them see to whom she fell to her knees.

He couldn’t stop looking, how pretty she was like this, swallowing him whole, up to the hilt, hitting her throat with a gagging sound. So lecherous, so holy.

He was so close he had to bite his lip to restrain himself, letting out a string of curses until he felt the pressure growing stronger, and then, he thought, he might as well have it his way.

“Stop…” he croaked, grabbing her cheek but delicately, slipping out of her mouth and running his thumb over her sore jaw. She closed her slicked mouth, a drop of spit running down her chin and she looked at him, with such devotion he thought he had nothing to envy the Gods.

“Let me…” he pleaded, wiping her chin clean with his finger. “Let me fuck your mouth, sweetling. Would you?”

A question that needed no answer. Indeed, he wasted no time and grabbed the back of her head, tilting it slightly up for a better angle. He sheathed himself all the way in, gasping deeply at feeling the hot walls of her mouth, her cheeks hollowing.

His fingers curled into her hair, but never in a hurtful way, enough to keep her still as he started to move his hips against her face back and forth, his open mouth quivering as the pleasure began to build where it left off.

“Fuck—” he cursed once, and then twice, fucking her mouth faster to chase his peak, pulling ever so slightly at her scalp until he went still altogether, pushed his waist hard against her, and grunted loudly, in a pretty uncharacteristic way, as his cock twitched and spilled down her throat until the last drop.

Panting harshly, he pulled himself out and watched her close her mouth, eyes fixed on him, working her cheeks and making no mystery of the white essence on her tongue before swallowing it, thoroughly.

Aemond let himself fall on that chaise and she watched, she drank that sight: his hair all disheveled and damp with sweat, a shade of pink on his cutting cheekbones as he slowly pulled himself together, breathing through his open mouth while buckling his belt and breeches.

“I think I’m going to take a bath.” She said at one point, clumsily standing up. He had mumbled something in return, still caught in the throes of what they had done, but before she got back inside, she turned and said “Oh, just so you know…all of this was a ploy.”

She smiled cunningly at his frowning. “I never had any cravings. And I knew about the White Cloak at the door since the first day you put him there. You are not as subtle as you think you are, my love.”

A man of few words, but loud actions.

Her pains came during a peaceful afternoon.

In haste, nursemaids began their frantic rounds in and out of the Princess’ rooms like soldiers, carrying hot water and boiled rags. The Dowager Queen abandoned her perch beside Queen Helaena, or what was left of her, and went to assist the Princess. Having borne four children, she had quite a bit of advice to dispense, things she had learned on her own skin, things that any Master would never have told her because oblivious and convinced they knew what happened to a woman's body at such a delicate time based on how deep they had buried their nose in an old dusty tome.

Alicent helped the Princess rise from the bed, clutched her arm firmly and helped her walk. She said it was vital to walk, that it would ease her pain and help the baby come sooner. She told her to squat when the pain hit. She rubbed her back and wiped the sweat off her face as if she were her own daughter. It felt like that. Even though the Princess seemed to face it all with a stiff lip, Alicent could see that she was scared and in terrible pain, that she probably wished for her mother to be there. She had wished the same, no matter how many times she had faced it.

“Your Grace?” The Princess asked after another wave of pain had come and gone.

“Yes, child?”

“Do you think your son would forgive me If I said this one is both the first and the last?”

The Queen had smiled at that. “If the Gods bless you with more children, it will be easier, I can assure you. The first time is always rough. But it shouldn’t be long now.”

Well, her good mother turned out to be wrong. Because the pain plagued her for a full night, giving her no peace. At the hour of the nightingale, the nursemaids forced her to bed, and she gladly went. She was exhausted, she could no longer walk without hissing at every step, and by that time she was so used to the pain she no longer whined or anything, only scrunched her face and ground her teeth.

The servants stripped her bare and replaced her sweat-soaked nightgown with a fresh one. They dabbed her face with a wet cloth, but she could barely register anything, floating into unconsciousness only to be brought back to the present as another pain choked her breath.

“Perhaps some Milk of the Poppy?” One of the nurses said at one point.

“No.” the Maester said. “She may need to start pushing any moment now. We need her vigil.”

Her heavy-lidded eyes opened, wandering helplessly around the room. Useless research, for she knew he wouldn’t be there. She didn’t expect him to be. The birthing bed was no place for men, save for the Maesters, although she was starting to doubt their real usefulness when all they could do was pull her nightgown up, take a close look and shake their heads. They might as well let Aemond be there.

She imagined he must’ve been waiting outside, or in the Council, and yet she ached to see him. She closed her eyes and searched for him in her mind, clutching the sheets in her fist as if she could clutch his hand instead. And then she felt someone’s hand closing around her own, loosening her grip. Alicent, smiling down at her, and holding her hand tight.

It was holding her good mother’s hand that, at the first light of dawn, she gave birth to her child. A boy, healthy and all screeching as soon as he was out of her womb, clad in blood and grease.

Aemond had decided to name the child Aenar, if it was a boy, after the first Targaryen Lord, and she couldn’t quite believe her eyes or force her tears back when he was finally admitted to their chambers and took their son in his arms for the first time.

Alicent was beaming at the sight, squeezing his arm. “Congratulations, my son.”

But Aemond didn’t seem to even register her mother’s words, or presence, utterly enraptured by his little creature. He cast a look at his wife, a secret little look that told her how proud he was of her, how relieving it was for both to have come this far after all that happened, to have this little thing, this little ounce of peace amidst all the chaos of war.

What she didn’t know at that time was that Aenar was not exactly a peaceful child.

She had believed there had finally come the time when she could be herself again. But from the earliest days, Aenar proved not to be an easy child to deal with. The newborn cried and cried for hours, plagued by belly aches, and seemingly able to calm down only when in his mother’s arms. They had obviously called on a wet nurse; highborn ladies did not feed their children themselves, let alone a Princess. But Aenar had categorically refused to latch onto his wet nurse’s breasts. Alicent had proposed to summon another one, but as they dawdled and wavered, the Princess felt her heart break into pieces each time she held her little baby in her arms, all red in the face, hungry and in pain, turning his head towards her cleavage, desperate for her milk. Thus, she had put aside ceremonial court and all of that and chose to feed him herself.

But it was a strenuous task. The Maesters had warned her it would be tiring, sleep depriving, but she really had no choice. She had to do it every three hours, sometimes less, because being latched onto her breast seemed the only thing that would prevent the baby from screaming at the top of his lungs all day long. The nursemaid had recommended fennel and chamomile for belly aches. And, instantly, Aemond had ordered an astounding amount of both to be delivered to the Red Keep’s kitchens.

Queen Alicent taught her to hold the baby on his stomach, to rock him, but not too fast. They told her to take several breaks during breastfeeding, to make the baby belch often and prevent air from his belly. In the first week after Aenar was born, her mind was all but a vessel of do this, do that. No, not this way. Don’t ever wake the baby when he’s sleeping. Try to sleep when he does. Don’t eat spicy dishes.

In the midst of all of this, Aemond turned more and more suffocating in all his well-hidden, self-consuming concern. A handful of white cloaks, the most trusted by Ser Criston, were constantly guarding the door, day and night. He had a secret passageway that led to his rooms walled up, and she could swear he slept with his dagger beneath the pillow. Evidently not at peace with such extreme measures, he had the cradle moved to his side of the bed, within his reach, so that every time she had to wake up because the baby was wailing, she had to walk around the bed and pray that she would not tumble to the floor in the dark.

However, she was at least grateful to have Aemond’s support, for the little he could do. If he wasn’t occupied with warfare or hearings, he spent all the time he had with her and their child. And in those moments, no matter how exhausted she was, she would always find the strength to smile at the view when he held their baby, tracing his long fingers over the velvety grizzled skin of Aenar’s small hands; even when he’d speak to him in Valyrian, at which she had frowned at first.

“You do realise he’s one week old?”

“”Tis never too soon.”

“Mh. What’s next? Bring him to the skies on dragonback?”

“I’ll have you know Vhagar is perfectly safe to—“

“Over my dead body.”

He had smiled and stood up, going to place the baby in her arms. Aenar immediately began to fuss, whining and turning his head against her chest. She had started to unbutton her chemise but then stopped, looking up, where Aemond stood still like a sentry, and watching.

She raised an eyebrow. “Am I putting up a show?”

“Usually, you do.” He drawled. “Am I not allowed to watch? It seems my son and I already share a few interests.”

She looked away, smiling, and then she freed her left breast, watching as the baby immediately latched onto it. A moment later, Aemond took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. He stared at her, and she saw that familiar glint his eye.

He trailed his thumb over her lip, barely breaching inside. “Soon?” was all he asked.

“Soon.” Was all she answered.

The soreness and the bleeding were reducing, and she was back in her tight flesh.

But the Gods must have cursed them some more, because that “soon” never seemed to become “now”.

The sickness didn’t seem willing to leave the poor child alone, along with his parents and the entirety of the Red Keep who had to suffer through his heartbreaking cries day and night.

The Princess had started to feel hopeless and guilty, no matter how many times the nursemaids, and even Queen Alicent, told her it was not her fault, that it was natural. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself they were right. Her heart broke any time the baby cried, wriggling desperately in her arms, in Aemond’s, in the cradle. She would end up crying too as she tried to soothe him, caressing his back with her cheek resting on his timidly silver-haired head.

She was working herself up to exhaustion, often falling asleep with the baby still latched onto her breast. It was Aemond who would take the baby to the cradle, it was Aemond who would button her chemise and pull up the blankets.

She hit rock bottom two weeks after Aenar’s birth, when she realised she hadn’t bathed in four days. Even Aemond, she could swear, was starting to look a little ragged around the edges. You don’t want to be King and take decisions in the middle of a war only to come back to a screaming infant at night.

But then, like a curse lifting, the sickness stopped. Amidst all those days she had stopped counting or even being aware of which was which, Aenar stopped crying. She was ashamed to admit that the first night he slept peacefully in his cradle, she had gone to check on him five times, to see if he was still breathing.

She began to gradually return to her former self, able to enjoy motherhood with a more rested mind, at least. Physically, she still felt worn out, given how much time she spent breastfeeding or rocking the baby to sleep. But now she was strong enough to take the baby out, walking the gardens with her maids and smiling proudly as the court ladies stopped to congratulate themselves and say how beautiful her baby was.

By doing this, though, she also became aware that she had lived in a bubble for so long that she had almost forgotten there was a war raging, there were battles being fought across the realm.

Reality hits her one day when Alicent goes to visit her and her grandson, bringing the news of a very important victory near the Honeywine, a large river flowing in the Reach, thanks to Prince Daeron Targaryen who had arrived all victorious on that very morning, riding his blue scaled dragon, Tessarion.

The news stuns her for a moment. She had no idea of it, partly because she had been too caught up with Aenar, but also because Aemond had not told her. Yet her family came from the Reach, they lived there, not very far from the Honeywine; her older brother fought for the Green Army. Still, not a word from Aemond.

Taking advantage of Aenar sleeping and the fact that Alicent offered to watch him, she leaves her chambers and heads for the Council. There’s a bustle of lords coming out of the door when she gets there, barely paying her any attention as they hastily babble about armies and supplies and men; always more men to be sent to slaughter.

She stops at the door, widening her eyes at the silver head crossing the threshold, one she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Prince Daeron.”

The youngest son of Queen Alicent and late King Viserys was nothing but a boy. But war had taken its toll on him too. He stood like a man, a Prince, and more than anything, a skilled dragon rider.

“Princess.” He says, tilting his chin down.

She curtsies and sees an immediate gentle smile softening his Valyrian features. “I believe some congratulations are in order.”

“Well, in all fairness, you shall be the most celebrated, my Prince. I’ve just heard of your recent victory.”

His gentle smile lingers, but loses its sparkle. “I must say I much prefer to celebrate life…rather than…the death of innocent men and women.”

There can’t be objections to such a statement; she just nods and casts a distracted glance inside the Council.

“Please…” the Prince says then, making room to let her pass “I won’t keep you away from my brother.”

She turns her head and smiles, tightly. “I’m afraid it is your brother who keeps himself away from me.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the Crown.”

“Indeed.”

The Prince bows to her and leaves.

Closing the door behind her, she glances at Aemond sitting at the head of the table, in the King’s chair, with such effortlessness that he seems to have been born exclusively for that purpose.

“I thought I heard you.” he says absent-mindedly, scribbling down a small piece of parchment. She slowly walks to the windows, casting a single furtive glance down, but she can’t possibly make out what he’s writing, or to whom.

“How’s—"

“Aenar is fine.” She cuts him off. “He’s with your mother, sleeping.”

He stops scribbling, glancing up for a moment. Her voice is tight, cutting. He knows that tone. It’s the same one she used in Harrenhal, as if he should have fallen to his knees and be grateful for the mere fact that she was speaking to him. But he doesn’t have time today to circle around her like a coiling snake, so he goes straight to the point. “Is something the matter?”

“You didn’t tell me of the Honeywine.” She says after a moment, gazing at the Bay.

Aemond sighes, a sign that he was expecting such a question. “You were looking after our son.”

“And?” she’s quick to rebut, quick to reach him at the table and stare down at him. “You didn’t deem it appropriate to inform me of a battle raging in my family lands?”

“I am your family.” He says, stoically, as if common law, and she has to stifle a bitter laugh. The nerve of him. “That is a very lovely concept. Strange how it got lost on you in Harrenhal.”

“Enough!” he barks, and the sudden harshness makes the quill pierce through parchment. “I thought I’d made myself clear.” He warns. “I don’t want to hear another word about the witch. Ever.”

She obediently looks down, regretting having said that, but not entirely. Perhaps she has spent so much time beside him that she, too, can’t let go of her grudges.

“I did not tell you, for I did not want to upset you.” He says, resuming his collected tone. “You were worn out by the baby, I didn’t want to put more weight on your shoulders.”

She knows he’s sincere. Still, her nod is stiff as she looks away, biting her cheek. She is just so sick of it all. Of being regarded as a cunt to be bred at first and now a weakling nailed to a cradle with an infant sucking the life out of her. She knows she’s not the first, and she won’t be the last.

Aemond leaves the quill and stands up, circling until he’s close to her. “Your family is fine.” He tells her, lingering behind her. “Daeron spoke to your brother this morning.”

She keeps nodding, keeping her gaze down on the table, all scattered with maps and little dragon-shaped tokens, some black, some green. She frowns, letting warfare soothe her petty spirits. “What is this?”

“Our next move. A defense plan…which happens to be an attack plan too.”

“A pincher?”

She turns just in time to see the little surprise on his face. “My brother talked of nothing else when we were children. He slept with warfare books as pillows.”

“Hmm.” He muses, and takes a step closer, slipping his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her collarbone. “Show me.”

She shudders at his sudden proximity, at his breath blowing on her neck. She shudders at anything these days. A hand on her back, his legs fumbling beneath the covers and casually brushing against hers. She’s tight as a fiddle string.

“A pincher is nothing else but a decoy.” She explains. “You let your enemy believe they have you trapped…” and in saying this, she grabs his hand and moves it across the map. “And then…at the right moment…” she makes him hold a green token between his fingers and brings it near a little division of black ones “you strike on both flanks.” And with a swift flick of her wrist, his hand scatters all the black tokens across the table. To do so, she must lean over the table, accidentally brushing her lower back against his bulge. He’s not hard, yet, but it thrills her to feel the lightning quick effect she has on him.

“Hmm. Good. Very good.” He praises next to her ear as she withdraws her hand; his voice is so low it makes her spine shiver. But she keeps herself grounded and asks “When will this happen?”

“Soon.” he whispers, placing his hand flat on her stomach. “There’s another Small Council shortly but Aegon wanted to be present. They went to fetch him.”

“Well, then I shall retire to my chambers. I feel a bit lightheaded from all the thinking.”

He ignores her jab and keeps her still by the arm when she tries to move. There’s a little sly smirk pulling at his lips. “I have some time to spare.”

“And how do you propose we spend it?”

“Enough with your pantomimes. I can feel your legs squirming.”

Curse him.

He slips the other hand straight into her corset, cupping her breast and humming with delight at how full she is, how it fills his large hand entirely. “Are you wet for me, my love?”

His teeth sink down her lobe, and at the same time, he pinches her nipple between his thumb and index, forcing an indecorous whine out of her. “My, my…” he laughs darkly, torturing her sensitive skin until he feels something wet on his fingertips, probably milk. “I could make you come just by doing this.”

Powerless, she yields, leaning completely against him, rubbing her lower back for some friction. “What if someone enters?”

“We’ll make it quick.”

“But I don’t want it to be quick.” She pants, grabbing his hand on her breast and squeezing; the other crawls behind her back to try to feel him through his breeches.

Hissing, when she starts to palm him, he says “Then we let them watch. They get to see how pretty you look when you come on my fingers, or my cock. Which should it be?”

“Both. Anything.” She answers hastily, pulling at his collar to bring him close enough to kiss him. He hums contentedly when she does, twirling his tongue around hers. It soon gets messy, each of them fighting for dominance, winning and losing in turn, until he spins her around, so he can look at her and with both his hands, he seizes her gowns and pulls up, furiously rummaging through them.

“How many fucking layers have you on?”

“I’m not pregnant anymore.” she points out, unbuckling his belt.

“Pity. Perhaps I should fuck another one into you to keep you in your skimpy robes.”

“Don’t you dare, Aemond—”

“Gods be good, brother! That eager to make another one?”

They both startle like little children caught doing something naughty, turning their heads towards the door, where two servants are carrying King Aegon on a chair. Aemond sighs annoyingly, letting go of her gowns as she does with his belt, trying to compose herself.

“My King.” She says, greeting her good brother with a tight little smile.

Aegon’s appearance has improved since Rook’s Rest, just as the burnings, but he carries with him the smell of Milk of the Poppy and rotting skin everywhere he goes.

“Good-sister. What are you doing here? Apart from being ravished by my brother... should you not be breastfeeding?”

Aemond gives him a level stare and then looks at her, hoping she will not take the bait. Aegon and his wife never got along well, to say the least. Things had only escalated with time, to the point that whenever they found themselves in the same room, one of them would wisely leave, his wife most of the times, lest they start to hiss at each other like two cats fighting for territory.

“What if I intend to stay and attend the council?”

Aegon giggles, as the servants put down the chair, and after a quick glance below her neck he says “I’m afraid you would be a little distracting. And my brother is not one for sharing.”

Before she can ask what in the Seven he is blabbing about, Aemond takes her arm and makes her turn, shielding her from his brother and the Lords coming through the door.

“You should retire.” He curtly says.

“Are you taking his side again?” she asks, wriggling her arm to free herself from his hold.

“You’re leaking.” He informs her, flatly.

At that, she frowns and dips her chin down, watching the front of her dress practically soaked in milk. “Oh.”

“I shall join you when I’m done here.” He tells her, and lets her out through the side doors.

Aemond did not join her.

The council lasted until the evening, a recurring thing when Aegon attended. Aemond was stern and concise in his decisions. Aegon liked to laze around, enjoying the wine in his cup, rattling his younger brother’s nerves. Deep down, she was convinced that Aegon did not really want to attend the Council because really interested in what to do, but only to remind his brother that he was still breathing and that the Conqueror's Crown on Aemond's head was a temporary measure.

But it didn’t matter. She would join him for the banquet in honor of Prince Daeron.

She was thrilled to go. It was not a proper feast. Since Helaena had fallen into grief, the atmosphere within the walls of the Keep had become rather austere. But a banquet still meant an occasion for conviviality, and after weeks and weeks spent locked up within four walls, the Princess was eager to spend some time outside her chambers. She had felt like a terrible mother at the mere thought. She loved Aenar, how could she not? But she also loved herself, her family, her marriage, Aemond. Especially Aemond.

Once she had put the baby to sleep, she had ordered her maid to prepare one of her favorite dresses, a green one, and to tie her hair in an elegant braided bun. When she had looked in the mirror, she had almost grunted. The scarce and troubled hours of sleep were all evident in the dark circles under her eyes, but it was nothing a little egg-white couldn't temper.

When she arrived at the banquet, Aemond was already there, standing in his usual soldierly stance, intent on talking to his mother. She approached them from the side, Aemond's blind side precisely, so that when she announced herself, he had to turn his shoulder to look at her. He cast a glance at her hair, ran his eye over her entire figure. She wasn’t expecting any kind of sappy words, and certainly not in front of his mother, nor did she desire them. She could feast on that look alone.

Queen Alicent excused herself to give order about the banquet, and they were left alone, while some musicians gathered in a corner of the hall.

“You said you would join me. I thought they abducted you.”

“More or less.”

“Ah. Yes, I'm sure it must have been so hard for you to listen to the lords snapping like little soldiers at your command.”

“It pains me to acknowledge how little you know me, when you think I'd rather talk war with those wimps who can't even hold a sword than fuck my wife till dawn.”

“That was your plan?”

“We have some unfinished business, don’t we? And don’t play dumb. You’re wearing green. You’re not as subtle as you think you are either.”

“Good. I’m sick of subtleties. So, are you going to ask me to dance?”

Aemond rolled his eye and gave her a stare that told her he’d preferred to walk barefoot on lava.

“Still not fond of dancing, eh?”

Prince Daeron suddenly appeared between them, with his cheerful manner and his head of silver curls, dressed in dark green just like his older brother. “Strange. You were the only one listening to the lessons when we were children.”

“Yes, because you and Aegon acted as court jesters the whole time.”

“I’ll have you know, brother, I have refined my dancing skills in Oldtown. So…may I dance with my good sister?”

Aemond gave him a simple nod, and Daeron bowed to her gallantly, raising his palm up.

She kindly accepted the invitation and placed her hand on his. “Don’t sulk too much.” She whispered to her husband before following his brother.

Aemond watched closely as they started to dance, stealing all the attention, and despite that little primitive tug at the sight of his woman dancing with another man, even though that was his brother and there was absolutely nothing malicious in his or her intentions, he was glad to see her like this, spinning and twisting around instead of lying still in the cold with dread eating her alive.

When the dance ended, Daeron escorted the Princess back to Aemond and took his leave. “Remind me again,” she asked as she watched the young Prince leave “How is it that your brother is still unmarried?”

Aemond sighed deeply and took her arm to escort her to the table. “I’d give you one week before you’d get bored of him.”

While they waited for dinner, the lords and ladies of the court were obviously very eager to hear Prince Daeron. Alicent in the first place, after so much despair, and after being separated from her youngest son for years, seemed to smile with her eyes every time she heard him speak.

“Hear, hear!” one of the lords cheered after listening to Prince Daeron’s retelling of the Battle of the Honeywine. “A brave soldier and a brave dragon rider! I propose a toast.”

At once, everybody stood up, raising their glasses. “To Prince Daeron, to House Targaryen!”

“And to House Hightower.” The Prince proudly stated, raising his glass towards his mother.

As they sat back, the Queen ordered the servants to serve the dinner. The table was gradually filled with a great variety of dishes, many of them Prince Daeron's favourites, specifically ordered by his mother to make him feel at home. It had been weeks and weeks since such a banquet had been seen at King's Landing. Prince Daeron seemed very pleased and grateful, as did all those present who watched the rich dishes crowd the table, and lastly, the huge tray of fresh fruit that a servant laid in the middle.

“I can’t quite believe my eyes. Blackberries? This far in the season?” said Lady Bracken.

“I’m afraid that is entirely my fault.” The Princess chirped, catching Aemond’s attention from across the table.

“I had a sudden craving, while I was carrying Aenar.”

“I had one too with my first.” Lady Redwyne joined in. “Plums, specifically.”

“Did you find them agreeable, Princess?”

“Oh, very much indeed.” She stated, casting an innocent glance around, but lingering for just a moment longer on her husband. “I devoured so many…I still feel the taste on my tongue.”

Devious woman, he thought, fighting back his cursed smirk. He had half a mind to excuse themselves and retire to their chambers, if he managed to endure it all the way and not take her in the middle of a hallway.

She seemed able to read his mind, judging by the way she was looking at him, unfurling a napkin on her lap. He knew her well enough to foresee when she was in a teasing spirit, and he was all in for it.

But then, just when they were about to start eating, her trusted maid came in, going straight to the Princess. “Apologies your Grace.” she said to her ear “but the Princeling is awake.”

Aemond saw the concern instantly widening her eyes and then a shadow passing over her face. “Yes…” she said, and stood up talking to all the present. “My apologies. I must retire.”

“See?” said Lady Bracken as Aemond watched his wife leave the hall. “This is why I refused to breastfeed. No matter how my second would scream…”

By the time she had done breastfeeding, her chest hurt so much that the maid had to place some rags soaked in cold water directly on her nipples; the instant relief had made the Princess close her eyes and almost moan. She had planned to go back to the banquet as soon as Aenar had had his fill but as she gained relief by pressing those wet rags to her breasts, she realised her son wouldn’t let her get away that easily.

As soon as the maid had taken him, trying to put him to sleep, he had begun to fuss and wriggle, whining in what she knew would soon turn into a high-pitched, deaf inducing crying.

Perhaps he’s cursed too. She had thought exhaustingly, promptly kissing his silver little head.

She gave up on her plan to go back to the banquet and rocked the baby herself, pacing before the windows while whispering sweet soothing words.

As soon as he had dozed off, she put him in his crib and absent-mindedly grabbed a book from Aemond's desk, lazily leafing through it while rocking the cradle with the other hand.

Aemond finds her like this when he opens the door on his way back from the banquet. She looks up from the page and sees him striding purposefully towards her, snatching the little book in her hands and throwing it on the bed.

She’s shocked, to say the least. One might say he treats books far better than his subjects.

“What—“ she tries to say but he takes her hand and pulls, forcing her to stand up and follow his steady gait.

“Aemond?” she asks down the corridor, a girlish grin climbing on her lips. “Where are you taking me?”

He doesn’t bother to answer but she doesn’t have to wait long to find out. They stop before a door down the corridor opposite to their chambers, Aemond pushes her inside without so much grace and shuts the door behind them.

She looks around briefly; the room is warm, the fire in the hearth is lit, as the candles scattered all around. This is all familiar. “These are my old chambers…” she says with a little frown, turning to him.

“Quite the observer, wife.” He drawls, and takes a few steps. His stride is different now. Slow, contemplating, as his gaze raking over her, as if he in the first place doesn’t know why he brought her here and he’s assessing what to do. A war map, and he knows where all the faults lie.

“I thought we could spend some time together” he starts, walking past her to go sit near the fire “Alone.” he adds once he leisurely sits down, crossing his long legs and resting his hands on the armrests. “What better place than a vacant room? No one will come looking for us here.”

She tries as hard as she can to stop the little smirk at the corner of her lips; she walks closer, stopping right in front of him, staring down. “They might hear.”

“Hmm. And that is much of a trouble for you, isn’t it?” he asks with the most fake genuine tone, taking a cup from the nearby table, and then “You sucked my cock on a terrace and begged me to fuck you in the Small Council…I thought I told you to quit your act.”

She smiles openly now, watching the wine pouring in the cup, his eye fixed on the liquid as his eyebrow shots up. “Besides, I know exactly what to do to muffle your noises.”

“You should be proud of my noises.”

“I am.” He says, taking a sip of wine, his eye piercing through her above the cup’s brim. “But for once, Aegon is right. I’m not one for sharing.”

His arm moves to put the wine aside but she takes it, only to feel his hand pulling the cup away from her. “You cannot drink.”

“Fine.” She concedes, leaning on him. “I’ll have it my way.”

She holds his face and with her left hand she glides her fingers on the left side of his face, delicately but with purpose, pushing the eyepatch off. And then she kisses him, eagerly, licking his lips and then breaching inside to taste the wine on his tongue, on the roof of his mouth.

She sighs deeply when he locks his tongue with hers, and feels his lips curling.

“Did you hear it?” He says breaking the kiss, breathing into her mouth. “That one is my favorite.”

“Your favorite what?” She asks mindlessly, chasing his lips but to no use, because he tilts his head back, his cursed smirk ghosting.

“Noise. It’s a little thing…” he tells her, locking one hand around her neck “in the back of your throat, close to a sigh but not quite…” his fingers trails against her throat, chasing her swallowing “It tells me you’re dying to.”

“To do what?”

“Fall on your knees for me. Be a supplicant.”

She grabs the back of his neck, driving his head close and looks down at his arched mouth “You cannot live without God, can you?” She looks up, her mouth open to breathe “Seven of them seem to have cursed me. I had to find my own.”

His eye widens at that. He looks straight into her eyes, so devoted, so raw. She’s right. The Gods would curse her some more if they saw she looks at him the way she should look at the Gods.

“Then do it.”

“What?”

“Flatteries don’t work on me, sweetling. You should know that.” With his hand on her neck, he slightly pushes her away, making some distance between them. “You will have to show me.”

“What would you have me do?”

His hands let go of her completely, resting on the armchair. The gemstone glints blue, and yet it’s nowhere near the bright cursed thing in his eye. “Get on your knees for me. Now.”

She should be ashamed of the pull in her bones, the muscles willing to move on their own accord and fall to the ground. But why, why does it have to be sin? Why can it not be religion?

When her knees hit the ground, she sees his chest rise, his long fingers spreading flat on the armchair. But her eyes fly back to his face as soon as he speaks, as soon as he commands. “Take off your dress.”

His eye sinks down, watching her hands work the corset, steadily. It’s the only sound in the room, this tugging, at the dress. But she tugs at his cock too. She tugs between her own legs.

When the dress is nothing but a pool of green on the ground, she goes to pull down her white chemise, but she suddenly stops. Aemond uncrosses his legs and the air hitches in her throat as his hands go straight to his belt, unbuckling it.

He revels in the little lump in her throat. Perhaps later he will let her have what she’s craving, but not so soon. “Give me your wrists.”

“My—”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Swallowing, she keeps her eyes on him and raises her hands, like an offering. Aemond takes off his belt and leans forward, enough to take her hands and cross her wrists. She shudders at the sharp tug when he wraps the leather around, tying them tight.

“On your feet.”

And up she goes, testing her hands briefly but finding soon that she cannot move them, at all.

“Come.”

It takes one swift movement of his leg, bending the knee while the other rests loosely on the ground, for her to get the gist and walk closer, sitting on his knee, sideways.

“No. Like this.” Quite harshly, he grabs her hips and turns her so that she’s straddling his thigh. He can hear her little gasp when he pushes his thigh firmly against her core. He can feel her warmth through the fabric, stirring his cock. But he pays it no mind, for now.

“What now?” She asks, poised precariously on his thigh.

Aemond tilts his head, and he just looks at her. In the spur of a moment, a boyish one that doesn’t sit well with how he’s built, he thinks he might be quite contented by merely looking at her. Because she’s beautiful and mine, mine, mine.

But his hands are burning, they might fray and wither if he doesn’t touch her. He unties her hair, running his fingers through them as they fall around her shoulders. The Maiden. The Mother. And yet something better, something worse. Because her eyes are hungry, her mouth is starving for air, for his flesh.

“You must toil to find God.” He says, and then he grins. A savage thing, full of promise. “Bring yourself to come.”

A flash of thrill lights up her face, darkens her eyes and Aemond tilts his head again, biding all the time in the world, for he knows she will.

Tentatively, she pushes her body down, against his thigh, feeling a timid shot of pleasure traveling up from her core, ending in a short, labored breath.

That noise, that might be his second favorite.

Soon, her hips start to move back and forth, each time trying to push herself down as hard as she can, making little breathless cries each time she fails to give herself the friction she needs. She has little balance due to her tied wrists, so she rests her palms on his chest to gain some leverage. And that seems to do the trick.

She tilts her head back, moving faster, doing little jumps on his thigh, panting harshly as sweat lumps on her forehead and pleasure coils in her belly.

Aemond hikes up her chemise, watches her cunt brushing back and forth against his leg, leaving a trail of wetness on the fabric of his breeches. He has to choke down a growl. “Gods, you’re soaking me…”

She looks down at him, her cheeks pink, her lips open in a little o. He can’t help himself. He sticks two fingers inside and how relishing it is that she waits for no invitation or order. She laps, twirls her tongue around his fingertips, sucks them.

“Look at you…” he croons, taking his fingers out, leaving a trail of saliva down her chin. “But you can’t, can you? Perhaps I should fuck you before a mirror, so you see. You see how pretty you are when you’re desperate for me.”

His hand travels down her neck, tossing her hair back and then grasping the strap of her chemise, pulling it down, revealing her swollen, turgid breast. He leans forward immediately, cupping it in his hand, and takes the nipple into his mouth, crooning contentedly and then some more when he feels her wince and cry out loud.

Her tied wrists writhe in their merciless hold and he stops her, gripping both her hands with one of his own, keeping her still, lapping and sucking at her nipple until he feels something wet and saccharine on his tongue, humming all the better. He grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud, and she cries out again, bucking violently against him, turning sloppy and frenzy as she feels the fall close.

He feels it too, feels her thighs trembling around him, and that’s when he takes her hips in a tight hold and forces her to stop altogether.

“Did you think I would make it so easy?” he asks spitefully, seeing her dazed expression. Wasting no time, he holds her firmly close to him and stands up. It takes him only two of his long steps to reach the bed and place her above. In a moment of illusive freedom, her tied wrists fly to his breeches, to his evident hardness, but he’s quick to stop her, bringing her arms above her head, keeping them there with a firm hold. “Stay still.”

“Aemond—“ she pleads.

“Hush. Spread your legs.”

She obliges, eager for him to do something, anything to stop the aching. Aemond wets his fingers on his tongue and brings them down, breaching inside her with two of them, watching her gasp, arch her back and twist her wrists in his hold, uselessly. “Easy…” he cruelly laughs “I have just started.”

But she hasn’t. She’s a few steps away from the precipice of her previous denied peak, it would take him so little to push her over the edge. Instead, his torture is so slow that the whole coiling in her belly falls apart and she must climb her peak again.

His two fingers slip in and out ever so easily, their wet sounds echoing through the room, mixed with her panted breaths and his own. He aches for her to touch him, he aches so much that his cock is pulsing, painfully, but this is just too thrilling. Now he knows exactly how she felt in Harrenhal, when she had him chained up to a chaise.

Her hips rock frantically against his hand, trying to speed him, to get there faster. Mumbling nonsense, her legs tense like iron, her cunt clenches and sucks his fingers in like a vice. “Yes…yes, please…Aemond…please don’t stop—‘m so close…”

And just like that, he slips his fingers out; a dark pleasure dances on his candle-lit features as she writhes and whines for the loss of his fingers, swinging her lower back and forth, desperate for the barest friction that would end her misery.

“Aemond, please…” she says, and even with only one eye, he can’t mistake the tears of frustration at the corners of her eyes.

“What, my love?”

“Plea—” she’s cut off by his hand, pushing his sticky fingers inside to make her clean up her mess.

“We said enough with subtleties, did we not? Speak. Tell me…what you need me to do?”

“Let me come please…please…”

At that, he finally lets her wrists go, and she almost winces in pain, for the time she had them tensed above her head. He stalls for a moment, unsure, running his eye over her whole body, sweating and feverish, and so beautifully plump because of motherhood. He unbuttons his doublet, and then his shirt, his breeches. He bares himself completely, catching her eyes following his deft hands everywhere, breathing heavily.

He kneels between her legs, spreading them. And it’s embarrassing, really, the way she tumbles as soon as he puts his tongue flat against her drenched folds. If only she cared.

It takes only a couple of twirls of his tongue around her lips, and she comes undone, shaking all over, canting her slit against his face. He helps her ride out her climax, by not stopping at all. Instead, he doubles his efforts like a man possessed, pushing his mouth open against her cunt as if he wished to devour it, sucking harshly until she whimpers hard, choking on a loud sob. “Aemond—wait—I can’t—”

She cannot take more so soon. But he’s utterly deaf to her complaints.

He feasts on her, lapping and dipping his tongue in, parting her folds to go as deep as he can, humming while drinking all of her; his voice reverberates through her flesh, it makes her bones rattle.

His long nose rubs against her bud and he looks up: she trashes about the sheets, cutting herself as the belt leather scratches her skin. She tries to push him away with her tied wrists, to no use. She clamps her legs around his head, in a desperate attempt to chase him away, sobbing for the unbearable stimulation. And yet…and yet her hips move on their own whim, bucking with sharp jolts until the wave starts to rise, higher and higher, and she drowns in it, letting go a high-pitched cry, clutching his scalp with both her tied hands, scraping, pushing him against her as she rides her peak against his face.

He swallows everything, licking her clean, moaning softly at feeling her pulsing on his tongue.

“Enough…I—Aemond you have to stop…” she rasps breathlessly.

“Why?” he asks, finally rising from where he had perched himself; he climbs on her, until he speaks to her face. “I am only making up to you. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

She can smell herself on him, she can see herself, glistening on his mouth, chin, even his cheekbones.

“Answer me.” His hand grips her jaw “You said you wanted everything.”

She chokes down a whimper when he leans completely on her, feeling his cock against her cooling flesh, while he’s hot and hard and heavy.

“I will give you more.” He says, brushing a strand of her sweat-soaked hair from her temple. “I will give you another child. Keep you all aching and wet for me while you swell with my child. Do you think I don’t know? How you ached for me? D’you think I didn’t?” he presses himself down, so she can feel it thoroughly, furrowing her brow as her body already answers to his call.

“I can feel you in our bed…” he keeps rasping “rubbing your legs together. And you know how much that bothers me. Your pleasure is mine to take…and to give.”

Her lips part, gasping roughly. She was so hung on his lips that she hadn’t even registered that he had taken hold of himself, bending her knee on his left hip, and guided himself in.

She arches against him while he slowly sheathes himself all the way in, moaning with long-awaited relief. He stays still for a moment, adjusting, but also because he takes her wrists and sets her hands free.

Thrilling as it was, he wants her hands on him, he craves her touch.

He wants her to cling to his shoulders as she always does, digging her nails down.

He wants her to clamp her fingers on the back of his neck, scraping and pulling his hair to keep him close enough to moan into his mouth.

He wants her hands on his back, sliding down, to push him even deeper while rutting inside her.

And she does all of that. She finds God.

4K notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 7 days

Note

“okay, slow down, you’d never done this until 5 minutes ago” with virgin carmy 🧎🏼‍♀️

Hello, Anon! 💜

Of course! This takes place in his Copenhagen era. Thank you for allowing me to continue my ongoing campaign for Virgin!Carmy 😌 I hope you like it!

"I didn't expect you to cook," you said, watching Carmy plate pasta with ease, a healthy serving of parmesan cheese on top. "Thought you'd be sick of it at the end of the day. It smells delicious, by the way."

"Thanks," he smiled shyly as he sat in front of you, the boat swaying a little. "Wanted to make you something from home."

You didn't know what to expect when Terry arranged for you to meet up with her new golden boy, Carmy, but this was feeling more and more like a blind date. Weirdly enough, you didn't mind her meddling this time.

"Where's home?" you asked.

"Chicago. You?"

"I don't even know where my home is anymore. Before Copenhagen, I was in London for a long while. And I haven't been to visit Aunt Terry in months..."

Carmy arched an eyebrow but didn't ask.

"She's my godmother, Chef Terry, not my actual aunt. I don't usually tell people about it, don't want to make her look bad," you shrugged, something about Carmy made it so easy to open up. "For whatever it's worth, I tried to stay away from cooking and baking and everything, I really did. I just couldn't."

"I get it. Why desserts though?" he asked.

"There's something freeing about them," you bit your lip, trying to put it into words. "You know how they're described, right? It's always decadent, confection, guilty pleasure - things like that. You can be creative."

When you looked up, Carmy was smiling - he looked younger and softer.

"I like that. Sounds nice."

"It is," you smiled back and took a forkful of spaghetti. It was delicious. "Oh, this is incredible," you hummed.

Carmy beamed.

While you dried the dishes, you caught a glimpse of one of Carmy's drawings.

"You make these?"

He looked up from the sink and flushed. "Helps me remember details," he explained shyly, avoiding your gaze.

You learned he had notebooks full of vegetables and dishes, diagrams for plating and cooking. You were surprised to find one of the pastries you had been working on perfecting there too, notes scribbled on the side. Your fingernails traced the lines carefully.

"You can have it," he offered.

"Really?"

He had an adoring, boyish look on his face and you melted inside.

"Yeah," he said, tearing out the page and giving it to you.

"Thanks," you said and without thinking, leaned in to kiss him.

It was quick, a gentle peck. As soon as you parted, you realized you wanted more - you both did.

"Can you- Would you do that again?" Carmy asked.

You tilted your head, moving slowly, relishing the moment right before the kiss, the way his lips parted slightly in anticipation. When you pressed your lips to his again, you took your time, let him cup your face and caress your waist as your tongue touched his lower lip.

When you parted, he looked relieved - that you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

"I didn't think we would do anything like this tonight," you said, your voice breathy from the kisses Carmy was leaving on your neck and collarbone.

You had spent the last half hour making out on his bed, slowly losing layers of clothing. Your blouse and trousers were on the floor, along with his jeans and t-shirt. His right hand was on your breast, caressing your nipple through the fabric of your sports bra, your right hand was palming his cock through his boxers.

"Neither did I," he exhaled into your skin, his thumb hooking on the elastic of your panties. "It's good though?"

He looked up at you for confirmation.

"I- uh-" you hesitated.

"Shit," Carmy froze, starting to withdraw from you.

"No, wait, Carmy," you grabbed his wrist before he could get away. "It's great. You're great. It's just, I've been busy so I didn't- It's a little hairy down there is what I'm trying to say," you said awkwardly, your fingers intertwined with his on your hip, trying to convey your meaning.

Carmy tilted his head, confused. "Okay... Something wrong?"

"I don't know if you're, uh, used to girls that shave it all or- I don't know. Men can be assholes about body hair," you said, a little defensively.

"I'm not used to anything," Carmy said, chuckling nervously. "I like what you look like."

"Oh," you smiled. "Okay."

"Okay?"

You nodded, getting rid of your bra, while he tugged down your underwear.

Carmy got close, his right hand moving to cup your pussy, carding his fingers through the hair, caressing. It made you hum.

"Want to taste you," he whispered.

"Yes," you squeezed his bicep, encouraging him.

"Just- Shit. I think I might be bad at it," he said, his eyes suddenly looked vulnerable.

"Evil ex told you that?" you asked gently, trying to lighten the mood.

He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "I've never done it," he confessed. "Don't want to fuck it up with you."

"Carmy," you touched his chest, tracing soothing patterns, calming him. "You said you wanted a taste, right?" he nodded. "There's no way you can fuck that up. If you make me feel good, that's great but I don't need it to be perfect, okay?"

He kissed you, slow and soft - thank you. Then, deep and full of lust - I want you.

He made his way down your body, licking and nipping at skin, stopping between your legs. You opened them wider for him to settle. He took a good look at you, fingers touching your outer lips with care.

"Beautiful," he exhaled and it tickled you in the most delicious way. You shivered.

He started giving you long, vertical licks, tracing the contour of your folds, almost like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. You moaned low. It was good. There was no rhythm to it but was making you wet and restless.

"Mhmm," you encouraged him, carding your fingers through his curls.

Tracing the lines of you and listening to your breathing, he found your clit. After a couple of his licks were followed by sharp inhales he decided to stay there, kissing and licking, becoming frantic, quickly addicted to the sound of your pleasure.

"Oh! Fuck. Okay, slow down, you’d never done this until five minutes ago," you pulled on his hair, trying to keep his tongue from completely undoing you.

"Shit. That bad?" Carmy asked, sitting up.

"Too fast," you tried to catch your breath. "Too fast."

"Fuck, sorry," he soothed the skin of your thighs and your hips.

"It's- You found the spot. That's good. Just- take your time with it," you explained. "Let me savor it."

He chuckled, your play on words reminding him that he had tasted you and then some.

"Okay," he kissed the valley between your thigh and your hip, soft and sensual, like he was trying it out.

You smiled fondly, watching him slowly kiss his way back to your pussy, open-mouthed, gentle. A needy sound caught in the back of your throat when he finally got close to where you wanted him.

Carmy's eyes widened.

"Oh. Got it," he mumbled, realizing that half the fun was making you wait for it.

He tortured you, carefully finding every place that gave you pleasure. Then, he built up a rhythm that had you writhing on the sheets, fighting the grip he had on your hips, trying to fuck his face, and he paused.

"I've made a monster," you complained, panting and caressing his face - shiny with his sweat and your arousal.

"Fuck," he groaned. "Can't believe you're letting me do this."

You exhaled and giggled giddily. "Can't believe you're enjoying this so much."

"Mhmm," Carmy nuzzled the inside of your thigh, his roman nose tracing zigzags while you caught your breath.

When he started again, he was a little rougher - sucking harder than he had dared so far, hoisting your legs above his shoulders. You moaned low and squeezed your breast, looking for something to keep you grounded. Carmy caught your movements and rushed to replace your hand with his, humming in approval as you intertwined your fingers. You closed your eyes, overwhelmed with pleasure.

He stopped for a second.

"Eyes on me," he growled.

And he kept on devouring you.

You struggled to keep eye contact with how vehemently he was sucking on your pussy, lewd noises coming from his mouth. He was making you gasp for breath and grab desperately at the bedsheets underneath.

You were vaguely aware of the mattress shaking - was Carmy grinding into it? You didn't check or ask any further questions - he was humming in delight against your pussy, lips closed around your clit and eyes fixed on you. He arched his eyebrows. Now? You nodded eagerly.

"Please, Carmy," you keened.

He kept sucking on you, his grip on your breast and thigh getting forceful enough to bruise as you reached your high. You came with a needy sound, something between a whine and an exhale, legs shaking and hips grinding towards his face.

You regained your bearings just in time to see Carmy humping the mattress desperately, drowning gravelly moans into your thigh as he came too.

"Fuck," you sighed, your fingers soothing Carmy's scalp, probably sore from you pulling on it hard all that time. "Oh, my God. Carmy..."

"Sorry. Shit, sorry," he panted, his sticky cheek resting on your hip.

"Are you seriously apologizing for making me cum?" you giggled.

"I couldn't hold it back any longer," he explained.

You didn't tell him how hot it was to see him like that, completely lost in wanting you, cumming in his boxers because he liked eating you out that much. He wouldn't believe it.

So instead you said: "Guess that means we'll have to see each other again. So I can repay the favor."

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valentinevirgo · 8 days

Text

Loathe to Love

Aemond Targaryen x Strong Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Seeking forgiveness is not a thing Aemond bothers himself with, but that quickly changes when he deeply offended you.

Warnings: ¿Softer Aemond?, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (F receiving), Targcest, Not Proofread

Word Count: 6,411

Prequel: Blessed Curse

A/N: Based on a request where they wanted "Reader is Rhaenyra's daughter, who, like her brothers, doesn't have Valyrian characteristics. A scene like at dinner, in which Aemond accuses his nephews of being strong and, consequently, his wife too." (!Not related to the past two fics that were Aemond x Reader Wife!)

A blessing or a curse? Neither of you knew how to take and label this marriage devised by your grandsire. It was a final plea to unite your estranged family, offering you as Aemond’s bride because the King’s fading mind was still set on how you and Aemond were entirely fond of each other in childhood. However, that sentiment had completely changed during the fateful night in Driftmark. Whatever fondness you and your uncle had in childhood had rolled away with the tides in your supposed father’s home. Affection turned into animosity, and animosity quickly turned into resentment.

However, with the marriage you and Aemond were succumbed to, you both tried your most ardent effort to work through past differences. And with half a year since your union, you and Aemond had almost fully buried the grievances you harbored against each other. Gone now was the reluctant prince who stood by the end of Sept waiting for his bride, who was practically dragged down the aisle. Looks of unbridled hatred had faded and turned to looks of passion and longing. Deep-rooted loathing was slowly fading into love that both of you had yet to admit to the other.

You broke fast in the gardens with your husband, a daily tradition that you and him established since the first days of your marriage. Most of the time, it would be just the two of you, but on some days, you two would be joined by his siblings and his mother, who surprisingly did not hold such great bitterness for you when compared to other members of your kin. And on a day such as this, you were joined by the queen and her only daughter, Helaena. “I saw the maids preparing some of the guest chambers. Are we to host a lord and their house, my Queen?” You asked your mother through marriage with a tilt of your head, your hand intertwined with your husband’s under a table, hidden from anyone’s view.

Aemond raised his eye from the book he was reading and placed it on his mother. “Not particularly guests… your mother and your brothers are set to visit,” She replied, and your brows shot up in surprise. Aemond turned to you, plush lips agape in shock. “Did you not know?” The queen asked, and you shook your head. “No… they had not written to me about such matters,” You said, your lips twitching into a smile of excitement as you had terribly missed our family. You turned to your husband; whatever reaction he had was hidden behind his ever-stoic expression. However, you did feel his hold on your hand grow tighter. Though his animosity towards you had died with every kiss shared and every hour spent in each other’s arms, you could not say that that would be the case for the other members of your family. You could practically feel the tantalizing anger within radiating off him.

“I’m going to the tiltyard,” Aemond suddenly announced and abruptly stood up, making you sigh. His mother and sister nodded, but before his departure from breakfast, you felt him place a chaste kiss on your temple before walking off. Leaving you wide-eyed and blushing before his kin for neither of you had displayed such affections so openly. The touches and kisses and pleasures you shared were saved for the privacy of your marital chambers, and to have him do such an affectionate action in front of others was completely uncharacteristic of him. You lower your head as you feel your cheeks burn red, but if you had kept your head held up high, you would see a small smile on the queen’s lips, for she too was shocked and amused by her son’s actions. Never had she imagined for her favored son to find a wife that would bring out the warmth and tenderness in him that everyone believed to be lost the day his eye was taken by your younger brother.

For the rest of the day, you were busied with your engagements with the other ladies of the court to the point that the day had faded into the night. It was past the usual time of your supper, and you were certain your husband was preparing himself for bed, which is why it was a surprise when you entered your marital chambers with Aemond seated by the table where a meal for both of you lay, untouched. “You still have not eaten?” You asked as you stood behind your seat that was across your husband’s. “I was waiting for you,” Was all he said, as he motioned for you to sit. You blinked at him; the warm, flickering light of the fire illuminated his silver locks that were unique to your house but you had not inherited. The silhouette cast made his angular, Valyrian features more prominent, and you could not help but feel a small pang of jealousy, for you were never blessed with such acclaimed features that your house was celebrated for.

You licked your lips and removed your gaze from your husband’s lilac eye. You took your seat and quietly watched him as he placed items of food onto your plate. “You should have eaten earlier,” you said quietly, knowing that Aemond’s last meal was the one you shared in the morning, for your husband did not eat luncheon nor any other small meal to aid him between the morning and the evening. “Like I’ve said, I was waiting for you,” He said as he poured wine into your chalice. You flashed him a small smile of gratitude, and like always, he gave a quiet nod of acknowledgment. “How was your day?” You asked before taking a bit of the temped meal that had been waiting for you along with your husband. “Fine. I trained, I read, and then accompanied my grandsire with business,” he said and took a sip of wine. “And yours?” He asked, and you smiled as you began to recall your day.

Aemond nodded along as he ate, and you went on to tell him about your day. He had no intention of telling you, but this was his second-most favorite time of each day. He quickly had gotten used to listening to you babble and tell him about the ventures you had just hours before. He had no particular care about the subjects of which you spoke of; all he cared about was hearing you speak. Watching you as you would reenact your encounters or how your expression would change when you told him about the latest gossip in court. He would always note how your voice would grow an octave higher when you spoke of an event you found most entertaining or exciting, and he loved gazing into your beguiling, brown eyes that would twinkle in the candlelight.

“Will you accompany me tomorrow?” You asked as you had finished retelling your day to your husband. “To where?” Aemond asked as he was slightly disappointed that you did not have many anecdotes to share that night; you would usually have prolonged stories that Aemond would listen attentively to until he had fished his meal. “To welcome my mother, father, and brothers by the pits when they arrive,” You say and play with the peas on your plate. Aemond was silent for a moment; you took in a deep breath and thought that perhaps your request was a bit much for him. Though you expected him to act civilly with your kin, wanting him to join you in welcoming them was perhaps a bit much. “Nevermind… I ca—“ Your husband interrupted your sentence. “I shall join you,” he said, and your lips agape in shock once more.

Aemond bit his tongue to hinder himself from smiling widely at the expression that flashed before your pretty face. His urges announced himself as his eye caught your plump lips parted; amusement and arousal swirling within him. “You will?” You asked, making certain you had heard no false agreement. “My lady wife had made a simple request; of course, I shall oblige it,” He answered and felt his heart flutter as a beaming smile spread to your lips. Aemond felt fire in his veins as you stood from your seat and went to him to place a supposed chaste kiss on his lips, but Aemond wanted more. You gasped as you were pulled to sit on his lap, your kiss deepening with each moment and your body aching with need as Aemond’s hands were holding your waist and the other cupping your cheek. You feel your husband’s need through his trousers and through your dress.

You moaned at the taste of wine on his tongue. His hand traveled toward your bosom, cupping your tit through the bodice of your dress, his fingers undoing the laces of your gown but the two of you never parted your intertwined lips. Aemond groaned as you accidentally bit his lip, but you would take it that he liked the occurrence as you felt his hips buck upwards and seek friction. Aemond reluctantly parted your lips to gasp for air; he watched you pant, eyes filled with longing and lust, lips swollen and shined with a glossy shine of him.

You yelped as your husband punched you on the table, sweeping away the meal you two had just shared, the plates and cutlery falling onto the floor with a loud noise, but neither of you heard as you two were completely lost and dazed with want for each other. You pulled Aemond towards you as you wanted to feel his lips once more. Aemond had fully undone the laces of your gown, and you felt the sleeves of it draping off and the hem of it being risen by your husband. You hummed in question as you felt Aemond push you to lie down on the wooden table. You propped yourself by your elbows to see what he was doing. Your eyes locked with his lone one as he sank to his knees. The hem of your dress had bundled up to your waist, and Aemond placed his cold hands at each of your thighs.

You bit harshly at your lower lip as he placed kisses on each side of your thighs, nipping the soft skin making you whimper at the stinging pain that he would immediately soothe with his tongue. “Aemond,” you called as he continued to tease you, his tongue licking strips upward to your needing heart but would abruptly stop before inching closer towards the place you need his tongue most. “Yes, wife?” He hummed, and you huffed as you sensed tease in his voice. “Please,” You pleaded in ancient tongue, and there was a long pause before he obliged your request. You breathed heavily as Aemond sucked on your delicate pearl, him humming in delight as he tasted your essence and as well to add to your pleasure.

Your moans accompanied the crackle of the fire as Aemond inserted two of his fingers, him curling the calloused digits and spurring you quickly to your peak. You could not understand how he was so skilled in such endeavors, able to make you quickly come undone even though he confessed himself that before you, he had only laid with a woman once, on the behest of his older brother.

Aemond smirked as he gazed at you laying on the table you two had your meals on, your pretty face that everyone tried to sell as plain still contorted in pleasure that he was the cause of. Aemond brought his fingers to his lips and sucked the essence of you clean, his other hand undoing the laces of his trousers as his cock painfully sought to be inside you. Aemond had always believed himself to be indifferent to the acts of intimacy, but he quickly learned that that sentiment was completely false when it came to you. On the night after your marriage, he had no plan to partake in the marital act, ready to cut his palm and pretend he beaded you so the court would not have a new gossip piece in the morning. However, that plan was quickly forgotten by just the sight of you undressing behind a divider. The candlelight illuminated your form and created a silhouette of your frame undressing and caused Aemond to need greatly. And ever since that night, the pleasures of the flesh he always thought he was indifferent to quickly turned, and he now harbored the same needing patterns he saw in his brother that he used to frown upon.

Aemond locked your lips and assisted you off the table, you had thought he would lead you towards your bed, but you frowned through your kiss as he turned you around in his arms, your back resting against his chest, his pulsating length resting against your still hiked up gown. You feel Aemond’s lips move from your lip to your neck, his cold hands forcing your gown downwards and letting it pool at your feet, leaving you exposed. You whispered as his hands made their way to cup and squeeze your breast. The sensitive buds grew taut at the coldness of touch. You hear Aemond take in a deep breath of your scent, and you let out a bubbling moan as his length is placed in the crevice of your bottom, Aemond letting it glide in between your bum.

You gasped in shock as you felt Aemond push you down onto the table, bending you over the sturdy wood and abruptly entering you without warning. You let out a wry moan as you did not know if you should focus on the pain or pleasure he gave. Aemond bit harshly at his lip as he was incredibly pleasured by the new angle he was taking you in, as well as the sight of you bent over the wooden table. He bundled your dark hair into his hands, feeling the soft silky waves and pulling on it and earning a moan from your lips and caused a further tightening in your cunt. “It would seem that my wife likes to be fucked like a common whore,” He gritted in between thrusts. Aemond knew he pleasured you well, but with this new position, your moans had only grown louder than the past times you had laid. Your cunt grew tighter and more wet, and you were quicker to come undone once more.

“Yes… yes, Aemond! Don’t stop, please, don’t stop!” You cried as he pounded at you from behind. Aemond griped the plump flesh of your behind, watching as the skin grew red from his hold; he moved his hands to your waist as he felt the urge of release coming to him as well. Your moans rang louder in his ears, his name slipping from your lips, urging him to come quickly than past nights. He groaned out your name as he spilled his seed deep inside you, hoping that his seed would finally take as he was already zealous with the thought of you swole with his child. Your dazed mind could barely comprehend Aemond assisting you up from your bent position because all your body could focus on was the peak you had reached and his lips against yours once more. You let your husband carry you to bed, him tucking you in his arms like always, and you drifted to sleep wholly satisfied.

Aemond placed his gaze upon you, who was practically bouncing in excitement at your spot next to him. You two stood by the pits as a welcoming party for your kin. Aemond placed great restrain upon himself to not let his animosity show when he spotted your brothers landing your little dragons. “Sister!” He heard the boy who took his eye scream, and Aemond felt you let go of his hand to run to your brother. He did not want to entertain the small pang in his heart as you readily let go of his hold to run and warmly embrace the boy who had maimed him beyond repair, but he knew that with your marriage, whatever fondness and understanding you and Aemond had and will develop will be divided with your love for your true family.

“Oh, I’ve missed you!” You gushed and kissed Lucerys’ cheek; you smiled widely that even though your brother was on the cusp of adolescence, he melted of talc and your mother’s oils. “Your favoritism is showing, sister,” You hear Jacaerys tease, and you sigh in amusement, letting go of Lucerys and moving to embrace your older brother.

Aemond watched you as you greeted your family with such open warmth and love that he and his kin were never accustomed to. Aemond shifted his gaze to your younger brother, who had a wary look in his oak eyes. Aemond bit his cheeks as he stared down the boy who cowardly shifted his gaze and went closer to you, like a little scared pup hiding behind Aemond’s wife.

“Where are Baela and Rheana?” You asked as you let go of your embrace of Jacaerys, looking around the pits. “They went on the ship along with Joffery and the babes. They shall reach by nightfall,” he answered, and you nodded. Your brother’s gaze shifted between you and your husband, who stood by the side, “How… how are you, sister? Is…” He trailed as Aemond challenged his gaze. You gave him a small smile, “I’m fine, Jacaerys, perfectly fine, better now that you are all here.” You said, and Jacaerys hesitantly nodded, not completely believing your sentiments. “Tala,” You hear yourself being called by your stepfather, who stands beside your mother, and you hurriedly go in their direction. “My sweet girl!” Your mother smiled and kissed your cheek as you went to embrace her. “You look more cheery since we left you. Are they treating you well? Or do I have to behead that cunt of a husband that you have?” Daemon asked, and your smile faltered at his words. “Father,” You warned, and you heard him sigh. “They are treating me perfectly well,” You said, and just like Jacaerys, Daemond gave an unconvinced nod.

You turn to Aemond, who still stands idly by the side; you make hastened steps towards your husband as members of your family remove their riding gear. “Do you wish to return to the keep?” You asked, learning he had grown bored and impatient. He turned his body to face you, his brow raised in question. “I could ride with them in the wheelhouse; you can return to your training if you wish,” You smiled. Aemond studied your eyes; he knew that the words you uttered were for his benefit, but he could not help but think it was you driving him away as you would rather spend time with your family than him.

“It is not that I wish for you to leave, but if you would rather return to your training or reading, I would completely understand,” You added, and Aemond froze at your words; it was as if you could read his mind. He did not know how you did it, but you had this ability to know things about him without him even saying them out loud. He was quick to learn that you could see past his hardened exterior and see the intent and thoughts he kept to himself. You were the only person who knew him with such a deep level of understanding. “It is fine. I shall wait for you, and we could ride back together to the keep,” He said, and his cold heart ran warm as you flashed him with your beaming smile.

“What did they do to her?” Jacaerys asked as he stood near his brother and parents. “That last time we were here, she was completely ready to sail off to Essos just to escape him,” he added, and Daemon shook his head, removing himself from the conversation as he, too, was perplexed at how you completely turned your views towards this marriage. “I believe that is what love does,” Rhaenyra sighed, and Daemon scoffed in ridicule from a distance, and Jacaerys quickly shook his head. “Love? You practically had to drag her down the aisle! That is not love… that is some work by a potion slipped into her wine!” Jacaerys disagreed, and your mother breathed out a laugh. “Believe what you want, but your sister is stronger than to let a potion alter her emotions; that affection is brought by love,” She sighed as she, too, was surprised by the outcome of this marriage but was entirely pleased to learn that you found love in a person that all believed had none.

When all of you returned to the castle, your husband went straight to the tiltyard whilst your parents set off to visit your grandsire. You, however, accompanied your brothers as they wanted to tour around the keep that was once their home. Throughout your whole tour, you could not help but grow curious at the curious and prying glances thrown at the three of you that had faded during the moons of your return to the Red Keep. “They keep staring at us,” You hear Lucerys whisper to Jacareys, who still kept his head held high despite being in the den of vipers.

“Ignore them,” You whispered to your younger brother. You smile as Jacaeyrs pulls Lucerys towards the tiltyard, hurriedly going down the steps to explore the place they used to frequent as children. You stood by the railings, your eyes catching the flutter of silver hair, your husband training with his sword along with Ser Criston, whom he battled with. You stood steady by your spot by the balcony that overlooks the tiltyard, leaning in on the railing as you watched Aemond impressively train with his sword. It was truly a wonder to watch Aemond with his sword; he was able to command the room with each swing and movement he did. Captivating everyone as he simulated the battlefield, even your brothers stopped their reminiscing to watch him train. Far was he from the little boy he tripped over his wooden sword and struggled to even keep it upright.

“Well done, my prince, you will be winning tourneys at no time,” You hear Ser Kristen compliment the prince he had molded into a warrior as the tip of Aemond’s sword placed at the knight’s neck. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” You hear your husband reply as you descended down the stairs, making your way to your brothers. “Nephews, have you come to train?” He asked as you paused behind Lucerys and Jacaerys. Aemond’s challenging gaze turned to you, who announced her presence. You stared into his lilac eye and saw it somewhat softened. Aemond clenched his jaw and lowered his sword as the crowd that surrounded him began to dissolve. A clear path leading to you was made, and Aemond crossed it, forgetting about his want to challenge his nephews.

“You were most impressive with your sword,” You complimented lowly as you felt Aemond guide you to the side, and he placed his hand on your lower back. “I am glad that you found that impressive, little wife,” He hummed and wiped his sword, ignoring the stares of your brothers who stood by the side. “Perhaps I should wonder more often to the tiltyard; I would not want to miss an opportunity to watch my husband best the most acclaimed knights of the realm.” You feel your heart flutter as Aemond’s lips twitch into a small smirk. “Perhaps you should,” He said, unable to control the amusement that laced his voice and shinned brightly in his eye.

“Do you believe what Mother says? That they are in love?” Jacaerys whispered to Lucerys, who looked at you smiling upon your husband, “I… I do not know, perhaps,” he whispered as he noted that the smile on your lips was no pretense nor was it forced. And the gleam in your eyes could only be translated into love. Lucerys shifted his gaze back to his brother as you walked off and Aemond returned to training. “But how? How could our sister love someone like him?” Jacaerys asked incredulously, his voice growing a bit louder.

Aemond clenched his jaw as he heard your brother’s words. It was a danger to all that rage was quickly bubbling inside him, and he had a weapon in his hold. The one-eyed prince took in deep breaths to calm himself, reminding himself that you were just by the side waiting and watching him.

But a gnawing feeling in his gut had settled, and he too started to wonder as to how you could ever love someone like him. It is no secret that you and he were raised with opposing views of the world and even clashing families as well. His mother never approved of how your mother had raised you; everything about yours and your brother’s conception and upbringing had brought shame upon the Targaryen name and reputation. And the years before were nothing short of hatred. Yes, the both of you were fond of each other in childhood, but is that enough to undo the following years of animosity and contempt? Will these past moons that were filled with shared understanding and longing be enough to undo the resentment of the past?

It was enough for him. You were enough of a reason for him to let go of the grudges and grievances harbored. By some divine, paradoxical power, your blessed touch was the only touch that could tend and stitch Aemond’s broken past created by your own kin. Even with all the traditions and honor that were desecrated by your mere birth, Aemond could not help but love you, even if he had not said it out loud. No matter your differences, no matter the truth of your illegitimacy, he loved you truly.

However, that overflowing affection he had towards you was for you and you alone. The civility he knew that he should display was slipping out from his hold as old hatred for your brothers was starting to wake, and Aemond was not entirely certain if he could control the burning rage in his veins once more.

You sat next to your husband for a rare family dinner; it was the first time the whole of your clan had been together since your and Aemond’s wedding. You smiled fondly as Baela and Rhaena had already arrived along with your youngest brothers, who were now fast asleep in the nursery. You kept your secret hold on Aemond’s hand as the dinner proceeded, your heart full of joy as you wanted to erase the emotions you were feeling the last time the whole of the family was together with something more pleasant. Gone now was the hatred and agony you felt in your heart as your grandsire ordered your marriage with Aemond. The only thing you now felt for your husband was love. It could be considered ridiculous that with just half a year of marriage, all the deep-rooted anger and ire from the past had completely decimated and turned into blooming love, but that was the truth of it.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table.” The king said “The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” His final plea for peace was supposed to be yours and Aemond’s marriage, but that seemed to do little for the others to bury the grievances made years before. Your hold on Aemond’s hand tightened as you Grandsire removed his mask and exposed his decaying face. “My own face is no longer a handsome one… if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king… But your father.” He said and turned to his children, “Your brother,” the king turned to Daemon. “Your husband,” he said to the queen. “And your grandsire.” He finished turning to you and your siblings. “Who may not, it seems…walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts.” He ended.

You were so entrapped by the speech given by your grandsire that you had not even realized that in the midst of that heartfelt moment, your husband was having a contest of stares amongst your brothers. Not a word by the king affected nor lessened the hatred in their hearts for each other.

You watched and listened intently as toast from both sides of your families started to circulate to the table, obliging the king’s request for civility and the possibility of unification for your house. By the end of the toasts, the intimate feast once more commenced, and your smile only grew with each passing moment of peace. However, it was quickly taken from you as a roasted pig was placed in front of you and Aemond, our gaze flying to your younger brother, who snickered as he recalled the cruel jest they made at Aemond’s expense years before. “Lucerys,” you hissed sharply in warning. Your heart skipped a beat as your husband let go of your hold and slammed his clenched fist on the table, rendering the room silent. “Final tribute,” He announced, the attention of the entire room upon him.

“To the health of my nephews. Jace… Luc… and Joffery,” He began, and you felt your hands grow cold at his words, already knowing where this would lead. “Each of them handsome, wise…” He trailed, catching your eyes that pleaded for him to stop and not speak of offense. He, however, ignored your pleas. “Strong,” He ended, and you feel your heart painfully pit in your chest. Your gaze flew to your lap, and you softly shook your head in disappointment, for you had foolishly believed that your husband would at least grow somewhat sensitive at the matter of you and your brother’s true paternity. “Come. Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys!” He announced, and you felt a painful twist in your stomach.

The peaceful meal between your kin that you had longed for had turned ugly and violent; you shook your head as your husband and his brother, along with your brothers, waltzed back into old patterns and began to brawl and fight each other. You shook your head and stood from your seat, quietly exiting the room and leaving the fight that the other tried to break up. Aemond watched your departing figure, disappointment oozing off your frame as you exited the hall. He turned to your brothers' red and angered faces, and it only dawned upon him the severity of his offense. He was ready to go after you, but his mother pulling on his arm hindered him, the queen scolding her grown son as if he were a boy.

Moments after, Aemond rushed to your chambers in dire need to speak with you, but you were not there. Aemond walked the darkened corridors of the keep, searching every spot you would frequent but to no avail. Aemond halted in his steps as he heard footsteps and voices approaching. “I’ve told you that they were not suited for each other,” Aemond heard your stepfather say, voice enraged. “You saw how openly he disparaged and humiliated her and her siblings— what more if they were behind closed doors?” Daemon seethed, him having half the mind to march to the king and demand an annulment of your marriage with Aemond.

Aemond clenched his fists in anger as he heard how low the opinion of your stepfather had of him, but that anger was being overpowered by guilt as he recalled your pleading face earlier as you quietly begged him not to speak offense. But Aemond could no longer control himself as being in the presence of your brothers brought back the uninhibited rage he genuinely thought he could control for your sake. Aemond took in a deep breath and stomped off, determined to find you. He scoured the entirety of the keep in search of you, with each passing moment that you were not found added to his guilt and the pang in his chest. It was nearing the hour of the wolf, and Aemond still had not found you. Aemond rarely felt fear; he refused to be in fear of anything, but just by just the mere hours of your absence had him drowning in dread and despair.

Aemond thought of retiring back to your chambers and perhaps try to find you when the sun had risen, but his body could not physically rest without your presence. Aemond found him straying towards the gardens, his feet carrying him towards the weirwood tree that you two had often frequented in childhood. He halted in his steps as he heard quiet sobs and sniffling, his knees growing weak at the sight of your body curled upon the trunk of the tree, your face in your hands as you tried to stifle your sobs. Aemond made cautious steps towards you, swallowing thickly as he had never succumbed to such guilt and pain before; it was unbearable to see you cry— more so for he knew that the reason for your tears was him.

Aemond felt his breathing caught in his throat as you lifted your gaze, and your bloodshot eyes met his. “Why?” You managed to ask, your voice hoarse and filled with emotion. It was too much; Aemond wanted to fall to his knees and ask for your forgiveness; he could not take the way you stared up at him with such great sadness. “Why… why would you do such a thing? Why could you not l…” You could not even make yourself finish your words as a bubbling sob of angered sadness took over you. You tightly shut your eyes as Aemond fell on his knees before you, trying to take hold of your hand, but you over away from his touch.

“I know of the resentment you have for my siblings— for me because we are bastards and because Lucerys had taken your eye. It was foolish for me to think that with our marriage, perhaps that enmity in you would lessen or at least be concealed enough that you would not seek out revenge so… so openly and as well as disparage me and my honor,” You say, your voice shaking as you try to take hold of your cries. “I did not mean to offend you; that was not aimed toward you,” Aemond said, and you shook your head. “They are my brothers, Aemond. Questioning their paternity means to question mine as well. Wounding them would be wounding me as well,” You countered and shook your head as Aemond moved to take hold of your hands.

“I… I know it is difficult for you to be subjected to a room with my kin— especially my brothers, but could you not have let this one-night slide past peacefully? I am not seeking out your forgiveness; I was just hoping for something that resembled peace, just for one night,” You said lowly, voice trembling with your sobs and the cool night air that gusted around the gardens. Aemond sighed and rested his head against your clasped hands, still on his knees as you sat before him dejectedly. “I’m… I’m sorry, my love,” He whispered, and you froze, trying to decipher if you had heard him correctly. Never once had you heard him apologize nor use such an endearment.

“I apologize. I was consumed by my anger, and I could not control my rage. I should have kept my composure,” He said and looked up at your face, tear-stained cheeks flushed with sadness, bloodshot eyes in question, and pink lips agape in mystification. “I’m sorry,” Aemond said once more and placed a kiss on your knuckles. The word felt foreign on his tongue, but at the same time, it rolled effortlessly as he knew it would be his saving grace not to lose you. You sat quietly, uncertain what to reply, though you had been enveloped in rage and sorrow, by Aemond’s actions, it somehow miraculously faded by his words and touch.

“You called me ‘love’,” was all you could manage to say, the word still ringing in your ears even though you knew you should focus on the other matter. Aemond scrunched his brows as he gazed at your face, “I… I suppose I did,” He said, not even realizing the word slipped out his lips. He had been wanting to call you that endearment for weeks now, but he thought you would not take it well or that the softness and affection of it would lessen his stoic exterior. “Do you love me?” You could not help but ask, preparing yourself for the blow if it proves that your judgment was false. Aemond’s cold hands turned a degree colder as you asked the question. With each moment of silence, you feel your heart pit further, your mind scolding you for asking such a query. After another moment of prolonged silence, you sighed and were ready to stand, ready to mourn a different type of sadness.

“Of course I do,” Aemond finally spoke, “I love you,” He added, determined for you to believe his words. You were stunned at his confession that words eluded you, and all you could do was pull him close and kiss his lips. “I do not care about your paternity. I don’t think I ever truly did… I only acted as such to appease my mother and her father. And I know I have played the part well, acting as if I harbor loathing for you ever since childhood, but I could never resent you, not truly.” Aemond sighed as your lips parted, and you smiled widely against his lips. Tears of melancholy turned into tears of glee.

“You love me,” You mused as you cupped his cheeks, your thumb gently brushing the raised skin of his scar. “I love you.” Aemond confirmed, and he hummed as you kissed his lips once more. The events at supper were long forgotten as you and he finally shared the affection you both harbored long ago but were just too afraid to say out loud.

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valentinevirgo · 8 days

Text

His Darkest Secret

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x brothel worker!reader

Word Count: 5k

Themes & Warnings: pov first person, hotd s2 spoilers, 18+, brothels (duh), sex work, soft Aemond, angst, mentions of SA, nudity, smut, mommy issues, lactation kink, breastfeeding, reader is older than Aemond, use of Y/N

Synopsis: In Madam Sylvi’s absence, the care of the Targaryen prince that frequents your brothel is left in your good hands. His needs, you find, are unlike anything you’d ever encountered…

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Enjoy the read!

My fingers sifted through his dark locks, the strands catching like seaweed in a strong current. He laughed darkly in my ear, his rough hands running the length of my thigh, pushing up past my silks, to claim every inch.

“What ’cha say, sweet thing?” he rumbled, “Shall we take this somewhere a bit more private?”

My fingernail ran the length of his jaw through his scruffy beard and down his broad neck. I tilted my head to the side, smiling coquettishly, as his hands continued to brazenly scour me.

He was my fifth customer of the day, and though weariness had begun to creep beneath my skin, I refused to let it come to the surface. Work had been scarce since the whole ordeal with the succession. Royals played their games of power while the smallfolk suffered the consequences. I needed every coin I could muster.

Rising from his lap, pulling him up from his seat after me, Sazha, the tavern wench, weaved through bodies, a tray of wine and goblets balancing precariously in her grasp, as she caught my gaze.

“Madam’s asking for ya,” she whispered in passing.

A bittersweet pang shot through me. Relief and disappointment warred with each other, as I begged the client for a short interlude, flashing a practiced smile, earning a spank on my behind, before heading into the Madam’s chambers.

She was a plump woman, sitting at the head of her desk counting coin when I washed through the thick curtains. I reckon I was but nine years old when she took me into her bosom – an orphan, stealing, begging, and clawing for scraps in the pits of Flea Bottom, though, not granted employment until I was five and ten. I did not see her as a mother figure exactly, but I owed my whole life to her. If it wasn’t for her, I would be dead, or even worse, forced to compete in the fighting pits in the bowels of King’s Landing.

A smile bloomed on her face as I entered. “There you are,” she announced, gesturing to a chair. “Have a seat.”

I sat down in front of her, watching her methodically chip the last golden dragons into the leather purse before tying it shut and cashing it away.

“So,” she said, interlacing her fingers atop the table. “I will be gone for a short while. A few days, no more,” she conceded.

“Where are you going?”

Her mouth twitched, but she remained silent. “I trust you will look after the place in my absence?”

Madam Sylvi held many secrets, and though she told me most of her comings and goings, I never assumed to dig deeper than she would allow.

“Of course,” I nodded.

“Sazha and the girls will take care of the customers. All I expect you to do is to make the customers feel welcome, collect coin, ensure that everything is in order.”

That all seemed like easy enough tasks. A sudden thrill coursed through me. I would assume the position of the Madam, if only for a few days. Which practically meant being my own boss. I would go as I liked, take breaks as I liked, within reasonable limits of course, but most importantly – I would need not sell my body. It was a most stimulating thought.

“You can count on me, ma’am,” I said, owing a grateful smile from my mistress.

“I know I can,” she said, dismissing me.

But before I was even half-way out of my chair, she snapped her fingers in realization. “Oh, and one more thing,” she said, a flicker of hesitation crossing her features as I settled back in my chair. Her mouth twitched, opened, then closed again, as if searching for the right words. An eerie ghost of curiosity gnawed at me.

“I fear I must…” she began, a furrow etching between her brows in concentration, “…entrust you with a very delicate matter, Y/N.”

Inquisitiveness sparked as I adjusted in my chair. “Yes, ma’am. Anything you ask.”

“It is sensitive,” she said, her voice dropping to a low murmur. “Needs your utmost discretion.”

I nodded.

She sighed, like the words were too burdensome to utter. “I have a customer,” she said, leaning forward, fixing me with serious eyes. “One of my favorites.”

I perked up with intrigue. The Madam had a favorite customer? Such a thing was rare, to be sure, given the brutality of most of the men entering this establishment. But considering her position as owner, and Cock Inn being known for its reasonably higher standards (compared to other brothels on the Street of Silk), it made a twisted kind of sense. Naturally, she’d gravitate towards the less… savage patrons.

“This… man,” she began, “… has… certain wishes.” She fumbled with her words, each pause adding another layer to the suspense within me. “Wishes that do not quite conform to that of other men.”

My imagination ran wild. What desires could be so different from the parade of fetishes I’d already witnessed? From feet, to urinating on me, I felt I’d already learned the full spectrum of human depravity. A lump settled in my throat to the thought of how much worse men’s inclinations could actually get. But I steadied myself. She had told me he was her favorite, after all.

My curiosity got the better of me. “What are these wishes?” I blurted out.

“Well,” she began, her voice laced with a strange hesitance, “He derives pleasure from… unconventional methods.”

“Unconventional?” I echoed, my brow furrowing.

“He enjoys a… specific dynamic. One where he assumes the role of… the primary receiver.”

Relief washed over me. It wasn’t nearly as dark as my imagination had conjured. I was more than familiar of the ways of men and their desires. Some wished to dominate. Others to be dominated, and I gathered this customer was the latter.

“He wishes to submit, you mean?”

Madam Sylvi shook her head, “Not as such,” she said, a flicker of something akin to pity crossing her features.

I had grown weary of her riddles. “Speak plainly ma’am,” I quipped.

She sighed deeply. “He wants to be… taken care of. Embraced. Caressed. Nursed.”

Nursed? I blinked, bewildered. The word hung heavy in the air.

“He’s sensitive,” she added, her voice softer now. “He needs… love.”

Love? I frowned. The word felt alien on my tongue.

“But you mustn’t do that!” she interjected, insinuating at my countenance. “He is our most valued patron. You must not scare him off.”

I smoothed my brow and folded my hands in my lap. “Of course, ma’am.”

“In my absence,” she clarified, “I expect you to take care of him.”

I assured her, “You can rely on me.”

“Good,” she exhaled, relieved, interlacing her fingers on the table. “Now, let me tell you what you are to expect.”

As night closed in, anticipation twisted my gut while I readied myself for the mysterious customer. Lavender and rose steam filled the air, clinging to my skin long after I emerged from my bath, leaving my fingers and toes pleasantly pruned. With meticulous strokes, I brushed my hair until it cascaded down my back with a silken sheen, and lathered my body to velvet softness.

The wait stretched, a tight coil winding ever tighter in my chest. I paced the room, nerves sparking beneath my skin. The revelry of the brothel pulsed around me – a cacophony of drunken laughter, coarse distant moans, the high-pitched whine of a fiddle sawing a bawdy tune. Every passing body outside the curtains, every raised voice, made me jump, each sound a potential herald of his arrival.

I paced again. It had been hours, or was it minutes? Doubt gnawed at the edges of my anticipation. Perhaps he was not coming, as Madam Sylvi had said. Or perhaps he was more simply delayed. The uncertainty was a fresh kind of torment.

I helped myself to the wine, downing the dry liquid to soothe my nerves. With a practiced flick of my wrist, I filled the goblet anew, downing it in one swift gulp.

“Right in here, gorgeous.” Sazha’s coy voice came through the curtain.

Nearly choking on the wine, I slammed the goblet back on the table. With trembling fingers, I smoothed the scant folds of my silk, nearly see-through, dress, and flicked my hair over my shoulder that went tumbling down my back.

A rustle of curtains, paced, menacing footsteps against the stone, and a shadow on the wall.

I turned just as he entered.

A figure of black and silver.

My breath hitched in my throat, the world seeming to shrink to a single point of focus.

Prince Aemond Targaryen. The eyepatch left no room for doubt.

The Aemond Targaryen.

Admittedly, I didn’t know much about the royal family. The only gossip I had bothered to keep up with was the loss of the prince's eye by his nephew, Lucerys, years ago. A grave injustice that went unpunished. Until recently, when Lucerys had been struck down in the skies above Storm’s End, causing a great rift between the families and sending the realm into chaos.

A shiver snaked down my spine, a cold dread settling in the pit of my stomach. This same man had been frequenting my brothel, seeking solace in the fleeting embrace of strangers?

My hands grew clammy.

The prince fixed me with an unwavering stare. His face contorted in disgust. “I’m in the wrong place,” he spat, his hand reaching for the curtain.

“I will take care of you tonight, my prince,” I said before he could escape, forcing a sultry lilt into my shaky voice.

He swept his gaze over me, allowing his eye to scavenge down my body, then around the room. “Where is Madam Sylvi?”

“She had important matters to attend to.”

He growled in distaste. “I’ll come back another time.”

Fuck. I wasn’t good at this. This nurturing role. So bad, in fact, that I had scared him off before we even began.

But for Prince Aemond, I admitted, I was willing to try.

“That’s why she sent me,” I continued gently.

He stopped in his tracks, his one eye rimmed with venomous betrayal. He wanted – needed, to feel special. This was the one place he could feel just that. Where he could come to shed his steel mask. The one place he could come to feel prioritized for once. To be cared for. Where he could loosen all responsibility and leave himself entirely in the hands of others. For that to occur, trust was paramount.

“She sends her regrets,” I said, and dared myself to approach him, slowly, steadily. “You’re of great importance to her.” His air loomed thick of dragon, leather, and corruption. “She entrusts me with the care of what is most precious to her.”

He was breathtaking. Even more so up close. His smooth skin, his sharp chin, the bow of his lips, the silver pooling down his shoulders, his one cerulean eye watching me vigilantly.

“Allow me this one night, my prince, and I swear to you I will do everything in my power to fill Madam Sylvi’s shoes.”

He looked both menacing and conflicted, his fingers fidgeting at his sides.

He was uncomfortable, beyond doubt. I sympathized with him, having come all this way, only to be let down.

“She knows what I want,” he said, his voice surprisingly mellifluous. It drew heat to my skin.

“She has informed me of all your needs,” I replied. “You needn’t worry about a thing.”

He thought for but a second. “I think not,” he drawled, his hand coming to the curtain again.

Ruminating over the countless men I’d lain with, this must’ve been the first time I’d ever been turned down by one. But there must always be a first time.

“Very well,” I said gently, creating distance between us. “I shall be sure to tell Madam Sylvi that you do not wish to be handed about.”

I turned my back to him and began cleaning the room for the next customer. A vague disappointment settled in my chest. I had failed her. Had failed in a most delicate task she entrusted me with. Skin trade had never been my life’s ambition – was it anyone’s? But being turned down by a man for such a simple task as embracing, felt like a betrayal to my profession. I comforted myself with the thought that he, after all, was a man of incredibly high standing, a prince of the realm, and not just anyone would suit him. He simply had standards too high for a common whore like me.

Once I finished gathering my things, I took a final, fortifying swig of wine, soothing my nerves for my body’s coming plunder beyond those curtains.

A sharp gasp escaped my lips as I turned.

Prince Aemond had not moved an inch, and my fright did not change that fact. His eye stared absently into the void, his face etched with an internal struggle, as if considering some great ordeal that would change the fate of men.

“My prince?” I whispered, afraid that any wrong word, or too loud a voice would cause him to set my world aflame.

His gaze came to me, slowly, the steel mask fracturing for a fleeting moment. A flicker of vulnerability, quickly masked by a wry twist of his lips, danced across his features. He looked like a predator caught in a snare, both dangerous and desperate. He lowered his eye to the floor, his mouth drawing to one side, the tip of his shoe twisting from side to side on the stone as if crushing a bug, looking as though he was contemplating something impossible.

“Very well,” he conceded, his voice like liquid.

A spark ignited in my chest.

He would allow me to do this? To delve into the darkness that clung to him like a shroud?

I felt honored, in a depraved sort of way.

Even though my delight threatened to spill over, I schooled my features. I had to do this right. Mustn’t scare him off.

“I trust Madam Sylvi has shared with you the… extent of my wishes.”

“Indeed,” I said, forcing a grace and patience in my movements as I put the stuff I’d gathered back down, my heart thrumming against my ribs in anticipation.

“And my… adversities.”

“All of it,” I assured him, approaching him slowly.

He stiffened as I drew closer, and I inhaled deeply for courage. I needed to make him realize he did not need to be in control any longer.

Apprehension singed my skin as he still lingered by the curtain, as if ready to flee at any second. I reached out and latched onto his hands. They were warm and calloused, a deep current of resistance thrumming beneath the skin, reservation coiling tight within his bones.

With small, gentle steps, I guided him into the center of the room.

He darted furtive glances about him, as if afraid someone might be watching, an ominous frown etched between his brows, his features contorting as if in pain. His entire disposition exuded apprehension, and I clawed desperately in my mind for ways to anchor him. For ways to make him trust me. After all, I was a stranger to him, and though he had accepted me to carry out this with him, I could not blame him for being vigilant. He was entrusting me with, what probably was, his deepest, darkest secret.

I let go of his hands and turned my back to him, filling two cups of wine. “Tell me about your day, my prince.”

His gaze fixed on mine as he took the cup from my outstretched hand. “What?” his jaw clenched. “This is not what…”

“I am aware,” I countered, plopping down on the round bed behind me, leaning back, crossing my legs underneath my silks. “But if we are to do this right, we cannot simply rush into it.”

He bristled at my words, but softened then.

“Trust me,” I said gently.

He studied me for a long moment, before his mouth twitched and he started towards me with slow, heavy steps. My heart fluttered as he sat down next to me, one hand placed firmly on his thigh, taking a swig of his wine. “What is it that you wish to know?”

I smiled. “Anything you feel comfortable enough to share,” I said tenderly.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, a throaty sound that sent tingles through my core.

He recited his day’s agenda, hesitantly, cautiously, at first, but soon, words came pouring out of him as if he’d been alone on a deserted island for weeks. His perfectly curved lips and voice like the finest silk spoke to great effect as he mentioned his brother, our new king, his parring lessons with Ser Criston Cole, his mother, the subject of which put ice in his voice. But his eye never sparked as bright as when he spoke of Vhagar, his magnificent, war-hardened beast that I’d only even seen from afar. He claimed her at ten years old, and it was the best thing that ever happened to him.

My head spun with awe as I watched myself from the outside. I was conversing with the prince Aemond Targaryen as though we were long-lost friends, and though this was all for his benefit, I couldn’t help but relish in it as well.

“You and Vhagar were meant to find each other,” I said, smiling at him, and unless my eyes failed me, I swear I could see the corner of his mouth quirk up into the faintest smirk.

I refilled his glass, then mine, placed the decanter back on the table, and when I turned to him again, my heart nearly beat out of my chest. He had closed the distance between us, looking at me intently with that deep blue eye like an agate marble.

“Tell me your darkest secret,” his words were almost a whisper, dripping from his lips like truth potion, because suddenly, I wished to tell him more than that.

“I killed a man,” I said, holding his gaze unwaveringly.

His eye sparked with malicious glee as he leaned in. “What was it like?” His voice was hoarse, laced with curiosity.

I raised one shoulder, my eyes wandering over the salacious tapestries on the walls. “Liberating.”

His one eye studied my whole entire face, taking in every little change in my countenance. “Did he deserve it?”

“Yes,” I said curtly. Memories consumed me like poison. Memories I’d rather left buried. “He tried to rape me.”

His jaw ticked. His lips curled with repulse and an eerie silence ensued. “I’m sure you made him suffer.” His voice was thick with acrimony.

I leaned into him, close enough that we breathed the same air. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” I whispered.

He smirked then, like a cat, a sweet victory fluttering in my chest.

Lightheaded, whether from his beauty or from the wine, I put my cup down. “And you, my prince?” I said, turning back to him. “What is your darkest secret?”

His eye fixed into the floor, his fingers fidgeting, as if suddenly realizing the purpose of his visit. “I suppose you will soon find out,” he said softly, defeat lacing his voice.

Everything about this man intrigued me. The sharp angle of his jaw, the scar that snaked across his left brow, his eyepatch, what was underneath…

I moved slowly, so very slowly, almost reluctantly, in fear of crushing this delicate trust I had gained between us, and took his chin in my fingers, raising his gaze to me.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” I cooed. “Madam Sylvi will return on the morrow to…”

“No,” Aemond interjected, his voice low and husky, his eye heavy lidded, his apprehension reduced to cinders. “No,” he repeated. “This…”

Though I was barely touching him, his eyes closed as I rubbed his chin between my fingers.

“…feels nice,” he lulled.

As per a completely touch-starved person, he hummed deeply as my hand continued along his jaw and over his ear, my fingers filtering into his hair. I brought my hand back over his cheek, and he leaned into it, droning with throaty satisfaction. My veins seared with fulfillment as I watched him, every featherlight touch on his skin making him purr like a kitten. I thought I’d never felt such gratification in my life. If this is what Madam Sylvi got to experience every night, she was sure to be a happy woman.

I switched sides, my other hand grazing along the opposite jaw, up to his ear, back down over his cheek, my thumb lightly brushing his scar. His eye shot open, steel and apprehension returning.

“I’m sorry,” I said, removing my hand at once. “Forgive me.”

He said nothing. Just watched me. But once my hand dared to return to his other cheek, tracing the hollow beneath his cheekbone, he practically melted beneath my touch. I traced towards his ear, my fingers massaging his lobe, then drawing along the intricate protrusions of his cartilage. His head tilted to the side as I continued down his neck, tracing his dark veins, my thumb brushing over the bulge in his throat, until I reached the clasp of his collar.

I dared not.

Not without his permission.

“May I?” I asked, his eye opening slowly as if from a deep slumber.

“Hmm,” he hummed deeply, a slight nod dipping his chin.

I unbuckled the silver with great care, taking my time, his leather doublet opening little by little, revealing a chest of the smoothest ivory. I pushed the thick garment off his shoulders, sliding it down his arms, grazing his skin with my fingers as I went. He shuddered beneath my touch, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. I folded his doublet to the side, then began tracing down his body with my fingernails. Down his neck, his back, his shoulders and arms, exploring his veined, delicate hands and fingers. He sighed deeply with rapture. I studied his countenance as I meticulously explored every inch of his upper body. It held a solemn, calm peace like the ocean after a storm, only vaguely disturbed by occasional quirks of his mouth.

I enjoyed watching him. Cherished myself for managing to stir such emotions within him, for he always managed to keep them beneath the surface. Why, was an ever-enduring mystery. If he only dared to show this side of himself, the Gods themselves would walk the earth.

I traced the line down his breastbone, between his abdominal muscles, down the dark trail of coarse hair snaking into his breeches, making him twitch. I stopped at the thong that held the pants onto his hips, looking up for reassurance, but his eyes remained closed, his chest expanding in slow, steady breaths. Recalling what Madam Sylvi had told me of Aemond’s wishes, this was part of it. I began undoing the thong, loosening the pants from around his hips, wiggling them down, and when they wouldn’t go any further, I looked up at the near-asleep prince.

“My prince,” I said soothingly, and his eye fluttered open again. He assisted me, while I got on my knees to undo his shoes, both falling on the neat pile beside the bed.

He was utterly naked before me, save the eyepatch, which he wished to remove on his own accord. Though, he looked beyond delicious with it on. His slender arms bulged atop his muscles, his torso long and muscular, his half-erect member resting beneath his navel – I was allowed to touch everything; besides that, the Madam had informed me.

I came to sit beside him, running my hands over his arms, delighting at watching him shiver.

He hummed under his breath. “Feels nice,” he murmured.

“I’m glad,” I said through my smile. But I was more than glad. I was delighted.

Then, his hands came up behind his head, unfastening the clasp that held the eyepatch in place.

I held back a gasp as it came off him.

A single, sapphire gem sat within his mangled eye socket like a crowned jewel, the scar stretching out of it like a disease. He released the leather thong from his hair, allowing the silver to fall around his face, like shooting stars.

I admired him in all his glory. The steel mask was shed from him like snakeskin. All of his misgivings, his mistakes, his worries, his anguish, pooled to the surface like a tidal wave. It flooded me. His countenance told a story that could make grown men cry. I could see it in his eye.

He is no monster, I thought. He is just a boy who needs to be loved.

I fell back with him on top of me. He nuzzled himself into me, my neck, my chest, my breasts… I felt him rubbing himself against their fullness, making my nipple harden to the stimulation, until he came to rest his cheek on top of it, humming with satisfaction.

I embraced him in my arms, rubbing his back, his arms, running my fingers through his perfectly silver head, combing the hair out with my nails, allowing the strands to fall down to brush over his skin. He nuzzled my breasts anew, his aquiline nose brushing against my nipple, and I suppressed a whimper.

“I’m glad I decided to stay,” he sighed.

I smiled to myself, satisfied to have pleased him.

We tumbled for a while, shifting positions to whichever he wished to assume – cradled in my lap, his head on my knee, me embracing him from behind. He allowed me to do what I wished with him, except kissing or fucking, of course. Though, I did kiss him. Everywhere, but his mouth or cock. And he hummed through smiles when I did. No touch was a bad one.

He nuzzled deeper and deeper into me until we were nearly one entity, and as he did, he shared things with me. Things I scarcely thought he’d shared with anyone else. The anguish he went through after his nephew had cut him, the relentless, sleep depriving, seemingly endless, pain, for months. Twice he nearly brought me to tears with what he shared, as I did my utmost to comfort him. It’s when he got to the murder of Lucerys that I found myself not knowing where to place blame. Aemond was not innocent, but he was not the monster people believed him to be. He was misunderstood. Different. But not with any smaller ability to feel.

“I did not feel any sense of liberation, as you said you did,” he sighed into my skin. “If anything, I felt more trapped within myself. A prisoner of my own making. I thought he did deserve it. I really did. But I do regret it. I lost my temper. Acted out.” He spoke his thoughts out loud, only stopping to hear my gentle responses. “Mother did not take it well.”

“How did she take it?”

“She beat me. Blamed me. Renounced me as her son.”

My hands tightened into fists at his words, and all I could do, was hold him closer, leaving trails of kisses on his skin.

“Yet, she was the one plotting to put Aegon on the throne.”

“None of this is your fault, Aemond.” I hugged him closer against my chest, meeting his clear blue eye, languid and glistening, juxtapose the cold sapphire in its socket.

He smiled faintly. “Do you know something?”

I cocked my eyebrows quizzically.

“I think it actually might be.” He stared absently as he considered his words.

My eyes lingered on him for a while, pondering this exquisitely curious creature in my arms. So ruthless and labile out in the world, yet so soft and feeling in this bed. He was a mystery. A riddle I wished to decipher. And it wasn’t going to happen in one night.

I brushed my thumb over his pronounced brow and watched him drift, softly nudging my hand with his head.

Sazha came through the curtains just then, a mug of steaming hot liquid on a platter, but Aemond did not stir, enraptured by my caresses. I gave her a thankful nod as she placed it on the table, vanishing back out into the common room. I brought my hand down to brush a finger across his cheek.

“Are you thirsty?”

A deep groan reverberated in his chest to my words. “Yes.”

I reached for the cup, but before I could offer it to him, his hands were all over me, parting my loose silks from my chest to reveal my plump breasts. Aemond groaned darkly and flicked the nipples with his thumb until they hardened. He massaged them generously in his hands, owing a whimper from my lips, before he rose up to them, taking one into the delicious wet heat of his mouth. I groaned loudly, cradling his head in my hand as he suckled, the suction sending deep, aching throbs down between my thighs.

Detaching from me, he reached for the mug in my hand and took the liquid into his mouth. As he suckled my nipple again, I watched as milk leaked from the corners of his mouth and ran down his chin and neck.

It was wicked.

It was perverse.

It was so, very hot.

He swallowed, then licked the drops of milk off my breast with long, slow laps of his tongue. I watched him with hooded eyes as he did it again, and again, and again, until my nipple was sore and raw, milk running down my stomach.

I drank him in. This corrupt, abused, disturbed, nefarious kin-slayer with his darkest secret laid bare before me.

His venom was sure to seep into my bloodstream, depraving me.

–

He dressed with a slow, deliberate grace, each movement imbued with a quiet dignity. As the layers of clothing returned, so did the steel mask, a shield he donned to face the world. My heart ached with longing for him, knowing Madam Sylvi would return on the morrow, and I would only ever touch him again in my dreams.

He extended his arm towards me, a purse string dangling from his finger, attached to months’ work weight in coin. I took it, my throat tight with unspoken emotions.

“What is your name? he rumbled, his voice a low caress that sent shivers down my spine.

“Y/N, my prince.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, savoring the sound on his tongue, my name dripping from his lips like honey. “I shall ask Madam Sylvi to clear your schedule.”

I stared at him cynically.

“I will be needing your services all hours of the day.”

2K notes · View notes

valentinevirgo · 8 days

Note

hi! i just saw the ask you answered about leaving aemond out and i giggled.

if i may offer an idea, what about if reader finds out where aemond goes to find comfort (the brothel) and is upset because she thought differently of him but maybe he confesses what he actually does there (tittie suckin and therapy) and she offers aemond her own comfort. maybe reader looks more like their mother and it's exactly what aemond wants/needs. he's such a broken boy with horrible mommy issues.

this is not me at all telling you that you NEED to write a fic about this. i just had this idea jumbled around in my head and i don't know how to write it myself. 😂

thank you for your fics. they are truly wonderful. 💜

pairing: aemond targaryen x hightower!reader

word count: ~8.3k

warnings: 18+, cursing, spoilers of s2 of hotd, talks about brothels and prostitutes, fingering, p in v, lactation (milk play? i don't even know what i did), nipple play, slight mommy kink (or a lot depending how you see it), talks of infidelity, slight somno, riding

a/n: it's funny that this ask was sent cause i had something similar in mind. so this came super easily to me. i added some fire to the reader cause after ep 4 of hotd i was so angry at aemond (and still am). i can't believe he did that to aegon (he's my boy of the season) not to mention what he did to queen meleys and queen rhaenys. i'm not sure if i'd be able to forgive him. @heybank i hope this is somewhat like what you had in mind!

it came out a little longer than expect but nonetheless i hope you all enjoy! also aemond is stubborn in this fic but an equally stubborn reader and i love her for it. the reader and aegon are lowkey besties because i only want the best for him lol so don't mind that. i am ecstatic for the next episode and see the fall out of ep 4.

do you know the struggle i had to find aemond's whore's name. omg most difficult part of this oneshot.

after this fic i think i need to go to church and confess. i'm sure the priest will douse me in holy water and make me pray a hundred holy marys or something.

enjoy!!

It slipped out in the midst of their endless teasing and banter. The one secret Aemond never wished for you to find out. You're strong enough to know about the others; you recognize who he truly is at his core: an ambitious, envious man, but this one secret? This one he prayed you never knew about.

Aegon and you had been indulging in the sweet wine imported from High Garden. A delicacy that made your head fuzzy and your body loose. After finding you strolling all alone through the gardens, he insisted on drinking with you. If someone were to appease him by complaining about matters of the council, it would be you.

Those meetings drag on for hours on end on multiple occasions during the day as ravens fly in to share news of the brewing war. It robs you of your husband's attention and robs Aegon of his will to live as they tell him what to do and say, completely ignoring any input he might have—as idiotic as it may be.

You meet your distant cousin midway, complaining about how boring the meetings are and how uptight everyone is, including your husband. You offer the new King honest advice disguised as flippant comments, hoping he'll accept it even if he thinks of it as his own.

"It's not like I'm the only one who indulges in the pleasure of the street of silk. Every nobleman loves to get their cock wet by those whores," Aegon mumbles as a response to being reprimanded for his escapade late last night with his guards.

The charitable King paid for the villager's drinks and entertainment for the night. It was a prosperous night for the brothel. The 'ladies' will do just about anything to get coin. Who says the King doesn't aid his subordinates in need?

You stifle a laugh with the back of your hand and shake your head at him, "Yes, but you're the King now. It's not about laying with a commoner. It's about security. There are people who would do just about anything to gain Rhaenyra's favor, including hurting you, Aegon…"

Reasoning with Aegon is a challenge. His mind spins in ways you will never comprehend, but you try to keep your cousin safe while appeasing the council.

If Aegon values something, it's his life. If he knows there is danger out there, he will hold back, even if it's for a night or two. Her duty as his friend is to keep reminding him of all the danger lurking in the dark corners of the silk street.

"I suppose you're right, dear cousin. Guess we'll have to bring them here," he laughs as he thinks of the pandemonium it will cause. "I'll have Thalia and Margery or perhaps Dorothy. Hell, why limit myself? I'm the King! The guards can have their pick of the lot, Aemond will have his old reliable, and Lord Lannister can have the beautiful Sarah."

Aegon tips his goblet, drinking the last drops of wine to quench his dry mouth, failing to notice his slip-up.

Aemond's name sends a burning chill down your spine, and your mouth turns to cotton as it dries up. As you repeat Aegon's words, your heart promises to break out of your ribcage. Surely, you misunderstood his words.

"Aemond's old reliable?" You laugh to keep Aegon at ease. Grabbing the pitcher of wine to fill both of your cups, urging him to drink more and get his tongue looser. He won't remember your interrogation by morning.

"Ah yes, the first woman he fucked. Thanks to me, might I add. He still loves to visit her. I'd say her tits got him all enamored."

Just like the women in court, Aegon prattles on and on about everything he knows about Aemond and his whore. Including how he found him laying with her just last night—naked as the day he was born, blue sapphire glinting freely under the candlelight.

Blinding hot fury courses through your veins, lighting you up in flames from the inside out. Aegon will assume your reddening face and chest are from the wine and his vulgar words. There is no use in correcting him as you urge him to continue talking.

By night's end, you are equally as drunk as Aegon. The Guards escort you both to your respective chambers, watching amusedly how you argue with Aegon about whose dragon is strongest, Sunfyre or Dreamfyre. In reality, you were plotting which sibling would aid you in yelling dracarys in Aemond's direction.

You wish the alcohol would make you forget, but the sad truth is you will remember every single detail. The pounding headache you'll have in the morning will be a painful reminder of the secrets spilled over red wine.

For a fortnight, you sit and think about the valuable information Aegon shared with you. Anger burns ardently inside of you as it has nowhere to go. As a lady of the court, you're not allowed to train with the men, and as a Hightower, you have no dragon to channel that anger through.

If your fury were to be caused by any other reason, you'd find release in Aemond's arms. His aching cock stroking your drenched walls fervently. His sweaty skin sticking to yours. His fingers digging into your curves to find purchase. The low tone of his voice in your ear whispering words you'd never dare repeat and shamefully make you peak around him.

The thought makes you sick. How many times has he fucked her in such a way? Is it different? Does he let go and fuck her harder as he's not afraid she'll break?

Thinking is your worst enemy. As you imagine every possible scenario, your insecurities rise from their hiding spots. Does he love her? He laid bare with her; he must feel something if he allowed her to see him in such a vulnerable position.

The memory of the first time he took off his eyepatch in your presence pains you. So many conversations and stones of trust had to be set to get to that point, yet he did it with her. A common whore that dares ask for coin to please him with her presence.

You are different from the other ladies of the court who accept their husbands sleeping around with unknown women. You are jealous and territorial, something Aemond knew when you married. Under the eyes of the seven, he swore that his loyalties lay solely with you.

Alas, all men do is lie. Not even the noblest of men can be trusted. All you asked for was a good husband that would not embarrass you. How foolish of you to believe Aemond would be it.

Your fury grows and manifests as you observe Aemond and his whereabouts. It's hard to keep your anger at bay, but he's too busy plotting with Criston Cole to notice your withdrawing nature and emotional distance.

Visiting his quarters nearly every night tells you all you need to know. In that fortnight, you find him missing a multitude of times. There's no doubt he's in the brothel. Where else might he be deep into the night as the world sleeps?

When you ask about his location, the guards hesitate and stumble over their words. They try to save their necks by lying because the Prince continues to slip from their grasp time and time again. They are not as skillful at lying as your husband.

Having had enough, you wait for Aemond's return in his quarters. A goblet of wine is balanced between your fingers. The red liquid swirls along the rounded goblet, mimicking how your anger swirls around you.

You observe the map laid out on the wooden table. His plans are incredibly different from Aegon's. You pity the King as his most trusted advisor and Hand do as they please behind his back.

You've barely drank the wine. The goblet is merely a distraction from your fidgeting hands. You do not need the courage it provides; your anger fuels your intentions.

Old stone rumbles and sets behind you. Turning on your seat, you find Aemond emerging from one of Maegor's tunnels. This is how he sneaks out so damn easily.

"Wife," Aemond greets, keeping his composure, but his tense posture reveals shock. Your husband tends to wear a relaxed stance in your presence. You're the last person he expected to be waiting for him.

"Husband," you reply. The word is bitter on your tongue.

"What brings you in so late? You should be resting," Aemond speaks, taking off his cloak and approaching your seated figure.

Your eyes lazily move up to meet his. "Rest," you chuckle humorlessly. "I haven't been able to find rest in weeks."

"Does something ail you? Should I call a maester?" He asks, giving you a once over. Other than the dark circles around your eyes, there seems to be nothing out of place.

You're still you. Beautiful copper hair that easily identifies you as a Hightower flows down your back, and big brown eyes that resemble his mother's look back at him, although contempt has replaced the unconditional adoration that typically resides there.

His worry sickens you. His existence is an annoyance like a pebble in your shoe. You've harbored this anger for too long, and simple distaste can quickly transform into hate.

"Where were you?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. He's not going to get out of this. He must face the consequences of his actions. You will not live in bitterness while he runs around doing as he pleases.

"Conducting some business for the King." Aemond tilts his head, observing your posture and the set of your eyebrows. There's an electricity around you that shoots warning signs at him.

"Where. Were. You?"

"I'm afraid it is none of your business," Aemond says with a sharp exhale. He steps away to avoid your glaring gaze, unbuckling his sheath and setting it on one of the many desks that litter his room.

"I didn't realize we were keeping secrets from each other." The goblet's thud on the table is as loud as your unspoken fury. Wine splashes on the map like blood will spill in battle.

"There are always secrets. I have them. You have them," Aemond answers, leaning back on the desk.

Your hands smooth down the fabric of your dress as you stand. Finding his calculating gaze, you say, "So that's what you call your whore over at the silk street? A secret? I thought her name was Sylvi?"

Aemond freezes, and his muscles tense. You can't possibly know. He's entirely still as if the action would stop time and give him a chance to come up with an explanation, a lie. "I do not know what you speak of," the hesitancy of his voice unveils the cruel truth.

"Spare me the lies, and do not treat me like a naive maiden, Aemond. You know how much I loathe being made a fool," you snap loudly.

Aemond takes three long strides to reach you. Reacting, you take a step back but have nowhere to go. He doesn't touch you, but Aemond towers over you as he glares back. "Who told you? Was it Aegon?" He hisses.

"Please," you scoff. "The maids talk, the guards talk, husband. It was only a matter of time. Did you think I'd never find out? Are you truly that dense, Aemond?"

Your glare is sharp enough to cut him. He fell in love with that look when directed at others, but now that it's looking straight at him, he finds it's the one thing he might hate most.

All people around him have looked at him like that at some point. Aegon. Daemon. Jacaerys. Alicent. All except for his sweet sister and you, his beloved wife.

That look alone makes him regret stepping into the brothel many moons ago.

You should've never found out about Sylvi. It was meant to be a fleeting moment, but the war takes a toll on everyone, including Aemond.

Alicent's disapproving attitude towards him after Lucerys' incident led him to the whore more times than he can count as he sought the comfort Alicent never gave him and he craved.

"What is it that whore gives you that I do not?" You maintain eye contact as your chest presses against his. Your stubbornness will not let you back away from this argument. You deserve an answer.

You thought you were a good wife. Because of you, Aemond has two sons. You provided male heirs, a nobleman's dream. You warmed his bed whenever he asked and even when he didn't. You confided in him. You chose him.

"Talk, damn it. Your scheming plans won't get you out of this one," you yell, slamming your fists on his chest. Picking a fight is the only thing you have left. You want to scream at him until your voice turns raw.

"There is nothing to say. She's a quick fuck; that's all she is," Aemond seamlessly lies, grabbing your thundering fists. His thumb rubs over the back of your hands, hoping the calming gesture will tame your anger.

"A quick fuck? I could've been queen if I tolerated Aegon's quick fucks. The option was right there, and I chose you because I stupidly believed you'd make a better husband," you scream as your cheeks turn an unbelievable shade of red.

"Wife, please," Aemond pleads as you remind him.

The choice to wed you was not his to make. It was entirely yours. Each night, he prayed you'd choose to marry him. A woman of incredible smarts and hypnotizing beauty deserved to be with a man who acknowledged those attributes, not a blundering man like Aegon, who would only use her for her body.

"Do not touch me," you spit, tearing your wrists from his grasp and pushing him back with all the muster you could gather. "How dare you try to touch me after you've laid with her? After you fucked her? You repulse me."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you spew your words. Aemond stands there, taking it all of your fury—he deserves it. What you hate the most is that he does nothing to defend himself, as if all of your words are the maddening truth.

"It was not my intention to hurt you," Aemond swallows as tears fall down your cheeks.

"These tears do not stem from hurt. They are from humiliation. You embarrassed me, Aemond. Do you know how many hours I've spent praising you in front of the other ladies of the court, speaking about how perfect of a husband you've been these past two years?"

Your pride might be bigger than his, and he's done the worst thing he could ever do— wound it. Such a prideful woman will only forgive him if there's a good enough reason and with lots of begging.

At his silence, you push past him and reach for the door. "I've made my duty as your wife and given you two sons. Do not expect more from me. Go to your little whore and see if she'll perform the wifely duties you asked from me." With one more glance towards your husband, you slam the door.

It is no mystery why Aemond is in a mood from that night forward. Guards stand straighter with him around, Aegon's so-called friends keep quiet, and Criston Cole bears the brunt of it all as Aemond calls him to spar. Each passing day becomes more brutal.

You have stayed true to your word and kept your distance from Aemond. You've never felt as far away from him as when you sit by him during meals. You no longer place your hand on his thigh when Aegon throws jabs at him or smile his way when he says something worth admiring.

If you must address him regarding the children, you do so but with a straight face and without awaiting his answer. The Red Keep has turned grey as you no longer pull him through the halls between duties to find a dark corner to kiss or touch him. Fleeting moments he truly cherished.

He's losing you, and he doesn't know what to do to fix it. He's sure that you will never look at him the same if he comes clean with the truth. It will burn whatever thread is left of your marriage.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Alicent asks. They're in her quarters discussing one of the many plans to prepare for war, and yet he's not paying attention.

"Nothing," he says softly, eyeing the map in front of him. We should send our men to the east."

Alicent tilts her head and sits across from him, studying him closely. "Is this about your wife?"

The glint the young Hightower carries is missing. Her constant search for Aemond throughout the day has ceased abruptly, startling Alicent and Helaena. She rarely mentions him, only speaking about him when asked, and even then, her words have bite.

Alicen believed her son could do no wrong regarding his wife. Aemond adored you. He pinned after you from the moment it was announced that you were searching for a husband.

Alicent was hesitant at first. Marrying inside the family was a queer Targaryen custom, not a Hightower one, yet Otto insisted. Another Hightower in the Red Keep meant more power. He pushed you to marry Aegon while Aemond asked Alicent to consider him instead. She left it in your hands. It was only fair that you made the choice of who you shared your life with.

Aemond is silent momentarily, "She's upset with me." His words are short as he avoids talking about the subject.

"What did you do?" Alicent sighs disappointedly, leaning back on her chair. Why must her sons ruin all good things in their lives?

Alicent's reaction causes him to close back up just as quickly. Yes, it is his fault, but his mother's lack of faith is disheartening. Once upon a time, Aemond would've confided in his mother, but recent events have severed that trust. "My marital problems are none of your concern."

"Then how am I to help you fix this?" She asks in a knowing tone. Alicent feels the weight of her house on her shoulders. She's responsible for keeping everything together.

"I don't recall asking for your help, mother." Aemond ignores her judging eyes, moving the metal pieces around the map. He was here to make war plans, not talk about his feelings.

"Very well," Alicent clears her throat, moving farther away from her son. The gods are punishing as each one of her children drift away from her.

Unlike Aemond's mother, you take your duty as a mother quite seriously. Your children are all you have, and you cherish them equally. You refused a wet nurse when you birthed your first, and when the second followed a year after, you proceeded to do the same.

Feeding them from your breast brings a wave of emotion that is impossible to describe. The bond that forms between mother and child is strengthened by this natural action. Why do the other ladies in court not do the same? All they do is gossip and indulge in the luxuries of the keep. They have no responsibilities other than to please their husbands and care for their children.

The loud cries of your youngest filter through the door and echo throughout the halls of the keep. The babe has been incessantly crying for the past hour for no reason. Feeding and changing his nappy did nothing to ease his discomfort, leaving you overwhelmed. Nonetheless, you continue to soothe your child because if you didn't, what kind of mother would you be?

You ignore Aemond as he steps into your chambers, bouncing the eleven-month-old in your arms. He must've followed the cries. "There, there, Baelor," you coo, placing your hand on the back of his head, brushing through the thin strands of pale silver hair.

The babe continues to sniffle and release weak cries. The poor thing is exhausted yet refuses to sleep. He hangs onto his mother's dress and hair, opening and closing his chubby fist.

Aemond approaches you, extending his hands to take him from you, "May I?"

You cannot refuse him. Baelor is his son, and while he seeks the pleasure of common whores you know he adores his sons.

Baelor is fuzzy and complains when he's taken away from your warm embrace, but he immediately settles in his father's hold when he recognizes him. The smell of Aemond's leather clothes offered him the comfort he was searching for.

Baelor missed his father.

"Clearly, you're his favorite," you murmur, settling down in the chaise that faces the fireplace. You're worse for wear. It's hard to find rest when questions remain unanswered, and you've lost the person you love most.

"Only till it's time to feed," Aemond says to lighten the mood between you.

You scoff, removing your jewelry and tossing it on the cushion beside you. "Great, I'm a glorified cow, only used to feed."

Aemond falters, his hold on his son tightening as he curls closer into Aemond's neck. Baelor's soft breaths tickle his neck. "That's not what I meant, wife."

You continue to stare into the fire as tears line your eyes. "I know," you whisper. It's been a difficult day.

Had you not been betrayed by Aemond, you would've sought his attention and spilled all the thoughts running through your mind so he could tell you you were being unreasonable.

He would reassure you that you're intelligent, beautiful, a wonderful mother, cunning, captivating, and a dream come to life.

You're punishing yourself. You decided to distance yourself, and came to the horrid realization that it is much harder than you bargained. You underestimated what three years of always being together would do to you.

Aemond catches on to your apprehension and puts a sleeping Baelor on the cradle the nursemaid left by your bed. He returns to your side and kneels on the floor right by your feet.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes for the first time since that night. It's been a long, difficult four weeks without you by his side. He misses all the little things you did for him.

All the check-ups throughout the day to make sure he's broken fast or slept well. Brushing his hair at night before he takes you to bed and shows you his gratitude. Your eyes meeting his across the room, suggesting he takes you elsewhere for a stolen private moment away from everyone else.

He misses you telling him about everything Baelor and Rhaegar got up to in the day and about every new milestone they hit, suggesting they are as healthy as they can be. He misses the late nights spent tangled together, talking about what the future holds for you both, the idea of having a baby girl for Rhaegar and Baelor to protect.

"What do you apologize for now?"

"For betraying your trust. I made an oath and broke it, and for that, I apologize. It is my biggest regret in life," Aemond says, reaching for your hand. "Please, forgive me."

"Then why do you continue to lie?" You whisper as a tear rolls down your cheeks.

"That's the only truth there is," Aemond whispers breathlessly. You give him a pitiful chuckle and tug your hand away from his despite wanting to hold onto it forever.

Your nose burns as more tears spill from your eyes. Insecurity wrapping you in its arms. "Please, do not lie. Why do you want me to believe you went to the brothel for a fleeting pleasure when I have always been here? Am I not good enough for you?"

Your anger has simmered down to a smoky sadness that envelops you. Aemond is lying to you when you're the person he's supposed to trust the most. If there is a chance of rebuilding this marriage, he must tell you the truth, even if it ruins you.

"Gods, you are everything I wanted and more, my sweet wife," Aemond speaks, cupping your face to wipe away your salty tears.

He's at a loss. He's hurt you, but the pain can be remedied if he speaks the truth. How can he allow you to believe you're not enough when you're the perfect woman. His endeavors in the street of silk stem from his own damaged soul, never yours.

"I am afraid," Aemond confesses, brushing one last tear with the pad of his thumb before he retreats his hands. You stare back at him, puzzled. "It is not what you believe. I have not laid with another woman since I married you."

"Then what is it, Aemond? Because my mind has conjured up the worst of scenarios."

"You will not think of me the same," he says, ashamed, hanging his head to avoid your hurt gaze.

"Is that such a bad thing?" You ask aloud, and without awaiting his response, you continue to speak, "Until you work up the courage to tell me the truth, things will remain the same. No matter how much it hurts."

Standing, you leave Aemond kneeling on the floor to prepare for sleep. You glance over your shoulder and watch Aemond stare deep into the fire. When you step out of the privacy screen, he's gone.

It takes another week of agony for Aemond to come to a decision. He cannot bear having you so close yet so far away. He misses you and greatly underestimates how much happier you make him.

He hasn't been to the brothel since the night you confronted him. He barely spares it a thought nowadays. You are the only person wreaking havoc in his head.

He fucked up his marriage, and now he has to pay his dues, even if it means coming clean about his intentions with Sylvi. It was barely sexual, he hasn't fucked her since he married you, but he couldn't let go of the comfort she provided, and Alicent withdrew.

He's smart enough to know it's a farce. The women in the brothel will do just about anything if it means they are paid. But Aemond deluded himself into believing Sylvi cared about what he had to say and told her things he hadn't spoken to anyone else. She played the part well, giving advice freely and reassuring him with soft touches and softer words.

When the guard opens the door to Aemond's chambers, allowing you to enter, he instantly stands, approaching you to ask for your hand and kiss the back of it.

You raise an eyebrow at him but allow him nonetheless. The press of his lips to your skin sends a spark up your arm and down your spine.

"Wife," he greets, guiding you to sit.

"Aemond," you reply, not quite giving in to his sweet actions. Aemond summoned you with the promise of the truth. That is why you're here.

"How does the day find you?"

"Aemond, please," you plead. You came for the truth, and niceties won't do anything to soften the brunt of his words. Prolonging this won't help anyone.

"Very well," Aemond sighs, gesturing you to sit. His hands remain on his lap where he opens and closes them anxiously. "I met her when I was three and ten. Aegon forced me to the brothel because he thought it was time I…became a man."

You dare not speak as Aemond justifies his actions. You need to know the truth before your nerves consume you.

This is the tricky part of his story. After a brief pause, he clears his throat and continues, "She was far older than I was and offered something I lacked in the Keep. Comfort, solace, familiarity, whatever you want to call it. I continued to visit her throughout my youth, although it wasn't always to find release rather than someone to listen and give me what my mother never could."

Aemond avoids looking at you, afraid of what he might find written on your face. Perhaps disgust, shame, or disapproval.

He owed you the truth, so he spoke about all the details of this affair. How he liked the intimacy of lying naked with Sylvi, suckling at her breast. How she would hold him in her arms and touch him. The advice she would offer. The things they spoke about. How he rejects her when she makes any advances, thinking that's what he wants. He admits that he is completely vulnerable and free for those hours because she will have his side no matter what he says.

"Do you have feelings for her?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. It's terrifying to think he might harbor feelings for her. Such intimate acts easily allow feelings to infiltrate one's being. "Aemond, look at me."

Hesitantly, Aemond meets your eyes. Your face is blank, devoid of emotion that may indicate what you now think of him.

"No, and I never will," Aemond says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He chooses his words carefully, "She was an escape, someone to listen to the tragedy that was my life. She knew what I wanted and gave it unsolicited. I know it is not real, wife, but I was foolish enough to seek more."

The emotion that surfaces in your face is not directed at him; instead, it reflects the insecurities you have about yourself. "Did you not think I could give you what she did and actually mean it?"

Insecurities of his own rise up and make themselves shown, "I thought you would see me as a weaker man."

You're both so young with so much to learn, yet if there is one thing you're certain about, it's the love you share. That love would never make you see Aemond as weak; it would transform that quality he refers to as weak into something totally different and positive.

"You are not weak but a fool," you shake your head, reaching for him. It is your turn to cup his face to force him to focus only on you. "I know of those feelings you hide firmly, Aemond. I spent most of my childhood here in King's Landing. I watched while Aegon and the Strong boys teased you. I was here when you returned from Driftmark without an eye. I heard your cries of pain. You come off as this stoic man to everyone else, the fierce Aemond, but I know the real you."

"I am ashamed." Aemond is truthful. No more lies weight his beating heart.

"Do you swear to never look for her again? That you will come to me instead?"

"I swear it by the old gods and the new. I swear it by the seven. I swear it by my life," Aemond promises. "Will you return to me, wife?" He asks hopefully, placing his hands over yours, afraid your touch will leave him.

"Yes, husband," you nod, pressing your forehead against his.

Your lips find his as the last word you speak is uttered. It's been far too long, and his dragon blood is calling for you. Aemond is quick to react, moving his lips desperately against yours and pulling you to his lap.

He comes to you late at night once there are no more council calls or responsibilities to tend to. It's around that time when he has nothing to busy himself with, and the ache in his chest makes itself known.

It's a constant reminder that he is far from invincible. Pain and hurt live within him, ready to resurface at the most unexpected times.

"Husband." You greet him with a bright smile when he steps into your chambers.

"Wife," he speaks quietly, standing uncomfortably by your door. While he's agreed to come to you in his times of need, Aemond is unsure how to approach the situation.

"What is the matter?" A pout adorns your lips as you walk over to him. It's genuine concern.

Aemond stiffens when you approach him, tilting your head to assess him. You wrap your arms around his waist, searching for his gaze.

"Aemond?" You call to him softly.

"Please," he whispers with shaking hands that he places on your hips. The expensive material of your night shift is soft against his palms.

The tone of his voice and the reserved behavior tell you what he's asking for. You nod wordlessly and grab his hand, guiding him to your bed.

This is unlike those moments when passion takes over and desperate need forces you to tug and tear his clothes away. With patience and delicate fingers, you calmly help him undress.

Unbuckling the clasps of his leather doublet, you slide it down his arms and throw it to the side. The tunic that covers his chest comes off next, exposing the strong panels of his abdomen and the ropes of muscle of his arms. All a result of his extensive training.

Featherlight touches to his skin make his breath hitch as they slide down to his breeches, where you agilely untie the laces. You don't meet his eyes as you do so, giving him some resemblance of modesty, but Aemond watches intently how you treat him with such care.

You gently push him to sit on the bed, where you kneel to take off his boots and socks. Aemond allows his breeches to fall to the ground, leaving him completely naked, except for the eyepatch he wears like armor.

It protects him from the disgusted expressions people shoot him with because of the deformity he acquired as a child.

It never stops hurting.

You've never been repulsed by his missing eye. On the contrary, you're fascinated by the scar and the sapphire embedded in the empty socket.

Reaching around his head, you unclasp the leather and place the eyepatch with the rest of his clothing. You offer him a delicate smile while placing your hand on his cheek, and he leans into it.

Your touch on his raised scar eases the pain.

Withdrawing from him, you tug in the lacing of your night shift and shrug it off your shoulders to uncover your body. You had promised to offer him the same care she did in that wretched place.

The bed is covered by pillows and blankets to protect you from the cold of the incoming winter, and you mentally thank the maids for preparing the fire before they left you to rest. You lie over the furs, extending your hand towards Aemond to welcome him in.

Aemond's timidness is present, but he pushes it to the side as he climbs onto the bed and settles across your lap. Your skin is soft and warm against his, and your soft curves, molded to accommodate his children, bring him comfort.

As you brush through his hair with your fingers, you gently untie the band holding half of his hair up. You massage the silver tresses, his scalp prickling from the release of tension. He hums quietly, enjoying the feeling of your fingers on his hair.

"What troubles you, my Prince?" You finally ask.

Aemond's head rests on your shoulder, his breath hitting your collarbones. One of your hands rests upon his back, drawing figures across the expanse of it, feeling every bump and curve of his spine and muscles. The other grasps his hand, pulling it to your lips to press a reassuring kiss to the palm of it.

"That title. Prince." He murmurs sadly, taking a deep breath.

That familiar scent of oils invades his senses. It's a smell he remembers from his childhood when Alicent still cared for him. In turn, his body relaxes, and he closes his eyes momentarily.

"It is a stepping stone in the hierarchy," you reply, recognizing what he implies. Aegon does not have what it takes to rule a kingdom, while Aemond years to sit on the throne.

Aemond reaches up to grasp at a strand of copper hair. The same shade as his mothers. He twists it around his finger while shifting to make himself more comfortable. "I thought all of my achievements would be more fruitful," he ponders.

It seems that ruling a kingdom falls on the eldest male heir, even if they are not fit to rule. Aegon sits on the throne, yet the rest of the council rules on his behalf. This puts the Targaryen name to shame; the fool barely speaks High Valyrian.

"Patience is key. Aegon shows no signs of changing. He will be his own downfall," you respond thoughtfully. You hate thinking about Aegon in such a way, but it's the truth. He wants to prove himself so badly but goes about it all the wrong way.

Copper hair leads to naked skin the same shade as his mother's, and for once, he can imagine himself in his mother's embrace. It brings tears to his eyes as he curls further into you, and his nose brushes against your skin.

With the pillows propping you up and Aemond curled on your lap, you press a kiss to the crown of his head. Your touch runs all over his skin, from his face to his feet.

Aemond continues to speak his mind, and you offer the perfect responses to his dilemmas, calming him when his emotions get the best of him and tears spill from his eyes.

He should've come to you sooner. You're a high-born lady who knows much more about life in court. There were always warning signs with Sylvi. She tried to manipulate him into thinking about the common folk and their ailments more than once. She would never understand that while House Targaryen is at war, there is no space to think about the well-being of its subordinates.

When silence ensues, Aemond allows himself to look up at you. You're serene as you hold him close to your body without an ounce of impatience. The resemblance to his mother is there, but he got something much better.

He got a woman who loves him unconditionally, flaws and all.

Lacing his fingers with yours, Aemond closes his eyes and melts further into your touch. You hug him close and whisper your affections. This is how it was always meant to be.

That night, Aemond sleeps in your chambers. It would be wrong for him to leave after you've treated him with such tenderness. You are no simple whore from the street of silk. You are his wife, and as such, you are meant to be treated with utmost respect. Something he had failed to do but no more.

Breathy whines, wake him before the sun rises. Recognizing your voice, he wakes, looking at his surroundings for any danger. When you whine once more, he glances over at you.

You squirm in your sleep, seemingly uncomfortable. Something bothers you, but your exhaustion prevents you from waking. One of your hands reaches for your chest, and another whine spills from your lips.

Aemond's eye is drawn to the action. He reaches for the sheet covering your body and pulls on it to find the cause of your discomfort. His breath hitches, and his cock aches.

Your breasts are swollen and tender from being filled to their capacity, causing beads of milk to leak from the stiff peaks of your nipples.

Aemond briefly remembers you mentioning how Baelor has been fuzzy lately, and Rhaegar is getting older and doesn't seek you as often for food, yet you continue to produce copious amounts of milk. He has been blessed with a perfect wife and an excellent mother who produces enough sustenance for his children.

Aemond's pointer finger traces a path down your neck to your left breast. They are calling to him as his finger follows the curve of your breast up to your puffy areola and tip of your nipple. A slight press to the taught skin prompts more fluid to leak down your sides, and you hiss in discomfort.

Bringing his finger up to his lips, he licks the whitish liquid. Perhaps it's a mistake, as he's left wanting more. Aemond uncovers the top half of your naked body and leans over your chest. With one look towards your beautiful face, he wraps his lips around the plush flesh of your breast.A surge of liquid fills his mouth.

You have the sweetest milk he has ever had the pleasure of tasting. Aemond moans at the saccharine taste. It is so much better than the farce he had in the brothel. This milk comes from his wife, who nurtures his healthy sons.

A loud, sultry moan spills from your lips as some of the pressure is alleviated. You're now between sleep and awareness. Your hand cradling the back of Aemond's head.

Aemond's cock is painfully hard as it presses against your thigh. He's been driven into a frenzy, your milk serving as an aphrodisiac. His hand brushes against your inner thigh to answer a rising question.

Careful fingers find your wet slit, proving his theory right. He's not the only depraved person in the room. Your body is responsive to him even in altered states of consciousness.

Your cunt is absolutely drenched, making it so easy for Aemond to push a finger in. It's enough to fully wake you from your slumber. "Ah, Aemond." You throw your head back in pleasure.

It takes you a second to take in the entirety of Aemond's actions. The pleasure coursing through you, overwhelming your senses. A loud moan tears through your throat at the realization that Aemond is not simply teasing your breasts. Aemond feasts on your aching tits.

"Have your fill, my prince," you beg as that ache in your chest is pleasingly soothed.

Aemond is eager and rough. The light stubble of his jaw sends a current of electricity down to your cunt where you clench around his fingers.

"My Aemond, good boy." He responds to the praise why sliding another finger into your tight cunny. The slick sound of your arousal accompanies the suckling of his lips.

You squeeze your other breast to alleviate the tightening discomfort and drops fall on your hand. Drawn to it, Aemond switches, and you squeal as his teeth scrape the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond ruts into your thigh as he quickens the pace of his fingers intruding on your cunny to part through your walls. The vibration of his quiet moans stimulates your swollen peaks.

If this is not heaven, he doesn't wish for it.

Your fingers tangle in his silver hair when you arch your back to offer yourself to him. His eye meets your hooded gaze and sets himself to give you whatever you please. His thumb circles your pearl expertly, and he curls his digits to hit your spot more firmly.

You cry in pleasure with your hips, riding his fingers until you come with a shudder and his name on your lips. Your walls clamp down on his fingers hard enough it is hard for him to retrieve them.

Aemond rises from your chest and pinches your cheeks with his fingers that remain coated with your slick, prompting your mouth to open. A stream of your milk falls from his mouth to yours as he gives you a sweet taste.

You believe another orgasm rips through your body as his lips press against yours to share a sweet tasting kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, allowing you the pleasure of tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Please," you beg for him, spreading your legs wantonly.

One to indulge his wife in all pleasures, Aemond pulls you on top of him, "Take what you desire."

His cock is fully erect and begging for attention. The tip is swollen and flushed a deep pink as it leaks pre that beads down his shaft.

Aemond acknowledges you've reached your limit when his beautiful wife, who adores worshipping his cock on her knees, grabs his length and sinks onto him without a preamble.

"Go on, my love, you can take it," Aemond hisses as you try to lower yourself to take all of him. His hands grip your hips tightly, urging you on. He swears your walls continue to contract from your previous peak.

"Aemond, husband," you moan lewdly. Your hips tentatively begin bouncing on him, and your tits follow to Aemond's delight.

He's mesmerized by them and how they continue to leak. Aemond mouths one more aggressively, teasing your nipple with his tongue, nipping at the surrounding flesh to leave his mark. His hand massages the other, allowing droplets to fall down your abdomen and onto your cunt.

"My perfect wife, such a good mother," Aemond mutters, praising you, "Pretty tits always full and her cunny always wet."

You hold onto Aemond's strong shoulders, your nails leaving marks across his back. Your hips grind on him deliciously as your clit rubs against his pelvis.

"Aemond, please," you beg, quickening your pace. You're on the verge of yet another delicious peak. "I want another." You'll have as many as he wants as long as he treats you with this much attention.

Aemond kisses up your neck and growls in your ear, "I shall give you as many as you'd like."

Swiftly, he turns you so your back is to the bed. He hikes your thighs up around his waist and snaps his hips fiercely. You first the bedsheets around you as Aemond holds bruisingly against your hips and thighs.

He's close to his own peak as well. Aemond manages to hold back because of all the attention he's giving your tits, but his cock cannot take anymore, especially with how deliciously your walls wrap around him.

Aemond admires his perfect wife. Your hair fans out on the pillows, and your facial expression morphs into one of pure ecstasy as you come once more. Your breasts are less swollen, but your stiff peaks remain puffy and flushed from his attention. Your cunt chokes his cock, knowing exactly what it takes to please him.

His rhythmic thrusting begins to falter, so with a couple more jerks of his hips and a groan, he paints your insides white. "There we go, all for you."

"Thank you," you lilt, biting your lip at the sensation of being filled.

You giggle when he leans down to kiss all over your face, a laugh of his own reaching your ears.

The door creaking open wakes you up, bringing the sheets to your chest, you sit up. Aemond lets the bedsheet fall to his lap, ready to scold whoever dares interrupt his time with his wife.

A small blonde head peaks in, and a big grin unleashes on its lips when he sees his parents. Young Rhaegar toddles into the room, and his head is barely seen as he stands on the edge of the bed. His tiny hands try to grasp the edge, but he's still too small to get himself up.

Aemond reaches over to bring him up, pressing a kiss on his head, but Rhaegar happily crawls over Aemond and falls into your waiting arms.

Aemond's exposed sapphire earns no reaction. In fact, the eyepatch tends to catch his son's attention more. Aemond ensured that when his sons came into this world, he would greet them as he truly is.

You pepper kisses all over Rhaegar's face, and he giggles, squirming on your lap. While Baelor favored his father, Rhaegar was entirely yours. "What are you doing here, little dragon?" You ask him sweetly.

The nursemaid stepping through the open door answers your question, "Prince Aemond, Lady Hightower. My apologies, he scurried away before I could-"

"It is alright. You may leave us," Aemond says, waving his hand to dismiss her. The young girl bows her head, hiding her blushing cheeks, and scurries away without saying another word, aware of the compromising position of the Prince and his wife.

"My sweetest, why are you up so early?" You coo, threading your fingers through his messy hair that sticks up in all directions.

Rhaegar hides his face on your chest, mumbling, "Missed you."

You gasp dramatically, facing the young boy with a surprised expression. "You missed me? I missed you!" Your son laughs and presses a wet kiss to your cheek.

"What about me, little dragon?" Aemond asks, tickling his belly.

Rhaegar cutely shakes his head with a mischievous smile, squealing loudly when Aemond reaches for him and takes him into his own arms to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar's childlike laugh pierces the air as he asks for your help.

"You're going to get me in trouble," Aemond grumbles, playfully glaring at his son as he continues to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar repeats, pushing Aemond's hands away and waiting for you to scold Aemond or something.

You watch the interaction with a wide smile. It's nice to see Aemond this calm. "Give me back, my little dragon, or there are no more kisses for you," you threaten Aemond with a furrow of your eyebrows and a pout. Aemond abruptly stops and loosens his hold on the toddler.

Rhaegar laughs and throws himself in your arms, hugging your neck. His giggles never cease. Aemond winks at you and pulls you to lie on his chest.

"How about we go see Vhagar later?" Aemond asks Rhaegar who calmed down to a drowsy state. It's still very early for him to have been up. He must've had a bad dream.

"Sunfyre?" Rhaegar gasps, looking up at his father. Aemond rolls his eyes and nods. He guesses he can invite Aegon so his son can see the golden dragon.

"That's your favorite, isn't it?" You ask him amusedly, although you agree. Sunfyre is a beautiful dragon and much friendlier than Vhagar.

Rhaegar nods enthusiastically as he babbles about the pretty dragon. You lay with your back to Aemond's chest as he envelops you both with his arms.

At that moment, Aemond realizes he feels fulfilled with his little family by his side.

it was not part of the plan to let this oneshot be this long. there is something about the complexity of aemond's character that doesn't let me write something brief.

nonetheless this was a super fun oneshot to write. it took me the whole week because i was so busy but i had been thinking about it nonstop. i think i overdid it with the lactation part but oh well!

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept aemond's sapphire, rhaenyra's crown, criston cole slander, emojis, words of encouragement, a lot of praise, virtual hugs and gushing about sunfyre and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

-nikki 🖤

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valentinevirgo · 8 days

Text

Meet the Parents (carmen "carmy" berzatto x fem!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

carmen "carmy" berzatto x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.5K

Rating: E

Summary: Carmen deals with anxiety as he prepares to meet your parents for the first time and the pressure of making a good impression weighs heavily on his mind.

Warning: anxiety, insecurity, angst-ish (carmy's internalized thoughts), established relationship, language, slight jealousy/possessiveness, praise, dirty talk, pet names, oral sex (f receiving), implied p in v sex, soft!carmy <3, fluff y’all

A/N: This feeds as a one-shot for my Collection of Moments and is apart of my Wine & Dine universe However, it can be read as a stand-alone as well. So, I rarely write in the other POV – I literally have only done it once before. I usually always write from the reader's perspective, but for this, I felt it was necessary to be in Carmy’s mind. I can’t tell if I like it, but here it is. Also, as we can see, I’m terrible at drabbles…

Note: I've been having problems sharing this story as its not appearing in the tags so I hope this third try will work 😩 Update: Not all the tags worked... so I gave up lmao

You sat on the couch in Carmen's living room, phone pressed against your ear as you talked to your mother.

"Oh, this weekend? Yeah, I can make it out for the barbeque on Sunday,"

As you spoke, Carmen walked into the room and sat beside you. He could hear snippets of the conversation but didn't want to eavesdrop.

"Mmhm, yeah Mom, he'll be busy at the restaurant. So no, he probably can't make it,”

Carmen couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at those words. He had been with you officially for 3 months, and you two had known each other for practically a year, but he still hadn't found the time to meet your family. You had met his entire family, even met Donna informally who had been stopping by the restaurant more often since her granddaughter had been born.

After you finished your conversation after a few minutes and hung up the phone, he turned to you hesitantly, trying to sound casual. "Hey, why did you say I couldn’t come this weekend?"

Thoughts raced through his mind – Were you embarrassed by him? Did you not want him to meet your family? Did you have doubts about your relationship?

You chuckled slightly, "Because I’m going to be spending the night at my parents on Saturday, which is the busiest night at The Bear,"

Relief washed over Carmen when he realized he had jumped to conclusions, but still felt a twinge of guilt for not making time to meet your family sooner. Carmen made a mental note to clear his schedule for the weekend and finally make the effort to meet your family. Sydney could handle it. He wanted to show your parents that he was serious about your relationship and that he cared about you deeply.

Carmen shook his head, determination shining in his beautiful blue eyes. "But, I really want to meet your family,"

"You don't have to push yourself too hard, Carmy. I know how busy you are, and I don't want to add more stress to your plate,”

"I understand," Carmen replied, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. He was so busy all the time that he realized he had created a narrative that made you assume he could never be easily available. You’re a fuckin’ asshole Berzatto. “But, it's not about stress. It's bout’ makin’ time for the things and people that matter most to me. And you… are at the top of that list,” he insisted.

You felt a rush of emotion at his words and leaned in to give him a tender kiss. "Okay,” you smiled brightly, feeling grateful that he was open to the idea. You knew family stuff… was hard for him. “But seriously, no pressure,” you reminded him.

Carmen nodded, feeling reassured by your words. “I love you,” he said shyly. It had only been a few weeks since you two had started saying those words. But every time he looked into your eyes; he could feel the words bubbling up inside of him. If he was honest, he had fallen in love with you way before you two had even started dating.

As he thought back to the first time he accidentally blurted out "I love you" in a grocery store, he couldn't help but smile. He had been so scared of your reaction, but you had surprised him by simply leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.

You then whispered in his ear, "I feel like I’ve loved you for so long," And in that moment, all his fears and doubts had melted away. You were so fucking perfect.

“I love you too Carmy,” he heard you say as he returned to the present, and his heart raced when he heard you say those words. There was the weight of those three little words – they held power—the power to heal, to connect, to change everything.

Carmen had never been good at first impressions; he stumbled over words and fumbled with handshakes. But this was different. This was about proving himself to you, to them, and maybe even to himself. He knew he needed to prioritize you and be there for you in ways that transcended busy schedules and work commitments. He wanted to be more than just “that chef” you were dating at The Bear. He wanted to be the man who held your hand at family gatherings, who laughed with your parents, and who fucking showed up for you.

You peppered his neck with soft kisses and ran your fingers along his chest. He tried to focus on the sensation of your touch, but his thoughts kept pulling him away, his mind lost in a maze of worries. What if they didn't like him? And worse…what if one day, you would wake up and realize he wasn’t enough?

Carmen gripped the steering wheel tightly, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sped down the highway. He could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him, causing a knot to form in his stomach. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard and cursed under his breath. He had called you to let you know he was going to be late, and listened to your unwavering patience and understanding on the other line, which felt like an oasis in a desert of chaos. But he still felt like shit. He wanted to believe you when you said, ‘Carmy, it’s totally fine, get here safely’, but there was a voice—the one that echoed his mother’s harsh words, his father walking out on him, his old boss in New York. It told him that he was broken, and that he would ruin everything eventually.

He had been looking forward to today, but everything had been falling apart. The problems at the Bear had started earlier that day, with one disaster after another piling up, and it delayed him from getting to you. First, the delivery truck arrived late, throwing off their entire prep schedule. Then, one of the new line cooks working with Ebra, overwhelmed by the fast-paced environment, quit on the spot, leaving them short-staffed during the lunch rush. As if that wasn’t enough, the walk-in cooler malfunctioned, causing some of their fresh ingredients to spoil. That fucking walk-in cooler was the bane of Carmen’s existence.

Sydney had assured him that it was fine, that she could handle things at the restaurant with Sugar and Cousin as he prepared to leave. But as he looked at the clock and realized how late he was, he couldn't help but feel like he was letting everyone down. He felt torn between his responsibilities at the restaurant and his commitment to you.

As he navigated through traffic to get to Naperville, he couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his chest. You had left for your parents’ place earlier that day to grab lunch with them and he had told you he would meet you there after lunch service and spend the night in Naperville with you. He should have just left with you and questioned why he had gone into the restaurant today. Because you’re a fuckin’ workaholic.

He finally pulled up to the address of your parents' house and stepped out of his car feeling nervous. He straightened his collar and took a deep breath before mustering the courage to walk up the front steps and knock on the door with a bouquet mixed with roses, lilies, sunflowers, and irises for your mother.

As he stood on the porch, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. The door swung open, and you appeared, a warm smile on your face. His breath caught in his throat. You were wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, but you looked absolutely stunning. He couldn't tear his gaze away from you, completely blown away by how effortlessly beautiful you looked.

"Hey, you made it," you said, stepping out to greet him.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry I’m late, I just –,”

You reached up and planted a soft kiss on his lips cutting him off, and he felt the tension ease from his body. Your touch was like magic, calming his nerves and reminding him why he was here in the first place.

"It's okay, don't worry about it," you said, giving him a reassuring smile. Why the fuck were you so understanding all the time? The guilt creeped in—the insecurity that he wasn’t always easy to love, that he carried baggage from a dysfunctional past.

He traced the curve of your jaw. “Why are you so patient with me?” he whispered. “I don’t deserve it.”

You shifted to face him, your eyes soft. “Carmy! You literally had someone quit on you today and you still showed up. You didn’t have to be here today. Can you please stop being so hard on yourself?” you said, pulling him in for a hug.

Carmen felt a wave of relief wash over him as he held you close, feeling your warmth and hearing your comforting words. He knew you were right, but he still felt bad.

“Of course, I had to be here,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you for bein’ you,”

“I know, I’m kind of awesome,” you smirked.

He straightened his posture and ran a hand through his hair, trying to appear confident in the face of this intimidating situation as a bead of sweat formed on his brow. His heart raced as he envisioned the impending introductions and the scrutinizing gaze of your parents. He swallowed hard, attempting to calm his nerves as he mentally rehearsed what he should say.

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, sensing his anxiety "Don't be nervous, they're going to love you."

"Thanks," he said, feeling grateful to feel your hand in his. "I think… I’m ready,"

As he spent the evening with your parents, laughing and sharing stories, Carmen felt a sense of belonging that he had never experienced before. Your parents welcomed him with open arms, making him feel like he was a part of something special. He couldn't believe how lucky he was to have you in his life. It was a stark contrast to the chaos he was used to. His own upbringing had been marked by shouting matches, broken promises, and a sense of impermanence. But here, in this cozy living room, everything felt different.

Your parents were impressive, it was intimidating. They had immigrated to this country during their university years. Your father was a successful partner at a prestigious law firm, while your mother was a respected professor at the University of Chicago. As Carmen listened to their stories, he marveled at the normalcy. The way your parents teased each other, finishing each other’s sentences. The way they held hands, a silent affirmation of their bond. It was like watching a heartwarming movie—one he’d never imagined could exist beyond the screen.

Dinner was a feast—a spread of homemade dishes that tasted like love, and your parent's stories about growing up in a small village transported Carmen to another time. They asked about his life, his dreams, and listened intently, as if his words mattered.

And then there was you—the reason he was here. You sat across from him, your smile radiant. You’d shared stories about your family—their quirks, their imperfections. How your father at first was not on board with you trying to become a Sommelier after you dropped out of law school. But now, seeing them in action, he understood. Your parents weren’t perfect, and your father, in particular, had high standards and expectations. But they were real. They seemed to love fiercely, forgive freely, and had created a haven of stability for you and your siblings.

By the end of the night, they started calling him Carmy… and he couldn’t be happier. Tomorrow for the barbeque, he would meet your brothers, the twins who were known for being fiercely protective of you, since you were the youngest. He had already met your sister briefly at the wine shop, and that had gone well. She would be there tomorrow with her husband, whom he hadn’t met yet, along with your niece and nephew, who he knew you adored. It was shocking to him that families actually wanted to spend time together, that they could support and love each other without the constant undercurrent of tension and conflict he was used to. Is this what your future would be like once you two got married and had kids?

He realized how crazy he was for thinking that. But… you were it for him.

Later, he laid in your childhood bed waiting for you, the room was bathed in a soft glow—the moon peeking through the curtains, casting shadows on the familiar posters that adorned the walls. You had excused yourself to the bathroom, leaving him alone as he absorbed the moment—the scent of lavender from the sheets, the creaky floorboards under his weight.

When you returned, wearing an oversized T-shirt with just your panties and your hair pulled back, he couldn’t help but smile. You climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged in front of him.

“You know,” you said, breaking the silence, “I’ve never had a boy sleep overnight in here before.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Never?”

You shook your head. “Nope,”

You leaned in closer, your hand sliding down his chest and onto his lap. He sucked in a sharp breath, his body reacting to your touch, feeling himself get hard immediately under his briefs. His heart was pounding as you pressed your body against his, the urgency of your movements making his head spin.

He leaned in to kiss you and shoved his tongue in your mouth and couldn’t help but savor the taste and smell of you– the minty freshness of your toothpaste mingled with the sweet, floral scent of the lavender lotion on your body, creating a deliciously intoxicating flavor and smell that he couldn’t get enough of.

When you moaned, the thought of your parents just down the hall flashed through his mind. "We shouldn't... not here," he managed to say between kisses, trying to push you off gently.

You pulled back, a hint of disappointment in your eyes. "Seriously?” you whispered, your breath warm against his skin. It’s not like you were teenagers, you were grown adults.

"I-I just don't want to be disrespectful in your father's house,” he stammered, feeling the weight of your gaze on him.

“It’s also my mother's house,” you said, arching your eyebrows.

He chuckled nervously and reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin “You’re right, that was incredibly sexist of me to say. I just… you know what I mean… I think they like me, and I don’t wanna be caught fuckin’ their gorgeous daughter in their house,”

You paused as if considering his words. "Fine, you win this round Carmy," you pouted, with a small smile playing on your lips.

He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing in your warmth. “If you think for one second, I don’t wanna bury myself inside of you,”

You laughed and felt your cheeks heat up, “Good to know," you winked at him. "Okay, time for bed,”

You both settled into bed together, and you snuggled close to Carmen as he turned off the bedside lamp. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you both drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms. The soft rhythm of your breathing filled the room as you sunk into dreamland.

But at 3 a.m., Carmen woke you up with a gentle shake. You groggily opened your eyes to see him hovering over you, with a bashful look in his eyes.

You blinked in confusion, still half-asleep. "Carmy?”

“I can’t stop thinkin’ bout’ you,” he whispered, and you felt the heat rise between your legs at his words. His hand wandered lower, tracing patterns on your thigh, sending shivers down your spine. Suddenly, you felt his lips on your neck, trailing kisses down to your collarbone, igniting a fire within you.

You gasped as he moved down lower, his fingers teasing you through your panties. "Carmy, what are you doing?" you whispered, trying to suppress a moan as his lips grazed your skin.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "I can't help it, I need you right now,” he murmured, his voice husky with need.

He had found himself unable to fall asleep, his mind was consumed with desire for you, a burning need that had been building for days. You both had been so busy with work and life that you hadn't had a chance to be intimate in a few days. But the real reason he couldn’t sleep was because of the comment you had made about never having had a past boyfriend fuck you in this room. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy whenever he reflected on your past relationships. You had experienced deep, long-lasting connections with some of your exes, something he had never truly known. He sometimes wondered what it must have been like for you, to share such intimacy and build a life with someone over the years. His own romantic history was just a quick series of brief flings in Europe and New York, with only one serious relationship with Claire that barely lasted three months.

You chuckled softly, teasing him about his earlier hesitation. “Well, what about my parents? Aren’t you worried about ‘disrespecting’ them?" you taunted.

His lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Baby, if it means I get to taste you, I'll happily go to hell and back.” The thought of being the only man to have you in this sacred space of yours made him feel a primal urge like never before. The idea of taking you in here turned him on in a way he had never experienced. He knew it was slightly possessive, but he didn’t care.

You couldn't help but chuckle at his boldness. But the way he looked at you, with hunger and need in his eyes, ignited a fire inside you.

He leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a heated kiss. And he moved lower, trailing kisses down your neck and stomach, you could feel the anticipation building. You gasped as he slid your panties down, his fingers teasing you, sending waves of pleasure through you. "Carmen, please," you moaned, unable to contain the desire building within you, and not caring if you sounded pathetic.

He hated when people didn't use his nickname, but ironically, he loved it when you called him Carmen during sex, and it made him fucking crazy. He would replay the way you said his name breathlessly all the time, hell it distracted him at work all the time just thinking about you saying his name. But it was nothing in comparison to hearing it in the bedroom like right now when you were horny and desperate for him.

He smirked as he positioned himself between your legs, his eyes locked with yours. "Tell me what you want, baby," he said his voice low and sultry.

"I want your mouth on me," you breathed, your body arching towards him, craving his touch.

And with that, he buried his face between your legs, his tongue exploring every inch of you, driving you wild with pleasure. You covered your mouth with your hand and writhed beneath him, grasping at the sheets with your other hand as he brought you to the brink of ecstasy. The truth was you had never had a man go down on you like this, Carmen always seemed to be desperate for this… for you. He always groaned against you, as if he was the luckiest guy in the world to be between your thighs as he would hungrily lap at your cunt like a man starved. It didn’t matter how many times he did this, it never failed to surprise you at how good he was at this.

Tonight (or shall you say this morning) he brought you to the edge, over and over again, expertly teasing and tantalizing you until you were begging for release. And finally, with one final, intense flick of his tongue, you shattered, crying out his name into your pillow as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. He loved watching you fall apart for him; it made him feel like a man. As you came down from your high, he crawled up your body, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, intimate kiss and you could taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

"Fuck, love when you say my name like that," he whispered, and then reached between the two of you and stroked himself before placing his cock at your entrance.

As he positioned himself above you, his eyes dark with desire, he leaned in close to your ear, his voice a low, throaty whisper. "You're gonna have to be quiet, baby, or I'm gonna have to stop,” he said, his hand covering your mouth to muffle any potential sounds of pleasure that might escape.

You nodded, biting your lip to stifle any noises as he slowly pushed himself inside you, filling you completely. His eyes met yours and he was met with a sight that took his breath away and couldn't help but think how fucking lucky he was.

You looked so beautiful… and you made him feel so good, so alive, and so utterly consumed.

Guys, posting this story has been dramatic AF, so I have removed tagged folks for now...

Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

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