She could hear the soft movements of the maids walking around, how they opened the windows, and such. He could hear the voice of the Valet asking Aemond if he will go training today, to prepare his attire. 

Lady Corbray noticed that she was far more lazy when sleeping in Aemond’s bed. She had no issue waking up before, she usually took a bath and had a relaxed day. Not that she had lots to do, not without any kids of her own.

Not that she hated her routine, but perhaps being closer to her husband would be far better. She doesn’t want him to take her for a clingy wife, so she doesn’t push her luck.

“Just any bloody doublet will do” Aemond’s voice is strong and annoyed. 

Lady Corbray stirs from sleep and opens her eyes, yet she doesn’t move her head. With her face half buried in the pillow, she’d able to see the exposed chest of her lord husband. Or at least, his back. 

She knew that he trains by mornings, getting up as soon as the sun rises. If she wakes up after him, she won’t meet him unless he decides to join her to break his fast, or if she invites him beforehand. 

And she has never seen his back bare. He was wearing breeches, but it seems his valet can’t find the proper doublet he refers to. Perhaps he has already trained…? She has no idea what time it is in the morning. 

“The eyepatch, my prince…” The maid says meekly, and Lady Corbray pipes up. She had never — or rather he has never allowed her to see him without it. 

She feels flustered by the sight of him, watching the hardness of his back, how the muscles give it a nice form she had never properly seen in a man. Her back wasn’t like his, hers was soft, almost smooth compared to how his muscles formed his figure. She wonders what the front is like. 

As he turns around, she closes her eyes, a bit scared of him finding out and berating her for staring. She bothers him enough— occupating his chambers as the workers fix hers. 

Lady Corbray hopes he would press a kiss as a goodbye. She had never woken up so early to see him before he parted with his duties. She has read of it in many novels, the tenderness in some subtle acts that it would mean something more. 

Yet still, he simply dismisses the servants as he puts on his eyepatch, grabbing the dagger he carries everywhere without it. 

And with that he leaves, and her day starts.

Myara and Alice were quiet as they dressed her. Lady Corbray was unused to being dressed up so thoroughly, but it was part of her position. 

“Did you like Lady Cheslted?” Her voice is soft, trying to break the ice between them all three. 

Lady Foote, in the middle of searching the right shade of balm for her lips, hums softly, her eyes searching Alice’s as if they shared a secret. 

“Is she not pleasant?”

“Not at all, my lady” Lady Plumm says as if trying to do damage control. “She is simply… unused to court life” 

“Very naïve” Myara says. 

She knew that the three of them were older, and sometimes tried her with caution, as if she was a porcelain doll. Just as her lord husband did. 

“Lady Foote, could you… ask the servants to prepare some pastries? Perhaps we could break our fast in the garden” 

“Very well. We shall”

“I need Lady Plumm to help me fetch my cards, in my chambers” Lady Corbray stops them, and tries to add casually “Can’t go there alone. We’ll bring other things to keep us entertained. Maybe even ask Mushroom to join us”

There it is, another glance between them too that spoke of something they did not share. Lady Corbray was a bit nervous, because she had never had to face someone to tell her the truth. She had eyes, and she could see her ladies not liking Bess. 

She was a tad bit excited? Yes. But she had grown fond of her, in a way, because she saw herself in little Lady Bess Chelsted. Once alone with Alice, walking side to side, they remain in silence. She hates having to start these difficult tasks. 

“Alice… Can I ask you honestly?”

“About Lady Chelsted, my lady?” 

Lady Corbray bites her lower lip and nods softly, as she knows that it was plain and obvious why she wanted to speak alone with her. 

“I just… All I want for the five of us is…to get along.” 

Perhaps it was a childish dream, to want all of them to be close, like friends. She remembers that back in Heart’s Home, she would have a maid or two, since her house wasn’t the richest. Everything was different here in King’s Landing, as it made her uneasy not to know how to act in these situations. 

“I know” 

She feels the same feeling that she gets whenever she speaks with Aemond; trying to find a common ground as they speak, trying to get him to engage, to pay attention, to at least respond. 

It’s hopeless, and it makes her miss her home. 

“Truthfully. You’re the one I trust the most to ask this” she says, trying to imitate that tone that Queen Alicent so often uses with her. It’s something between sweetness and that underlying tone of ‘tell me what i need of you’.

Alice seems a bit tired, sighing as she leaves her brush in the dresser and moves to pull a chair closer. She knows Lady Plumm to be quite honest, she had some problems with Lady Reyne because of it which she had to meekly fix. She had asked Aemond for help, and he simply shrugged and told her to ask Helaena. 

“May I be… honest, my lady?” 

That makes her perk up slightly as Alice sits close to her. She sits a bit straighter, hopeful at the option someone might finally be blunt. 

“Lady Chelsted is… delusional, at best” she says, as if threading carefully towards the topic. 

This surprises Lady Corbray, as she sees Bess as a sweet lady. She was sweet to her at least, but again, people always were fake sweet with her, due to being married to Aemond. 

“She’s still a child.”

“She’s old enough. You.. you should all give her a chance…” Lady Corbray says a bit defensively. 

“My lady, are you…” Alice says, trying to be delicate, rubbing her forehead “Are you not aware what she has… been saying?”

The lack of expression in Lady Corbray’s face gives away the answer. She looks a bit confused, the corners of her mouth still in somewhat a clueless smile, as she shakes her head softly. 

“I didn’t want to be the one…” she sighs, before accommodating in her seat and watching at the door “You asked me to speak freely so will I…” she says watching the window before speaking again. “Some days ago, when we had tea and you left with Queen Alicent to the sept… well, She told us that you and the prince had an unsuccessful and unloving marriage. That prince Aemond was cold and rude to you both, which is no… no surprise why you haven’t… My lady, I cannot keep saying it. It is insulting” 

Lady Corbray remains still for a moment, as she takes in the hurtful words. She had not taken Bess for a gossipy girl, to be honest. She welcomed her in Aemond’s chambers, encouraged her for marriage as she herself would have liked in the moment, and promised to secure her a good match. 

It pains her heart, because she tried to be kind. She knew King’s Landing was foreign to her, as if she had to learn a new language and to walk once again. In her home, at least, everyone was kind to her, even the servants and highborns. 

“She’s a child, my lady.” Alice adds, leaning closer to grab her hand “And we told her to never say such things again. Lady Reyne, well, Rella, told her to not spread meaningful and false words if she likes her tongue” She says, trying to lighten her up. “No one believes such foolishness” 

It brings a small smile to her face, since Rella was much the gossip lady among them all. She would always have the latest gossip, and repeat it, it was her own thing. She thought that maybe she was the one feeding the rumours against her and her marriage with Aemond, since her nature seems close to a frivolous one but she misjudged her severely. 

“You said you were honest”

Lady Alice Plumm seems to hesitate a moment, as her mouth twitches slightly. “I am”

“What do you know about that? My marriage?”

If she speaks with so much disdain about those gossips, perhaps she’ll be discreet.  She thinks, as she considers her the more discreet and less judging. 

“I… I don’t think much of it, my lady. I have been married longer than you, and twice too. I have no offspring with either of my husbands. And it doesn’t mean I don’t do my duty.”

“And what do the rest say about my marriage? Is it really that different from what Lady Bess Chelsted says?” She asks, trying to catch the reaction closely. 

“No, my lady.”

She remembers her wedding night, as Aemond turned her away. She had felt awful, because in the feast he wasn’t the most affectionate with her either. She had seen men with the women they fancy, like her brother Leowyn with his mistress, or Corwyn and his late wife. They certainly did not care for appearances as a prince would do, but it was still evident their feelings… maybe not love, but lust.

“How do you do it?” Lady Corbray asks “Your duty?”

“My lady?” Alice says confused. 

“How do you… get your husband to…” she tries to explain. “Do your duty”

Alice frowns slightly, and says “I do not have to ask him for it.”

“Why not?”

“It comes in the moment”

At the moment? She thinks, as nothing ever comes in the moment. She always thought ahead, and it went wrong. Except, maybe, when they kissed. The only time they did. And it was Aemond’s choice.

She remembers being all lovey dovey, giggling as she tried to read the book in the library. Aemond was not so much, he was stoic as always, checking the books as if he was alone. And when she tried to take his hand, he pulled away. Nothing came at that moment for them.

She seems puzzled, and Lady Alice sighs softly. 

“You… You know what… consuming the marriage is, my lady?”

Her brothers had explained, yet she didn't fully understand. She knew that she had to follow Aemond’s lead, and make sure his seed was in her womb to get pregnant. She knew too that he had to insert himself and, in words of her septa, it would hurt. Yet only one time was enough to get pregnant. 

“I do know”  she says, almost in a whiny tone, because everyone overlooked her.

“And you… My lady,  I do not wish to be impertinent, but do you do it frequently?”

“Once is necessary,” she shrugs. 

“Yes, but not always it’s… fruitful. And besides, you might… enjoy it. Some people do”  

“Have you?”

“Yes” she shrugs. Alice wasn't like Lady Foote, who even speaking of her marriage would put her in a bad mood— she didn’t know if it was because of prudeness or because her husband wasn’t as caring. 

“… how?” 

Perhaps it is pity in the look on Alice Plumm’s face. She was older, and knew better of life than her. But Lady Corbray was a bit desperate, for she did not understand the ways of marriage. 

She had hoped that at least, by now, it would grow into fondness. She was not a bad wife; she did not gossip about him, she did not spend much money on dresses or jewelry, she spent time with his family, and she prayed in the sept most evenings. She did not push him; even if she wanted to hug him or press a kiss on his cheek. 

She knew that men were mostly creatures of base desires, like her brothers. Her septa told her she was lucky to escape the cruelness of bedding, but it didn’t feel like a mercy.

“Let me think of it a bit, how to help you” Lady Plumm says softly, as she nods a bit.  

The rest of the day, she bites her index finger thinking about it. When she’s reunited with her ladies in waiting, she can only think about it instead of playing cards properly.  

She was kneeling in the Sept that very same afternoon. Lady Myara Foote by her side, praying more fervously than her, the seven pointed star in her hands as she seemed deep in prayer.

She lightens another candle, unsure what she will pray about. Usually, it clears her mind about decisions, about what she has to do. It gives her a sense of purpose, and she feels fulfilled. She had prayer for almost everything, and she felt comforted in her faith. 

Lady Corbray was naïve, but not stupid. She thinks for a while how to order her prayer. 

«O Mother above…Look with kindness upon me and soften my husband’s heart. Bless the union as you did before, for our bond might be fruitful and loving.

Maiden, forgive my unseemly thoughts and desires, for my vain attempts of trying to lewdly convince my husband to consummate.  

Crone, lend me wisely counsel in my duty as a lady married to a prince

Warrior, shield me from the carrions crows of King’s landing court, whisper and slander, guard me from the vice in the tongue of the rest.

Father, may you help me weigh good and ill, to walk through righteousness…»

She sighs, softly, her heart soft as she finishes her prayer as she tends to do more these days, asking for protection for her husband’s people, which was now hers too. Before, it was the village in Heart’s home, but now, all the seven Kingdoms. 

She doesn’t mind waiting for Lady Foote to finish, as before her brothers would wait a lot more for her, to the point where she ended up going either alone or with a lady in waiting. 

That night, Aemond hadn’t arrived yet after her last food of the day. She never thought of him going to brothels, because she didn’t think of him as a lustful man. He hadn’t even consummated the marriage, as even if he disliked her, if he was lustful, he would have. 

Maybe, and perhaps he was devoted to another lady… but she doubts it. Men weren’t subtle about it, at least her brother Leowyn wasn’t. 

“May you seek my husband?” She asks a maid, who finished warming up her side of the bed. 

Lady Corbray likes linen nightgowns, and she brushes her own hair, preparing herself for bed. She doesn’t like getting in bed before Aemond, mostly because it is his bed, and she was convinced that he wouldn’t like the sight. 

She hasn't seen the small envelope in the writing table, and she takes it after she leaves her brush there. It was her family’s sigil, and so she knew it was directed to her. 

More than often, she would send letters. To her brothers, to her nieces. She had sent Aemond lots of letters too, when they were betrothed, but she doubts he had read them all, if he ever took the time in the first place.

«Dear sister… Hoping that this letter finds you well…» Blah blah blah «Everything is fine here..» Blah blah blah… «I have heard your marriage has problems, of coldness and unpleasanties.» Blah blah blah…

She knows Corwyn means well, probably. He was more like her, a bit more romantic and loveful. He was the one who sang with his lute to her and her friends, making them all giggle and ask for more. He was the one who brought her love books, of courtly love between maidens and knights. 

That, along with her brother, was in the past now. In Heart’s home, back with her illusions and hopes in a world she was not prepared for. 

She bites her index finger as she reads of how her brother, far in the Vale, knows about her problems with Aemond. It was rather humiliating than pleasant, to have everyone know across the seven kingdoms.  

Perhaps she must take Lady Plumm’s word, and learn how to please her husband. And letting himself be pleased. While she had no idea how to do so, she could barely imagine how a male member was. She had seen it, but by far, and with his baby nephew. But other than that… never. 

She could barely understand her own anatomy, and she wonders if Aemond was faced by the same difficulties. What if he was?  She thinks, holding the paper in her hands. He can’t be. He’s older and men are not known for holding back on carnal pleasures.

She bites her index softly, trying to come up with a solution. She can only pray and ask for lightening in the situation, and hope she can do something. 

Aemond hasn’t seen his wife since a day ago. She fell asleep before he arrived, and she woke up after he was gone. 

Not that he particularly was looking forward to being with her. Nothing against her, but he couldn’t entertain her now. He just needed quiet, after feeling so stressed that he had no time to indulge her. 

He was not used to having a wife. It had always been him in the world. His mother fussed over Aegon and Helaena, but he and Daeron were more forgotten. He tried to use all his energy on his duties, so he doesn't give his mother a reason to worry. Aemond did it so well, that now she has been fussing over his marriage. 

It drove him mad. And it made his feelings for his wife more complicated. 

Aemond spends the morning in the training yard, engaged in a fierce sparring match with one of his guards. He hated having guards following him around, as if he was helpless like a maiden. Yet he likes sparring with them, it varies a bit from Ser Criston.. even if he is right there watching too. 

As the guard lunges at him, Aemond sidesteps effortlessly, countering with a quick strike. Ser Criston helped him by being able to spar fiercely despite his blind spots, and his mother had nearly fainted when he trained after his accident.

“Very good” Aemond says as he feels sweaty. Some of the hairs in his braid are loose, and it sticks onto his damp forehead. 

“You have an audience, my prince” Ser Criston says as he takes Aemond’s sword. 

Aemond looks up to where the castle his lady wife was, with one of her friends. She locked eyes with him, and clapped softly with a faint smile on her face. 

To that, he awkwardly waved back to her, cringing almost immediately at that. He must look like a lovestruck fool, he thinks. 

Even when he sparred with Ser Criston, Aemond cannot stop thinking about her. Not even when he notices that she leaves. 

She was busy, the maids told him when he entered his chambers after eating. That his wife was with his ladies in waiting, per usual. Sometimes it bugs him how perfect she manages the court. Entertaining his ladies in waiting, where they all would adore her because she was so perfect. 

He lets all the maids leave, his jaw is set tight as he thinks about his wife. He knew he had been avoiding her, but again… what if she truly leaves? If she doesn’t like him? If the letter from her brother was truly a way out?

“You know if my wife will arrive soon?” He asks her handmaid before she leaves.

“The lady goes to the sept at this hour, my prince.” 

He serves himself a bit of Mead. He knows his wife also likes the taste of it, so he tries to drink it more, so he can enjoy the same things. 

Aemond rarely drank anything other than wine, especially more than one cup of anything else. All because he would start thinking, and reflecting about things… before it was okay, but now? All he thinks about is his wife. 

And after a while, his thoughts would trail to the same thing he suppresses; his carnal need for his Lady Corbray. He hates how it makes his cock throb on his pants, and how he has to accommodate on the chair to spread his legs slightly. 

A hand runs over his face, as he undoes his braid. He needs to get a grip over his feelings, he was not an animal to let his lust dominate his actions over his rational thinking. 

He stands up to undo his breeches, just to calm the fat bulge on it. Even as he does so, he knows he’s lying to himself. He knows his intentions are up to no good. 

“Gods forgive me…” he murmurs as his hand finds his already hard dick, which only grows harder and harder at the contact. 

Aemond sighs, he was like a barely contained beast when it came to his wife. He is scared of what he will do if he is alone in the same room with her for more than ten minutes. And worst of all, perhaps she will be willing to. And that terrifies him. 

He knows she’s eager to consummate, but Aemond knows that the naive sweet Lady Corbray doesn’t understand what that entails. Especially with him and his wicked cravings. 

His grip is firm, stroking his already hard cock as he places his other hand on the edge of the dresser (‘). He can feel his cheeks already getting flushed, and he strokes from base to the tip. 

“Yesss…” He hisses softly as he applies more pressure to his dick “Just like that…” he says lowly. 

Aemond wishes he could say those things to his wife, when they were intimate. He’d praise her, he figured, when they do it, he would make sure she knows how appreciated she is. He must tell her, because most of the time, his urges were anything but kind. 

It made him feel dirty and depraved, but he craved to see his wife kneeled on the ground, placing his cock on her mouth and pleasuring him eagerly. Most of the time, he thinks of how she would take him, and how he would pleasure her the best he could. Other times, he would simply think of how he would take her until she cries of pleasure, making her cum again and again until he decides it is enough. 

He’ll pray for forgiveness later. 

Now, at least, he can feel his balls tightening as he continues stroking his cock, his eye closed and his grip strong on the edge of the dresser, whereas his hips hesitate as he rocks his hand softly. He needed this so badly…

He can hear the soft lewd sound of his hand against his cock, and how his own hand is sticky from the precum on his tip. He tries not to groan too loudly, a bit embarrassed and ashamed if anyone found out, even the guards outside. 

Aemond only thinks of his wife, the few times he would catch a glimpse of her body. And when she came to his chambers, baring herself in front of him and demanding to be bred…

“Fuck, fuck” he moans loudly at the memory, pumping his cock as he feels coming closer to his own release. Not yet, he thinks, he likes to savour the pleasure boiling in his belly, as his strokes become more aggressive. 

He was about to let out another curse out of his mouth, when he hears the doors swinging open and his whole body becomes rigid and the pleasure dissipates.

“Oh, Gods” 

Aemond turns his head before he can hide himself, seeing both his lady wife and Lady Foote standing horrified in the door frame. He can hear how the lady-in-waiting muses a horrified apology, turning around and escaping. 

But he worries more about seeing his wife’s face. He cannot decipher what she thinks, she seems stunned, as he covers himself, ashamed and horrified from it all.

Aemond doesn’t dare to look at her face as he tries to compose himself, turning away from her and tucking his now soft cock in his breeches. He had never gotten so flaccid so quickly, but again, this was probably the most horrifying moment in his life. 

“Husband, I…”

He doesn’t dare to look at her face, he simply grabs the sword hilt that he had placed against the cushions. Aemond feels his face still burning red, he feels like a maid that had been caught stealing. 

He escapes, like a craven. He simply walks past his wife and her horrified lady in waiting, practically running away from that. 

Aemond feels himself shaking, knowing damn well his marriage is definitely over. He had frightened her, and now she would find him disgusting. She would ask for their marriage to dissolve on the grounds of depravity, and she would be away, back in her tower in Heart’s Home. And her brothers would demand a duel for her honour if anyone else knew. 

He curses himself, not knowing what to do. For the first time in his life, he has no idea what to do. Aemond wishes for anything but to lose his marriage, and he knows he has only himself to blame.

Blackcrown was not a place that Lia had ever envisioned spending any extended period of time in; it was too close to both the Whispering Sound and Oldtown to be considered an exciting venture. The “singing cliffs”, while a charming source of amusement for passing travellers, were an irritation to Lia – the whistle of the wind through the twisted towers and battered rocks grated upon her and made her head ache. However, when news came from her brother, Leon, that Bethany had given him a son – named Owen, after their father – Lia had hastily accepted the invitation for a visit. Newly married to Otto, the novelty of becoming a wife had lost none of its shine, and she would have gladly trudged the length of the King’s Road if it meant an opportunity to be displayed upon his arm. When standing beside him, his frame towering more than a full head above hers, she felt like a proper lady. The excited flutter in her belly at being addressed as “wife” was how she imagined newly coronated monarchs must feel.

When Leon and Bethany had wed, the Redwynes had given them a small freehold upon the coast of Blackcrown, a piece of land that had been passed to their family by House Bulwer, when the great houses of the Reach had formed their alliance. While it was modest in size, it was a comfortable space for Lia’s brother and his wife to call home and begin their family. With limited room, Lia had anticipated it just being the four of them, however, to her surprise, Bethany’s mother had also been there to greet them upon their arrival. 

“Since Paxter passed away, I have found the Arbor quite a lonely place,” Jocelyn commented, as she sat beside Otto at the dining table. Her mousy hair was pulled tightly into a low bun which rested at the nape of her neck, making her appear older than she was. “And, of course, with my daughter making a grandmother of me, naturally it made sense for me to come and lend a hand, to ensure the house runs as it should.”

Lia, seated on the other side of Otto, watched in distaste as the snuffling little pug seated in Lady Redwyne’s lap squirmed in her grasp, eyes bulging as they observed her dinner plate. Jocelyn plucked a morsel of fish nearest its edge and the dog gobbled greedily from her fingertips. Wrinkling her nose, Lia looked away in disgust.

“I wonder if the dog shares the babe’s cradle,” she murmured to the rim of her wine cup as she raised it to her lips.

Her comment passed unnoticed around the table, except by Leon, who coughed and hid a smirk behind his hand. Lia shot him a knowing glance before returning her attention back to her plate. 

The dining hall was cramped, only just large enough for the circular table within, making the setting for dinner feel more intimate with the five of them seated around it. Bethany sat between her mother and Leon, while Lia was placed between Leon and Otto. At the table’s centre were platters of fish, potatoes and vegetables, and Lia was grateful that there was no room for candles, as it would have made the already snug setting stiflingly hot. The room’s illumination came from an iron candelabra, suspended from the ceiling by a rusted chain. It likely made the space appear charming when Bethany and Leon dined alone, however, with all of them crowded around the table like this, it gave the impression of squalor. 

“You know, I have not yet had the opportunity to personally congratulate you on your marriage,” Jocelyn commented, turning her head to fix her gaze upon Otto, “though I am surprised that you chose a bride so…young.”

Otto glanced at Lia, his expression unreadable, before addressing Jocelyn. “Your congratulations are most welcome, my lady,” he rumbled softly, “though age has little to do with my decision to marry Lia, I find her spirited nature quite charming.”

Warmth spread through Lia’s chest at Otto’s polite defense of her, and a small smile tugged involuntarily at her lips. She pressed her thigh against his beneath the table, a silent expression of affectionate gratitude, but her happiness was to be short-lived. 

“I see,” Jocelyn commented, pushing her plate away from the edge of the table as her dog scrambled towards it. “But surely a spirited nature cannot successfully manage a household?”

“No, but it prevents me from poking my nose into where it is not welcome,” Lia snapped, her blue eyes widening angrily as she looked heatedly at Lady Redwyne.

She heard Bethany gasp softly and there was a moment of tense silence, before Jocelyn’s eyebrows rose slightly. A hand left the back of her pug to rest upon Otto’s upper arm, her pudgy fingers wrapping lightly around the quilted green fabric of his doublet sleeve. “My, my,” she observed haughtily, “such fire.”

Lia stared at where Jocelyn’s hand lay upon her husband’s arm, and felt molten anger spread up from her chest and into her throat, its taste acrid and hot upon her tongue. Reflexively, her fingers wrapped around her dinner knife upon the table, her shoulders squaring, until she felt Otto’s hand envelope her own, squeezing gently. She relaxed her grasp beneath his, allowing the knife to settle back upon the table with a soft thud.

“I believe my wife would benefit from a breath of fresh air,” Otto addressed no one in particular around the table, “please excuse us for a moment.”

Otto rose from his seat and, without waiting, pulled out Lia’s chair, encouraging her to stand. His hand settled like a brand upon her lower back as he pushed her gently from the room, allowing the door to close softly behind them. As soon as they were a safe distance away, he pushed her into an alcove, backing her up against the stone wall.

“You know, jealousy is an unbecoming quality,” Otto murmured sternly, eyeing Lia with disapproval as he crowded into her space.

The scent of sandalwood filled her nostrils, the familiar smell usually her undoing when he was this close to her, but Lia remained defiant, jutting out her chin as she stared stubbornly up at him. “I am not jealous.”

“Lying is equally distasteful,” he commented with a slight cock of his head.

Lia growled in frustration, shoving uselessly at Otto’s chest – he did not budge an inch. “That horrid old woman,” she seethed, beating her fists against the quilted fabric of his doublet, “how dare she?!”

She stilled, her breath hitching, the moment she felt the warm, calloused palm of his hand wrap around her throat – not applying any pressure, simply holding her in place.

“Behave yourself,” he scolded quietly, grasping her thigh and hitching it against his hip as he pressed her more tightly against the rough stone wall. The position caused the powder blue satin skirts of her gown to ride upwards, exposing her stockinged legs.

“But I–” she protested, cut off by the intrusion of the hand that had previously held her thigh snaking beneath her skirts and into her small clothes.

“Enough,” he cut her off, his stare intense, allowing no room for argument.

Lia keened softly as the pads of Otto’s fingers stroked along her folds, finally settling upon the little point of pleasure hidden within and rubbing firm circles. Her hands, which had previously smacked against his doublet, now curled into the fabric of it, anchoring herself to him as she rocked her hips against his touch. She longed to surge forward, to bury her face in the crook of his neck and hide the way her features contorted in ecstasy, but Otto remained resolute and steadfast, close and yet far enough away to drive her mad. Though fully dressed, she had never felt more naked, more exposed than having him stare at her like this, looking upon her when she was at her most vulnerable, writhing in bliss from just the touch of his fingers. Otto quickened his pace, his middle and forefingers rubbing more insistently until Lia shuddered, her entire body convulsing as she bit her lip to stifle the cry she let out at the torturous warmth that bloomed outward from her core.

“Will you be good?” Otto asked softly. There was now a tenderness to his voice that had not been there previously.

Drunk on the haze of her peak, and desperate to return the favour, Lia’s hands reached frantically downward, grasping for the lacings of Otto’s breeches. Releasing her throat, he batted her hands away.

“I shall take that as a no,” he muttered with distaste, and resumed his ministrations upon her pearl.

Lia whined, trembling with overstimulation, wanting desperately to back her hips away, but unable to as her thigh was hooked over his, locking her in place. The pads of his fingers dipped lower, collecting her arousal before continuing to stroke at her in earnest. It was too much, she felt as though she was drowning. Turning her head away, she screwed her eyes shut as tears gathered at her lashline and the beginning of another peak coiled tightly in her lower belly. Grasping her jaw, Otto forced her face back to his as she came for the second time, her tears now slipping freely down her reddened cheeks.

“Has the attitude left you, or is further correction required?” Otto asked, as she looked up at him through teary eyes, her lips parted as she panted for breath.

He pressed his fingers against her oncemore, making her hips jerk, and she whimpered. “I–I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Hm, see that you are.” Otto stepped back, releasing her, before producing a handkerchief and wiping his hands.

Lia did her best to compose herself, lowering her skirts and smoothing her hands over the fabric, then checking her curls were still pinned into place at the back of her head. However, she knew that as soon as she stepped back into the dining hall, it would be apparent to all what had transpired from the flush of her cheeks alone. She did not care, because it was the effect that her husband had had upon her, and she would wear it as proudly as standing beside him as his wife.

Fire on the Mountain masterlist

horrible texter, actually he doesnt even text, if you text him he will either just call you with his response or he will ignore you for about a week. there is no inbetween, even if he likes you, its phone call or you don't hear from him

similar vein; one word responses, you could bleed your heart out and he'd either thumbs up or just "ok", if he's going to talk it's going to be in person, wont have important conversations over the phone though

he smells GOOOOOOOD, obviously he's a man that cares about his hygeine and appearence but he makes sure that he smells amazing - wears niche fragrance because he's a pretentious prick but also he respect the art (headcanoning that he wears Winter of '99 OR Black Vines by Kerosene)

pretentious fucker but annoyingly has the knowledge to back it up, its not for show, he really does like reading philosophy books and watching strange art house films, they're all just strange enough to be him

he has a staring problem but its not his fault, having one eye means he really needs to focus more on his surroundings and people; super fast reaction times though, scarily good actually

he can play piano, he's always had one in his home, doesnt even blink when people say that he owns a £20k grand piano, but he can play and he can play WELL. was pushed into it as a child, but after he lost his eye he worked twice as hard to be as good as he is

similar note, he has a vinyl collection he's very proud of, he's a pretty analogue guy so he'd rather listen to a cassette/cd/vinyl than use an app (you best believe he has an expensive ass sound system too)

He takes pride in his home and his space, despite what people think, he actually decorates his home and makes it as comfortable for him as possible - he will have trouble with people staying over and messing up his peace, or even having an S/O move in because he doesnt share very well

yes his sheets are soft, expensive, and cool to the touch

vhagar is a cat, an old cat, but she's his baby and he'll always have a soft spot for her, doesnt bring people home because she's old and he doesnt want to stress her out

weirdly, he can cook, and very well, just doesnt want to lol, he either has someone cook/cater for him or he orders, gets those fancy premade meals from a chef he heats up

has a wine collection thats slowly growing, isnt a huge drinker but does appreciate wine

early riser, im talking like 4:30-5am his arse is awake and in the gym, doesnt sleep in at all and thinks its lazy - utilises every moment of his day

doesnt have a lot of friends by choice, not always his choice, but the choice is there! keeps his circle small and prefers alone time (if he's not working), his brothers will drag him out to things though because they think he's a step below living in a cave

you will NOT catch his ass on dating apps, you either have to meet him irl or by association, he uses his phone for the most basic things and doesnt even entertain apps

hates most of his family but will regularly call his mother to check up on her and make sure she's okay, visits only on holidays though or if someone dies.

journals but they're in valyrian and his short-hand so aegon can't read them lol (he's not sure aegon can read tbh)

he dresses simple but very well, black and white with the occasional deep green, but its all expensive ass basics that fit him well - tshirts, shirts, trousers and sometimes straight leg jeans, leather or canvas jackets, leather boots or shoes, everything is either leather/cotton/linen

wears a family ring, no one asked him to but he wears one anyway, the dragons all have a sapphire in the eyes though

grinds and makes his own coffee every morning, buys expensive ass imported beans and sometimes will roast them - black with sugar nothing else

he's an eerily calm person most of the time, but when he snaps he's not even worth talking to, he will yell if its a sensitive topic, and argue you down and make you feel like shit, he doesnt apologise either; he could be wrong and will just say "we'll move past it" or will never bring it up again.

however, if he doesn raise his voice and he's mad, literally run or evacuate the room because you're about to find out things about yourself that you never knew

horrible texter, actually he doesnt even text, if you text him he will either just call you with his response or he will ignore you for about a week. there is no inbetween, even if he likes you, its phone call or you don't hear from him

similar vein; one word responses, you could bleed your heart out and he'd either thumbs up or just "ok", if he's going to talk it's going to be in person, wont have important conversations over the phone though

he smells GOOOOOOOD, obviously he's a man that cares about his hygeine and appearence but he makes sure that he smells amazing - wears niche fragrance because he's a pretentious prick but also he respect the art (headcanoning that he wears Winter of '99 OR Black Vines by Kerosene)

pretentious fucker but annoyingly has the knowledge to back it up, its not for show, he really does like reading philosophy books and watching strange art house films, they're all just strange enough to be him

he has a staring problem but its not his fault, having one eye means he really needs to focus more on his surroundings and people; super fast reaction times though, scarily good actually

he can play piano, he's always had one in his home, doesnt even blink when people say that he owns a £20k grand piano, but he can play and he can play WELL. was pushed into it as a child, but after he lost his eye he worked twice as hard to be as good as he is

similar note, he has a vinyl collection he's very proud of, he's a pretty analogue guy so he'd rather listen to a cassette/cd/vinyl than use an app (you best believe he has an expensive ass sound system too)

He takes pride in his home and his space, despite what people think, he actually decorates his home and makes it as comfortable for him as possible - he will have trouble with people staying over and messing up his peace, or even having an S/O move in because he doesnt share very well

yes his sheets are soft, expensive, and cool to the touch

vhagar is a cat, an old cat, but she's his baby and he'll always have a soft spot for her, doesnt bring people home because she's old and he doesnt want to stress her out

weirdly, he can cook, and very well, just doesnt want to lol, he either has someone cook/cater for him or he orders, gets those fancy premade meals from a chef he heats up

has a wine collection thats slowly growing, isnt a huge drinker but does appreciate wine

early riser, im talking like 4:30-5am his arse is awake and in the gym, doesnt sleep in at all and thinks its lazy - utilises every moment of his day

doesnt have a lot of friends by choice, not always his choice, but the choice is there! keeps his circle small and prefers alone time (if he's not working), his brothers will drag him out to things though because they think he's a step below living in a cave

you will NOT catch his ass on dating apps, you either have to meet him irl or by association, he uses his phone for the most basic things and doesnt even entertain apps

hates most of his family but will regularly call his mother to check up on her and make sure she's okay, visits only on holidays though or if someone dies.

journals but they're in valyrian and his short-hand so aegon can't read them lol (he's not sure aegon can read tbh)

he dresses simple but very well, black and white with the occasional deep green, but its all expensive ass basics that fit him well - tshirts, shirts, trousers and sometimes straight leg jeans, leather or canvas jackets, leather boots or shoes, everything is either leather/cotton/linen

wears a family ring, no one asked him to but he wears one anyway, the dragons all have a sapphire in the eyes though

grinds and makes his own coffee every morning, buys expensive ass imported beans and sometimes will roast them - black with sugar nothing else

he's an eerily calm person most of the time, but when he snaps he's not even worth talking to, he will yell if its a sensitive topic, and argue you down and make you feel like shit, he doesnt apologise either; he could be wrong and will just say "we'll move past it" or will never bring it up again.

however, if he doesn raise his voice and he's mad, literally run or evacuate the room because you're about to find out things about yourself that you never knew

horrible texter, actually he doesnt even text, if you text him he will either just call you with his response or he will ignore you for about a week. there is no inbetween, even if he likes you, its phone call or you don't hear from him

similar vein; one word responses, you could bleed your heart out and he'd either thumbs up or just "ok", if he's going to talk it's going to be in person, wont have important conversations over the phone though

he smells GOOOOOOOD, obviously he's a man that cares about his hygeine and appearence but he makes sure that he smells amazing - wears niche fragrance because he's a pretentious prick but also he respect the art (headcanoning that he wears Winter of '99 OR Black Vines by Kerosene)

pretentious fucker but annoyingly has the knowledge to back it up, its not for show, he really does like reading philosophy books and watching strange art house films, they're all just strange enough to be him

he has a staring problem but its not his fault, having one eye means he really needs to focus more on his surroundings and people; super fast reaction times though, scarily good actually

he can play piano, he's always had one in his home, doesnt even blink when people say that he owns a £20k grand piano, but he can play and he can play WELL. was pushed into it as a child, but after he lost his eye he worked twice as hard to be as good as he is

similar note, he has a vinyl collection he's very proud of, he's a pretty analogue guy so he'd rather listen to a cassette/cd/vinyl than use an app (you best believe he has an expensive ass sound system too)

He takes pride in his home and his space, despite what people think, he actually decorates his home and makes it as comfortable for him as possible - he will have trouble with people staying over and messing up his peace, or even having an S/O move in because he doesnt share very well

yes his sheets are soft, expensive, and cool to the touch

vhagar is a cat, an old cat, but she's his baby and he'll always have a soft spot for her, doesnt bring people home because she's old and he doesnt want to stress her out

weirdly, he can cook, and very well, just doesnt want to lol, he either has someone cook/cater for him or he orders, gets those fancy premade meals from a chef he heats up

has a wine collection thats slowly growing, isnt a huge drinker but does appreciate wine

early riser, im talking like 4:30-5am his arse is awake and in the gym, doesnt sleep in at all and thinks its lazy - utilises every moment of his day

doesnt have a lot of friends by choice, not always his choice, but the choice is there! keeps his circle small and prefers alone time (if he's not working), his brothers will drag him out to things though because they think he's a step below living in a cave

you will NOT catch his ass on dating apps, you either have to meet him irl or by association, he uses his phone for the most basic things and doesnt even entertain apps

hates most of his family but will regularly call his mother to check up on her and make sure she's okay, visits only on holidays though or if someone dies.

journals but they're in valyrian and his short-hand so aegon can't read them lol (he's not sure aegon can read tbh)

he dresses simple but very well, black and white with the occasional deep green, but its all expensive ass basics that fit him well - tshirts, shirts, trousers and sometimes straight leg jeans, leather or canvas jackets, leather boots or shoes, everything is either leather/cotton/linen

wears a family ring, no one asked him to but he wears one anyway, the dragons all have a sapphire in the eyes though

grinds and makes his own coffee every morning, buys expensive ass imported beans and sometimes will roast them - black with sugar nothing else

he's an eerily calm person most of the time, but when he snaps he's not even worth talking to, he will yell if its a sensitive topic, and argue you down and make you feel like shit, he doesnt apologise either; he could be wrong and will just say "we'll move past it" or will never bring it up again.

however, if he doesn raise his voice and he's mad, literally run or evacuate the room because you're about to find out things about yourself that you never knew

Then he feels it, the pain eases- so barely but it’s just enough and then he feels it. There’s small fingers digging into his doublet, digging into fists and tugging him. Tugging him. Not pushing, not squirming, not even squealing. The soft press of their body is on his in a twisted embrace, gripping him with all the strength they have. The blood is sweet pure euphoria running through him and piece by piece he’s coming back to himself, his ears catch the hummingbird pit pat of their heart. Every single tear and burn in his ruined sore body begin to bind millimetre by millimetre.

Beyond the heartbeat there’s a whine, something feminine and familiar, he can taste it, feel it inside himself and he knows it’s you before he even opens his eye, he can practically taste everything you are through the fog of his burning mind and it’s stifling.

He’s breathing in and tasting everything right now without seeing, the sweat collecting at your furrowed brow, the twist of pain in your heaving body, ounce after ounce of blood that he drains but most pungent and overpowering of all, the clench of your cunt and the sticky wetness pooling between your legs.

It makes him recoil for a second, the formidable, staggering sweetness of it breaking the haze he’s swept away in. He releases you, throwing you to the ground as if scorched, the throbbing of hunger coursing through his body more than he can take, a new hunger. Blood thirst is one thing but this agonising feeling will be his end if he doesn’t leave you now.

“No, oh please.” you moan. “Don’t go.”

He freezes, still as marble as he finally looks at you, slack jawed, drenched from his chin down in your blood and you’re actually begging him? He’s more aroused than he’s been in years, especially from a girl as plain as you, a nobody, yet your blood is sweet syrup down his chin and he can only imagine what how divine you’d be with his head between your legs, feasting till there’s nothing left of you to drain. You’re on your back, laid on your elbows where he threw you, legs spread and gods he can see the lacy fabric of your smallclothes beneath your ruffled skirts.

His eye clenches shut, the puckered skin of his scarred side wrinkling- clenching his razored teeth. “Run. Now. I cant control it.” he hisses.

Instead you reach for him with shaky weakened hands and he’s taking it all back - what he said - he knew you’d do this and he knows that he cannot refuse you. Instead - he indulges.

He throws himself to the ground, slotting himself in the gap between your legs and grabbing your chin in a bruising grip. He tugs your head so punishingly hard, needing you to stop him. To kick and scream and squirm away in fear because you should.

Instead you are latching your mouth to his like a needy babe, licking and sucking for the sweet taste of your own blood, It’s dirty frantic and near-fucking feral.

His weight completely crushes you against the ground and you are powerless to stop him now. His fangs graze across the pillowy muscle of your lower lip, dotting a puncture in the needy flesh. You gasp in utter pleasure and surprised pain and open wider for him, his wet tongue dragging into your mouth, splitting the sweet syrupy essence between you. His fingers tug into your hair almost for comfort- something to ground him, to hold onto as he loses himself in the taste.

“It’s okay.” you slur into the cavern of his mouth. “It’s okay my prince.”

A groan is all you get, but the acknowledgment has your hips rutting against him, urging him even closer like he could weld to your burning skin in this heat. He can feel the slick press of your sweet cunt against his breeches and he practically doubles over to grab at your soft thighs, leaving dimpled marks from his rough hands as he pulls you right against his hot aching cock, his flesh against yours and even through the thin clothing it is scalding him and granting him ferocious absolution.

He laves his tongue down your chin tasting the salt of your sweat and skin before reaching the perfect puncture wounds at your throat, he licks and kisses at the marks, grinding his hips hard against yours, rocking you back and forth till your back is raw from the hard stone. Each hard shove he snags his aching hardness against your pearl and its agonising. The loss of blood from your wounds and the primal rush of what’s left oozing straight between your thighs, you’re teetering on consciousness, held together just by the sheer feeling- the sheer pleasure of it. He cannot touch life, not like he once had, after storm’s end the poison of his blood took over what humanity he once had- but with you, sweet sugary you- spread wide and moaning, life- it dances in him once again.

Two Days Earlier

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You press your cheek into your palm as you try to focus on Otto’s voice, his rumbling cadence putting you right to sleep here at the dinner table, not even politely pretending to listen as you push the lumpy stew around your plate. The meal seems endless, your family, your new husband’s family to be specific surrounds you in a blur of silvery tones but none are the long silky locks that you truly wish to feel right now. To sink your nose into and sigh, the smell of smoke and something musky and so distinctly him permeating into your lungs, to twirl it in your fingers and dance it across your nose with a giggle just to see his disapproving hesitant smirk, to tug on it and grasp it through your fingers, to pull him in for a sleepy, sticky wet kiss, to-

“Why are you sweating?” Aegon sneers over your shoulder.

His breath is warm against the scalding itching in your throat and you almost seep right into it, into him at the feeling. You’re so tired and with his warmth so close to you, the elder almost feels like his brother to your disoriented mind. A jarring cackle into your ear snaps you out of it immediately, blinking up at him in stunned surprise.

“You in there sweetheart?” he teases, his smug face so full of mocking delight at his good sister’s vacuous & out of character behaviour. He is emboldened perhaps by the absence of his younger brother, who’d likely have his head for speaking to you in such a familiar manner but it’s no odds to him now as he peers at you, gazing down at your downturned pouty mouth. “I don’t know,” you mumble as you focus on his lavender eyes- so beady and jarring in the way he watches you, so different from Aemond’s that you wonder how you thought them similar for even a moment, he makes your skin crawl.

You lift your hand to tentatively feel your forehead and to your surprise he’s right, not only are you half asleep but your forehead is damp, probably blistering hot too but it’s hard to gage in the heat of the already sweltering room.

“It appears my good sister is out of sorts!” he announces suddenly, slamming his cup onto the table, the wine sloshing carelessly onto the white cloth, cutting off Otto from his rambling and silencing the mindless chatter you scarcely listened to anyway.

“Allow me to escort you back to your chambers sister, may your good brother and King be of service to you” he slurs and winks lewdly at you as if sharing an inside joke. Before your sleepy mind can process his implication, Alicent is quick to interject.

“My dear you certainly don’t look well…you may retire to your chambers, rest yourself it could be a babe quickening in your womb?” She offers cheerful with a sweetened smile, looking over your pale sickly face and then nodding- first for the maids to clear your place setting and then to the guards to open the doors, she doesn’t seem entirely genuine in her motherly kindness, her eyes still narrowed curiously towards you but you are grateful all the same.

“Aegon.” she turns harshly, “You forget your responsibility here, you must be a strong presence for us, especially in Aemond’s stead.” Dismissing him as quickly as she acknowledges him, she turns her attention from the King back to his royal hand. Stead. Stead. The word echoes through the room as you stand up and shuffle out of the hall, glimpsing at Aegon’s vacant expression as you go. Stead, to his brother, Stead to the man who is King, it turns your stomach uncomfortably- whether it be your sickness or the poison of the room, you are certainly grateful to be leaving behind whatever reaction that word will pull from Aegon.

You scarcely remember getting back to your chambers, the next two days have become a blur from then, the fever muddying your mind and keeping you confined to your bed, lonesomely big but more so knowing that he waits for you, his impatience bleeds through the walls, sometimes you think you can hear his muttering like it is right beside you but whether it be true or just your feverish delirium you cannot tell.

In truth he arrived back to the keep just hours after you took unwell, his body, the well oiled machine that it is, stomped through the halls, boots squeaking, sword and armour clinking, drenched head to toe in rainwater and seven knows what else walking- no hammering straight to his chambers, needing his girl- needing you, needing your warm hands and the womanly softness he’s come to need, he’s an enigma of contradictions and mystery but for his sweet wife he’s just this, just this need. Not that you could tell from looking of course, the maids still cowered, the lords still whispered and the keep rumbled in fear upon the return of the one eyed prince.

He was away for a sennight—a slow torturous week of negotiations in the riverlands, you had begged to join him, to see your sisters, despite your rocky relationship with them you wanted the familiarity of your own family yet he refused to entertain it, mixing you up with his duty any more than he already has been was a non negotiable. A peculiarity in which he regrets exponentially by the third time he’s requested your presence back in your shared chambers. He had returned that evening expecting to see you sprawled in his sheets, wearing that little slip of a nightgown- his favourite, your soft perfumed chest and pert nipples bared through the fabric, awaiting his onslaught of wet kisses- how you’d giggle at him and shove him away in the soaked state he’s in- how he’d strip you bare and bury himself inside you like he’d hungered for all week. Yet instead he returned to King’s Landing to the news that you have been moved back to your old chambers- the premarital halls you had detested staying in moons ago , all to to spare him from your “sickness”, all requests to see you denied, your courteous and shy handmaidens diligently telling him that you cannot receive any company. By now, the second day of this he can bear it no more.

It is impossible to tell what the hour it is by the time you awaken again, the murmuring is gone, the curtains are still drawn closed and your eyes take a moment to focus in the darkness, to no real avail. Your throat is still dry- unbearably so, choking a little you fumble in the darkness for a drink, it reaches your hand with ease, given straight to you in the dark. You take a drink, fogging the glass with your rattled breaths. You screw your eyes shut trying to focus your foggy eyes to thank whichever handmaiden was caring for you today. That is until through the fog of your congestion you catch the scent of smoke. You pause, leaning forward in the darkness to catch another wave of it before you practically topple out of bed completely. Quick footsteps and strong hands steady you and the scent is stronger than ever.

“Lie back.” his voice demands in the darkness. Aemond. Your voice catches in a pathetic whine as you realise. “Why are you in here?” you moan, your voice croaked and weak, “I told them to keep you out.” You speak vaguely into in the murk of the black room, not knowing where to direct your voice but knowing he’s there. The sound of your own weak raspy voice makes you curse internally.

It’s a fruitless plea. You cannot control your husband, nobody in the realm can, his affection towards you does not change that, in fact it made him harder to rule.

“That sounds nasty, silly girl.” he tuts as he squeezes your hip, ignoring your whiney protest and holding his calloused rough hand to your forehead with the gentlest touch. “Poor thing,” he croons.

Alright, you don’t entirely hate that he’s here. You missed him terribly, even your anger doesn’t last long, preening into the touch of his hand like a little kitten.

“It’ll pass,” you reassure him- to which he just responds with an unconvinced hum as you place your water cup blindly on the side table. He hauls you closer by the hip till you are laid right on his chest and his heart thrums pit pat pit pat beneath your cheek, making you swoon a little at the contact. It isn’t so terrible- after all he can’t see you, his fiery blood will keep him from whatever illness that is rattling you, there’s no real harm in letting him force you into his care.

You sigh dreamily for a moment just listening to his strong heartbeat, reminders like this of his barest humanity affect you with such tenderness, it’s silly, after time apart and hearing only whispers of his ruthless brutality from court gossip it’s easy to forget that he is just a man. Your man, whose broad chest lifts your whole body from his breaths, your man whose heart thumps right into your ear and lulls you back into such a sleepy comfortable state, your man who chose a sickly needy wife over his own comfortable solitude.

You don’t realise you’d dozed off till you are wakening again. It’s bright, daylight bright, the sun pooling into the room, a breeze comes in through the opened panels and hits you in the face.

You still - your body going rigid as that realisation snaps across you like a whip. Light. Light. It’s light now, Aemond is here. You glance beside you quickly, seeing that he’s still with you and the movement makes your brain throb- your mind aching and the pain blossoms through the center of your brow and pounds as you look at him for a moment. His gaze is serious - intense - his lone bright lavender eye searching your face for understanding of what had happened to make you look so startled. “What is it? Bad dream?” he breathes, his lips twitch and there’s fear there - anxiousness.

You blink as you try to choke down another rising cough, bringing the sheets to cover your face in a desperate attempt to hide. You must look dreadful, hair matted and unkempt, your nose flushed red and snotty, you fear you must look closer to Aegon after a few days in Flea Bottom than you do his usually pristine wife.

“Why are you hiding from me gevie?” he mutters, you can hear the amusement and genuine confusion in his voice. He prods your ticklish side under the blankets and you squirm.

There it is - that earnestness - that sweet sweet side of him. It makes your heart ache as you lie under the thin blanket. Aemond, your Aemond, with his warm hands on you over the sheets and his genuine desire to make you better - to push aside his strict routines and shackles to the kingdom just to be with his sick wife. You fear his rejection so terribly but everything he does for you proves the absurdity of such fear, it’s him who fears you, the one eyed kinslayer, the monstrous Aemond who- currently sits heart thumping in worry for his sweet sick wife, hiding in bed like a child.

You lift the blanket sheepishly, peeking up at him to meet the shy smile on his mouth and your breath catches.

“There she is..” he hums, “What was all that then?” he looks down at you the same way he always does, starry eyed and gentle. You don’t know if your surge of confidence comes from his look alone or the delirious fever that still lingers but you lean up- kissing him hard and sure.

“M’just a bit lovesick, ignore me. I missed you.” you murmur shyly against the curve of his gentle mouth, taking the hesitant but loving kisses he gives you right back with another dreamy sigh.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“What happened?” Aemond murmurs, his voice seems calm but theres an edge of annoyance in it, there always is- never directed to you of course, just the guys you waste your time on. The foggy streetlights dazzle across your pathetic, broken expression.

You shake your head, your little fingers curling around the lapels of his leather jacket as you hold on tight.

“He left, doesn’t matter” you murmur. “Can we...can you just be with me for a bit? The girls left.”

He raises a brow at the speckled rain on your bare arms but nods all the same, just a hum of acknowledgment as he takes your waist into his strong hand and leads you to his car, a flashy thing, used to be Aegon’s before he lost his license, not something Aemond would waste his money on but it suits him- black, sleek & fast. He yanks the passenger door open and slots you straight in, manhandling you like a little doll but you are used to it by now. He’s different now. since you’d met him, you can’t pinpoint when but he just is- now that he’s inside the car with you - he’s hauling you onto his lap, petting your back, making soothing humming sounds, and burying his hand into the rainy-damp mess of your hair, a few months prior he would’ve probably had you bent over the backseat by now, punishingly quick- harsh? yes but unfamiliar- impersonal, like it was meant to be and meant to stay as per his one rule but this? - this is tender.

You tilt your chin upward to look at him properly while he holds you close- your eyes soft, doe-like and sweet as sin- lashes clumping together from the rain, maybe from your earlier tears too, either way the hitch in his throat doesn’t go unnoticed by you as he gazes down into them. You wish you knew what he was thinking when he looked at you like this, in truth you knew very little about each-other, it made this whole arrangement a lot easier. So you thought.

Truthfully you’d do anything to know what he thought about you, just a hint, a whisper of suggestion from him that you were worth more than this. He never called first, he didn’t chase you, didn’t pressure you for anything it was absolutely all on you, all your terms, if you stopped that would be it. From the way he’s looking at you now you know that would fucking destroy you. His warm breath fans over your face, you can see the slow rise of his chest, feel his strong hands around you but you can just focus on this, his lone eye darting over your face with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

His eye-line snaps downward when your pink tongue darts over your lower lip and you cant stop yourself, your palms raise and skate his sharp jaw and practically rip him down to you, so you can reach his mouth. It is frantic, wet, and utterly needy. He doesn’t hesitate to press his tongue against your lips, forcing them apart, with no hesitation you open your mouth wide, your teeth clinking against his in such pathetic desperation- fortunately he’s got it just as bad, reciprocating with such eager enthusiasm until your mouth, your nose- even your chin are wet with his spit.

Kissing is hardly something you do together, especially not like this, it’s too familiar, an unspoken rule you set and stuck by, knowing him like this felt too intimate, like the blossoming of new love- like the sparks of a real relationship, where the infatuation is stifling and you can’t keep your lips apart for even a moment.

However tonight you’re too far gone, maybe it’s the bitter cold you felt seeping into your body earlier and the heat and strength and sheer- fucking comfort of him that heals you. Maybe it’s a fluke- a one time thing, nevertheless you may as well make the most of it, just pretend for a bit- after all Aemond doesn’t seem like he minds.

He wraps his calloused hands around your thighs - the hem of your little dress silky over his rough knuckles. He grazes it for a moment smiling up at you through his kisses.

“Mmm so soft.” he murmurs against your parted lips, his soft almost loving tone echoing into your mouth and straight to your hammering heart and aching cunt.

You lift yourself onto your knees balancing for a moment between his narrow hips, fumbling with his belt with shaky hands, he steadies you, watching you struggle with an amused smirk, unlacing his belt, you tugged the zipper down, and his eyes found yours again. Suddenly you’re shy but from the lust and determination coursing through your veins you keep eye contact- coyly licking your palm before gripping his half-hard cock. Stroking him slow, gentle, his skin so silky and utterly perfect on your hand, if you weren’t so dizzy already you’d tease him about it, glancing down to watch him disappear in the circle of your fist, now rock hard.

He shudders, jaw dropping & his hips lift a few inches off the pristine leather seat, chasing your hand. Though he remains silent aside from his laboured breaths, his eye never leaves yours, struck dumb by your assertiveness, letting you take the reins without protest.

The ache between your legs becomes more than you can bear & the position starts to burn your thighs, this he notices immediately, taking your free hand to clutch his shoulder and his deft practiced fingers slip your panties aside from under your silky dress. Scarcely having a moment to breathe, you brace yourself and sink down, guiding him into the heat of you.

He makes a choked, strangled noise as you take him to the hilt, holding onto your hips for purchase as he lets you adjust- your own mouth gaping too, a complete mirror image of each-other. That’s when he kisses you again, your utter surprise coming out in a little whine. This kiss is different, he spoils your mouth with slow intimate pecks, attuned to the throbbing you feel inside yourself as you stay seated on him. The lewd noises and muffled moans echo through the car, if you weren’t so out of it you’d think of how proud Aegon would be that his old car was being defiled like this. Another kiss and he takes you by the hips again, lifting you oh so slightly, rocking you in time with the slow smacks of his lips on yours. It’s hardly sex, hardly fucking but it’s so good, so intense that it’s so much better.

Wordlessly, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, cradling the back of his skull, finding leverage was proving difficult, you’re so out of it by now it’s practically all on him, but you try nonetheless- desperation rising you up, keeping him halfway inside before sliding down. again. and again. and again.

You felt him twitch inside you, his wet mouth dragging away from yours now, down down down till he’s mouthing at the nub of your tit through your dress, sucking into his scalding hot mouth till the fabric is damp, its primal, feral even- sending shivers through your body and causing you to clench and throb around his hard length. It’s filthy and intimate so perfect that it doesn’t even occur to you that you’re still parked on one of the side streets by the clubs, the windows are steamed up but it would take no genius to figure out what is happening inside.

“Baby,” he mumbles looking up at you now, the cold air of the night rushing around your now soaked nipple and making you shiver, his eye is hazy and he looks so fucking wrecked. 

“I know,” you sigh. 

Aemond. Quiet, thoughtful Aemond hardly acknowledged you by any name, if he absolutely had to it was just your own, plain and simple- uncomplicated, but this? It made your heart thud wildly in your chest, his baby. Was that what you were? What was he? Just Aemond. Nothing else fit him and that was fine with you. You just wanted him, wanted to remind yourself of that with every gasp of his name you’d whimper.

“Touch yourself,” he breathes - unable to reach your pearl from the way he’s practically holding you both together. “Touch yourself for me baby.”

He feels when you cum and the warm tightening of your cunt practically doubles him over. He’s a goner, holding onto you like you’ll leave him, grumbling something into the curve of your jaw..

“Avy jorrāelan”

You don’t recognise it, you scarcely process it anyway from the way you throb around him, plummeting into ecstasy with him, whimpering softly into the crook of his sweaty sticky neck before his hips stuttered and stilled beneath you. He lifted his face, flushed from the sweltering heat of the car - devastatingly beautiful as his eye searches your face again.

When you crawl off of his lap, sticky between your legs. He huffs, sucking his teeth and looking over at you with a furrowed brow, eyeing you up and down before hauling you back across the console and onto him, brows bumping, nose brushing against his and he gives you one more hard kiss, suckling your swollen bottom lip into his warm mouth and biting it gently before he finally pulls away.

“I don’t want to pick you up from this bar again.” he says, his voice raspy.

You pale a little at the implication, wondering if this is it, if this is the way he’s ending it. A moment passes, your mouth opening and closing trying to form a response before you see the grin forming on his face.

“You don’t need to come here and meet any more assholes right? I keep my girl satisfied don’t I?” he teases, his voice low and even somewhat shy despite what they just did. Too dazzled to even respond to his teasing you just stare at each-other in enamoured, giggly silence, the pitter patter of the rain reverberating on the car windows.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

WELP! my first smut post be kind!!! i got VERY carried away with this request but thank you to the anon who sent it in! based on this song if you wanna have a listen for the vibesss

He nods softly, as he sits on the small table in the balcony, where they often eat together, breaking their fast, supper or even having a treat. 

He holds his hands together and bows his head softly as he hears her soft prayer. 

She wears a white dress, with gold details. Her head is slightly covered by a white fabric and the small circlet she wears to keep it there. He thinks she looks beautiful, his lady wife. 

They often eat in silence, sometimes speaking softly. She ate with ease, a bit gracefully. She was careful not to stain her dress, it would cost a fortune to clean a dirty spot. 

“What are your plans for today?” He asks, leaning back as he drinks his watered wine. 

“Mhmmm…. I have to meet a new lady in waiting” Lady Corbray tells him, as she applies a bit of marmalade in her bread. “So it will keep me busy most of the day, your mother didn’t tell me who she was so…”

He hums, nodding in agreement. She always dresses nicely, and wearing all white only shows her station in the court. It prides him. 

“Good.” He says watching the courtyard and far from the Keep’s walls. “I suppose we won’t see each other all day. Until tomorrow” 

Aemond takes pride in knowing how to read his lady’s actions. Her expression is… slightly disappointed. Perhaps she hoped to see him tonight, to sleep together.

“Does that not sit right with you?”

“I was hoping to see you sooner than… tomorrow” she keeps on applying the marmalade as they speak. 

“Sooner? Perhaps we could see each other at noon” he says simply. “I will take Vhagar for a ride today”

“Will you let me meet her one day?”

“I am afraid that the height from the flight will… make you swoon” 

He would like that, her swooning from the heights. He thinks it’s likely she does not seem like the type to be fond of seeing a dragon so openly. 

Lady Corbray frowns, as if disgusted by the idea. “I do not swoon. Did you know that my room was in the highest tower? I can tolerate a bit of high heights”

He hums, his lips pressed together. Now it is her who can see his disappointed face.  

“I’ll see when it’s time”

That seems to be his answer for everything. When she wanted to commision a portrait for themselves, when she wanted to go on a horse ride to Kingswood, when she wanted to ride Vhagar, when she wanted to share a bath…. When she wanted him to take her maidenhead. 

He sighs as he drinks more of his tea. 

His day was mostly busy, his thoughts sometimes drifted to his lady wife. Even if he had never said it outloud, he was fond of her, and glad to have someone with reason, since he had expected someone more spoiled. But his lady Corbray was a good addition to his life, yet he still prefers to have her from afar. 

It was almost sunset when Aemond walks past the servants in the hallway, as he comes back after a ride with Vhagar. It gives him a small break from all his duties and worries, in the skies was only his dragoness and himself. 

He doesn’t understand all the fuss that there is around his chambers, seeing some maids moving some things, books, chests… until he hears his mother’s voice.

“Mother” Aemond greets her, watching how she was directing the servants with the heavy chest they carry. 

“Aemond” Alicent says simply, walking closer to greet him with two kisses on his cheeks, in a regal way. 

“What are you exactly doing in my chambers?” He asks, as he sees how the servants are leaving the chests on the floor. 

“Your wife will need a place to keep her things for a while”

He blinks for a few moments, looking around. 

“What for? her chambers are down the hall”

“The wood in her ceiling was rather rotten. It felt and it made her room all rusty and colder.” his mother says simply. “I told her we will move some of her furniture, and your chambers will be safer”

Aemond feels it’s a bit of a shitty excuse, but not out of the logical grounds. “Hm. And where will she sleep?”

“She hasn’t decided” his mother says simply. 

“Bring her here, then” he says, rolling her eyes as he walks to take off his signet ring, leaving it on his dresser. “If she cannot handle a bit of… missing wood in her chambers”

”She does not seem troubled by that fact” His mother says, her hands gripping each other as she looks around his chambers.  “Maybe by the fact that your marriage hasn't been consummated”

Aemond pressed his lips together, as he tried not to roll his eyes. Now it seems it was everyone’s business his marital bed. It was already suspicious to the court that he decided not to go forward with the bedding ceremony, and now rumours had reached his mother that he had not taken his wife out of her maiden state.

“Let her sleep here, then” Aemond says then, moving to take off his coat, a bit wet from the flight still. “Where is she? I believe she was with her new lady-in-waiting, has she been notified by the… disaster in her chambers?”

“She has” Queen Alicent nods. 

“And how come a princess gets a rotten chamber?”

”It is not rotten, Aemond. As the room was unused for many years, the maids do not seek the wood to clean it, unless there is a spider web” 

“Still. My wife deserves a proper chamber. She is a princess now, and she must have the very best luxuries that her station deserves”

“She deserves a babe in her womb” his mother answers him simply “That will ensure her station and the life you so say she deserves” she says simply “If you want court to treat her properly, so must you”

Aemond does not comment further on that. 

He lets maids change him into his night clothes, as he remains the eyepatch on his eye. Doesn’t want her to look at his missing eye. 

Some days, he is prideful of his missing eye; it’s what he has endured, what he had to overcome to be himself, a dragonlord, a prince. 

Other days aren’t so fulfilling. He uses an eyepatch not to scare ladies, not to make them stare at him trying to come to terms with his lost eye. He doesn’t want the pity that comes with it, and he doesn’t want Lady Corbray to look at him like that. To do the same. 

It is late when she arrives, quietly and trying not to bother him much. 

“Husband” she greets him softly. “I apologise. For coming late and… having… making… for this situation.” She stutters, searching for the right words. 

“Not your fault, wife” Aemond answers simply, laying in bed with a book in his hands.

“Yes, I do know, but still I wish not to make haste with it.” The maids undo her dress, take off the headwear and comb her hair as she speaks, remaining still. “To… bother you”

“You’re my wife. You cannot possibly do that” he says simply, turning over a page. 

Aemond does not notice how his wife raises her eyebrows, as if not believing him at all as she gets prepared for bed.  He can hear the way the maids undo her dress, probably carefully taking off her clothes and taking it away. He notices that his wife is used to it, being taken care of, like a little doll. 

“You have to know that I rise early. I do not leave the candles on at night, but I do leave the fireplace warm.”  he says simply. “You could stay in bed as long as you want by the morrow”

His wife looks at him with curious eyes, as the maids finish their job. She wears stockings covering the feet, and the length is slightly above the knee. 

He waits for her to finish praying, kneeling beside the bed as her hands are clasped together, murmuring lowly as her eyes are closed. She seems peaceful, and fully connected to her prayer. 

He observes her, as she takes a moment. And once she finishes, his gaze turns back to the book.

“Your chambers are a bit cold” she says, as she walks over the bed, as if it was her own space. “And your bedding is cold as well, I use more wool like blankets”

“Hm” he says, as his eye runs over the page of the book, yet he didn’t read a thing. He read the same word time and time again, not concentrating at all. He sees how she grabs one of his small pillows, more of decoration than of practicality. 

“And… you have pillow covers made from silk? I wear silk for my dresses” she says, checking the fabric “It is very expensive, and here it is... how funny” she says thoughtfully, trying to make lightheaded conversations. 

“Just because we share a chamber for now doesn’t mean we have to speak.” He says sharply, looking at her as she freezes with the pillow in her hands. Her cheeks are rosy now, from embarrassment. 

In truth, he does not know how to speak with his wife. She enjoys things he cannot understand the reason behind. Perhaps it was how she was raised, she has told him how little of Westeros she actually knew, barely the domain of her House, the Eyrie, and King’s Landing. Barely. 

He knows many places, for being a prince and visiting lordly houses. Vhagar can take him wherever he wants, whenever he wants. His wife is afraid of horses, and gets sick in carriages. She likes heights, embroidery and chatter. 

And Aemond cannot understand it. 

“Didn’t mean to be… hostile. Just don’t force it”

“Okay” she says softly, looking at the pillow in her hands. 

“I’ll make sure to buy more fabric for your dresses” he adds, turning over the page. “The seamstress will come next week to fix some of Jaehaera’s dresses” he adds. “I’ll make sure she has time for you”

“Thank you” she says simply.

She accommodates on the bed, her face turned to his side. Perhaps she deems it rude to give him her back, but he disagrees with it. He would rather that she does not face him, so he can take off his eyepatch. 

Aemond doesn’t like underestimating his wife. He knows well that Lady Corbray is surprising, far from what he knows of her. But he doesn’t like to frighten ladies with the sight of his scarred eye. 

Perhaps she won’t finch, she won’t care to see it. But sleeping with it was a different thing. His eye did not close fully with his other eyelid, but remained mainly open, as it was empty of an eye. And he thinks it would frighten her. So, he decides not to take off his eyepatch.

“Goodnight” he says simply, as he blows off the candles by his bedside. The fireplace cracks slightly, the warmth not leaving the room. She said it was cold, he does not think so. 

“Good night, husband” she says, closing her eyes. She does not question how he still uses an eyepatch, he doesn’t know if she notices. 

Lady Corbray has a facility to sleep rather quickly, he notices, while he struggles a bit more. Unless he was exhausted, after a day full of fulfilled duties, he had trouble sleeping as quickly as her.

He wasn't blind, or a fool. Even if he claimed he was much more above the base instincts of carnal desires, he knew that, deep in him, he was not. Not at all over the lust and greed. He truly wasn't immune to have a woman in his bed. 

Not only a woman, but his lady wife. His lady Corbray, so special to him. He tries to be good with her, but being married is a difficult thing he does not decipher. He is not used to the warmth that she could bring.

She is a bit curled up, as she remains asleep. He isn’t sure how much time passes, perhaps it was close to the hour of the owl. She has been asleep for quite a while now, and he notices by the way her breathing is steady and relaxed. 

As his one eye watches over her, he thinks of it again. He was not above the temptation of having a woman in his bed. 

He truly was not. 

So when he feels that growing tightness within his breeches, he tries to take those thoughts, those feelings, that lust away. Yet he can not. 

He wishes she could be closer to him. He wishes to hold her in his arms when they sleep in bed. He had embraced her, at the beginning, but she always got stiff and didn’t seem to be used to it. Aemond tried not to be cruel, and so he stopped. It was odd for him too, with hopes to warm up, and make her used to his touch. But he wasn’t cruel, and he wouldn’t do it if she doesn’t seem to like it

If she got stiff with a hug, he didn’t want to imagine when they consummated their marriage. 

He turns to watch her, sleeping and her heavy breath that didn’t quite fit like snores. He sighs as his gaze wanders to her collarbone, how her nightgown was so loose in certain parts. He really cannot help the tightening in his breeches. 

Aemond moves slightly, as if trying to move away his filthiness from her. His hand drifted down to his aching cock, sighing harshly almost in unison with his lady wife next to him. It was dangerous, he thinks, as he fixed his erection inside his cotton pants. 

It throbs, almost burning as if reminding him of his shameful desire. 

Yet it is not enough to keep him still, he stands up, his feet paddling in the cold floor, as he reaches the water ewen and the washbasin. He had asked the maids to leave it there, just in case Lady Corbray had night habits he was not aware of. But for now, he might give it another use. 

He undoes his breeches as quickly as he can, his rigid posture gone as he supports his body with his hand on the cabinet, as he leans forward slightly. As he fishes out his cock, sighing as he takes it on his left hand. 

“Gods forgive me…” he mutters, as he feels his cock stir in his hand, before he starts stroking himself slowly. Aemond bites his lower lip, trying not to make a single sound, as he was afraid his wife would wake up and notice his doings. 

He closes his eye for a moment as he starts stroking himself faster, his cock was rigid and leaking already. He knew he had to be careful… but he did not care. His desire for her, as dark as it is, was rooted deep inside him. It could not be stopped, Aemond knew. 

Caressing the tip of his cock always made his eye roll back, and he does it fervently trying to cum quickly. He didn’t want to take long like other times, where he would tease himself and keep himself on edge on purpose, just because it excited him. Now, with her here… 

She was here, his mind reminds him. Aemond moves his head a little, just to see her sleeping form on his bed, deep in sleep, not aware of his doings. It felt shameful, he knows he’ll feel horrible for it the next day. 

But with his mind filled with pleasure, he leaves the worry for tomorrow. He does not want to worry himself now, for he had the whole day ahead full of it.

His hand grips the edge of the table, trying not to throw the washbasin by mistake. His teeth grit together, as his hips move slightly, trying to catch that slow yet lazy rhythm that he has grown to like. He could feel the pressure on his balls, tightening up as his pleasure became clearer and intense. 

Aemond turns to watch her, just for a second, to indulge himself. It was wrong, to have his peak while she remains oblivious, but the perverse thrill makes him curse. 

“Fuck, fuck…” he groans, as it is almost embarassing to be that quick to cum at seven and twenty. He’s not a green boy anymore, yet he has been so deprived from his desires that almost everything and anything she does, drives him mad with lust. 

He imagines burying his face between her legs, of showing her the pleasure she does not know she was missing. He had witnessed some of the bedding ceremonies, and it was always painfully stiff. More so with a public, watching it closely, as they do with tourneys. Not wanting her to experience the same, he waited. And waited. And keeps on waiting. 

He wonders how she’ll taste. He wonders how her cunt would feel around his cock, and the sounds she’ll make as she orgasms. He has never been over the moon with maidens, taking them for inexperienced, immature and foolish girls, but with his wife… it was different. She was all that, but he could bear it. 

Aemond can see the wedding ring in his finger, he never takes it off. You use the same one, though sometimes he can see when you do not wear it. He can see it when he strokes his cock, pumping it as his teeth grip on his lower lip and his breath becomes heavier, trying to swallow any moan or groan that could escape his lip, only the occasional sigh of pleasure. 

As he cums, he grips on the edge of the washbasin, his knuckles white and hand hurting from the force of it. He rolls his eye trying not to let a groan out from the delicious feeling of cumming. His body is tense, his back stiff as his hips buckling into his fist, as he cums all over his stomach and even smears some of his shirt. 

The feeling of drunkenness makes him insane. He slumps back against the back of the chair, his chest heaving. He closes his eye, knowing well that in just a second he’ll have to clean himself, and go back to sleep as if nothing happened. Just always. 

Pretending he does not care. Pretending she does not affect him at all, that she does nothing to him, and that she’s no more than a nuisance. It’s not like he wants to treat her like that, but he knows his pervert desires will do her no good, that his wishes borderline the inappropriate, and it makes him feel rotten inside, not having any other way to cope with it. 

As he cleans the remnants of his seed with a damp towel, tucking himself in his breeches, he also indulges on it. He likes, deep down, the taboo, rejecting her advances while fantasizing about her. It made him feel conflicted about his own marriage. 

He takes a moment to compose himself, walking towards the bed quietly, sliding on his own side. Even if they share a bed, they are so far from each other. 

Aemond felt mixed feelings. Her husband, with such horrid desires about her. He craved for her, to hold her, and devour her. He feels flawed, and he only wishes to get away from himself. 

Yet he still indulges in his desires. Maybe one day, he´ll tell her. He turns around, giving her his back, as if that would make a bigger gap between them, as if that could help him, at least for now.