God You're So Fucking Talented I Could Cry - Tumblr Posts

This was absolute PERFECTION. I will be a tradwife for Aemond and only Aemond. I will continue to think about this all week🥵

𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 | aemond targaryen x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | these were the only times he showed you any affection— when others were watching. when his reputation was at stake. but as eyes from around the room fell on you as you danced, you swallowed down a lump in your throat as you wondered if they could see it all: the truth, that is. separate bedrooms, sparse conversations, silent meals. {aka, an arranged marriage with aemond that’s not as loveless as it seems, once he’s forced to admit how he really feels…}

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 9.4k (WHOOPS)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (virginity loss with some pain due to aemond being… very gifted, breeding kink ft. breeding press, emotional sex, the slightest dubcon if you squint but trust me it's wanted), arranged marriage, angst, the love isn’t unrequited they’re just idiots, innocent reader, slight infidelity (reader has essentially an emotional affair with a stark!oc), touch starved reader and also touch starved aemond but at the same time cocky aemond lol, reader is insanely whipped for aemond (aka self-insert lmao jk but really tho), slight housewife kink? but really just very old school/traditional views of marriage, reader is implied to be some kind of royal but no mentions of her house or origins or appearance

You knew Aemond hated these sorts of things, but you loved them.  You loved that he had to treat you like a wife for the evening— putting his hand on your shoulder or waist, smiling at you, talking about you to other guests…

Maybe that was the same reason that he hated them.  You really couldn't tell; but on nights like this, you just basked in the fantasy, in the joy of putting on this show for the others so they wouldn't know how loveless and empty your marriage really was.

The banquet was, all things considered, rather uneventful.  You didn't make much conversation, opting to stay firmly planted at your husband's side until he invited you to dance.  He disliked dancing, too, but he was decent at it; you couldn't stop smiling when he took your hand so gently, guiding you to the centre of the room.  His gracefulness and stoic nature reminded you of how you thought of him when you met him for the first time.

You remembered returning home after your first visit, knowing the courtship would be brief for a political marriage and that your next visit would probably be permanent.  You spent the night telling everything to your friends, giddy with romantic glee.  What's he like? they asked.  They say the one-eyed prince is strange— but maybe they all are…

You clutched your hands to your chest as you answered: he's shy, you said, and reserved— mysterious!  But I know he has a kind heart, if only he'll let me near to it.  He took my hand and kissed it… just the way he looked at me as he did made my heart jump!  He's handsome, I think, if in a strange way— he doesn't look anything like the men here.  But I like that…

And they all swooned, going on about how lucky you were, fantasising with you about how romantic it would be when he showed you his true nature and fawned over you as his new wife.

For a dragon, for a man made in fire, he was so cold— frozen solid, right down to his heart.

These were the only times he showed you any affection— when others were watching.  When his reputation was at stake.  But as eyes fell on you as you danced, you swallowed down a lump in your throat as you wondered if they could see it all: the truth, that is.  Separate bedrooms, sparse conversations, silent meals (when you ate together at all, which became rarer over time).

Nearly eight months into marriage, with no pregnancy, you knew there were rumours already about why no children were on the way.  The kindest of them spoke that Aemond didn't desire children and had you on a strict regimen of preventative elixirs and teas; the harshest alleged that you couldn't satisfy him, couldn't interest him, or couldn't bear for him at all.  

Worst of all, you weren't sure which of those were true yourself.  He never told you if he wanted children, or if he had a lover already, or if he was like his brother— spending night after night in whorehouses.

You didn't know him at all, really, and it made your eyes sting at the dance came to an end.  He let go of your hand to clap for the end of the song like the other dancers, and you knew it could be weeks before he touched you again.  You bowed your head and hoped he wouldn't see your eyes getting watery.

When you looked up again, Aemond's attention was elsewhere as a Lord visiting from far away approached him to make conversation; but another set of eyes were upon you, those of the Lord Stark seated across the hall.  His stare was dark, but warm, and you glanced away quickly.  

"Excuse me," you offered quietly to your husband and his conversation partner, who nodded at you to dismiss you before you left.  Making your way to the doors, you saw Stark standing from his chair in the corner of your eye as you passed.

Leaving the party, you walked far enough that you suspected no one else would come by— no one else that wasn't looking for you, that is.  And only one man would come looking for you… 

He did, as you suspected; you waited under a sconce until you heard footsteps behind you.  You turned to face him, and part of you imagined, still, that it would be your husband standing there.  Why did you leave, dear wife?  Wouldn't you like to dance with me again?

He probably didn't even know you were gone.  Instead, you stared at the man standing before you.  "Lord Stark," you greeted with a polite curtsy.

"You may desist the pleasantries," he smirked, full lips surrounded by dark brown stubble on his face, approaching you with a gentle touch to your arm.  "We are alone, my lady."

Sighing, you watched his fingers pet the sleeve of your dress.  What would it be like if Aemond touched your arm, with his delicate touch and slender hands?  "That we are," you agreed softly.

"I've waited quite some time to see you again," Philip Stark said thoughtfully, and you smiled up at him shyly, "and I'm afraid you are even more beautiful than I remembered."

"And you are even more flirtatious than I remembered," you returned, making him laugh lightly.

"Quick-witted as always, my lady," he praised, "but it is not flattery— you know I truly adore you, don't you?  These nights are all I have to look forward to… though it does wound me to see you with him.  Especially now that I know how cruel he really is."

Yes, when you first encountered Philip in one of these empty hallways, you confessed more of the truth to him than you'd ever told anyone.  As embarrassing as it was, he never judged or shamed you; in fact, he apparently fell madly in love with you after that one conversation.  And now here he was, jealous that Aemond married you first, making you feel terrible for the way you entertained the interest of another man.

"I wanted to ask you for a dance," Philip admitted.  "Would you have accepted?"

"Of course," you beamed.

"Then I'll ask now," he decided, extending his hand to you as your eyes widened.

"But there's no music!" you protested.

"Can’t you hear it?” he grinned, making you knit your brows and try to listen more carefully.  With the doors to the main hall shut, you couldn’t hear anything.  “That’s what it’s like to be in love— you hear music when others don’t.”

As sweet as it was for Philip to imply he was in love with you, you had to laugh.  “I think that’s what it’s like to be insane!” you replied.

“The two are actually quite similar,” he winked as you took your hand and pulled you closer, squaring up to dance with you.

For a few moments, it was just that— dancing in the hallway with Philip to silent music.  It was fun, romantic even, and you laughed like you hadn’t in weeks.  And though you couldn’t quite call it a surprise, with the way he was looking at you, you felt a strange sense of disappointment when he kissed you. 

Disappointment because all you could think about as he kissed you was how different it felt from what you thought kissing Aemond would be like.

You'd put a lot of thought into it, actually, since you first met him.  Aemond’s lips seemed soft, and the few times you'd seen the tip of his tongue slip out to wet them as he was immersed in thought, you thought of him tasting your lips.  His touch was delicate and lithe, those thin fingers might tilt your head back so you would look up at him, or lightly tickle the small of your back.  He would be so careful with you, tender and patient as he was in all things, he would savour every moment that your body was pressed to his…

Philip was exactly the opposite in every way.  His stubble scratched against your face, reminding you what you were doing and who you were doing it with.  His kiss was aggressive and hungry, his tongue prying into your mouth as he hummed in delight and pulled you closer by your hips.

It took all your strength, physical and metaphysical, to push him away.  "I can't… my husband—" you began.

"You told me yourself that he ignores you," he sighed, tightening his grip on you to keep you close.  "Didn't you say that you thought he was having an affair of his own?"

"W-well, I'm not sure— I just imagine he must be, since he's never… since we never…"

He growled slightly, leaning in to kiss your neck as you shivered.  "I still can't believe it," he mumbled.  "That the prince has a beautiful wife all to himself and never once bed you.  What a waste that is— you deserve to be pleasured, my love…"

You wanted so much to give into it, to let him take you now and finally know what you'd been waiting so long for.  You wanted it more than anything— to be loved, desired, cherished.  But you still gasped and pushed him away again when he started to grab at your dress.  "I saved my purity for my husband," you reminded him with a frown.

"And you still have it!" he snapped.  "Isn't it time to give it to someone who wants it?"

You'd told him yourself that your husband didn't care for you, and yet it stung horribly to hear Lord Stark say it so plainly.  You dropped your head and bit your shaking lip, sniffling as he awkwardly tried to recant what he'd said.

"I-I've offended you— my apologies— but it is him that should feel guilty, not you," Philip insisted.  "He's mad to treat you in such a way… he should desire you, I can't imagine why he doesn't.  But he doesn't, that much we can both be certain of.  And I do— more than anything, I desire you.  I meant all that I said in my letter— and more.  I have dreamt of you every night since we first met, since you let me kiss your hand…"

The declaration of love was beautiful, and tender, but it was soured— for it all came from the wrong man.  It would be easier to run away with the Lord Stark and be his wife instead, let him give you all the things he promised.  But it was not duty that kept you bound to Aemond… it was devotion; real, pure devotion.

You interrupted the Lord's imploring speech by resting your hand tenderly on his cheek.  He sighed, shutting his eyes and savouring your touch.  "My lady," he whispered reverently.

"I am truly sorry, my Lord," you breathed.  "You are handsome, and gentle— and any lady should be so lucky to have your heart, for it is truly kind and just.  But—"

"But you can only love him," Stark finished with a sneer, jerking away from you dejectedly.  

"I wish I didn't," you admitted with a whimper as you started to cry.  "I wish I was the sort of woman who could ignore my marriage and abandon my husband and just love you, but—"

"Say no more," he interrupted firmly.  "I see now that you never felt for me as you said you did.  You only liked that I gave you the attention your husband does not."

Well, that was sort of true, but it still hurt.

"No wonder he hates you— he knows how wicked you are!"

You reached out for the man but he had already turned to leave you; you wanted to plead for just one more embrace from him, so it would be longer before you forgot how it felt to be held.  But you, apparently, had a single shred of dignity left… or maybe it was just that you were crying too hard to speak.

Crumpling to the floor, you leaned against the stone wall, hearing the sounds of the party grow louder for a moment as the doors to the banquet hall opened again.  The sounds of merriment and joy felt distant, not just because they were literally far away— you had so few joys left already, and one of them had just tossed you aside with impatience and disgust.

When the evening concluded and you were alone in your bed across the castle, you dreamt that Aemond found one of Philip's letters to you; that he read it and confronted you, admitting he was livid to imagine another man stealing you away.  In your dream, Aemond's anger revealed his true lust for you, and he asserted his claim over his wife by violently taking you right there in your bed, all the while swearing to never even let anyone else look at you again. 

It may have sounded like a nightmare to anyone else, but you would accept any interest from Aemond by now— you wouldn't struggle or resist him, too good of a wife to ever deny your husband.  But that was hardly something you had to worry about: you'd never have to deny him, because he'd never want you.  Realising this for the hundredth time hurt just as much as the first; you wept into your pillow for the rest of the night.

~

"What is it that you hate so much about me?" you asked, voice wavering even though you'd imagined being so tough when you finally confronted him.

You hadn't woken up that day planning to ask him that.  You'd woken up that day melancholy as you knew it was your eight month wedding anniversary— and you knew that Aemond didn't care.  He didn't join you for breakfast, and you thought about taking your meal to the terrace to look out at the garden while you ate, but then you thought you'd better just wait for him at the table in case he came late and gave you a kiss on the head as he passed by to his seat.

Of course, he did not.  You didn't see him before lunch, either— or at lunch!  That was when your heartbreak shifted into anger.  If he wanted to be aloof, fine.  If he wanted to be in a purely political marriage without even consummating it, that was his right.  And if he didn't think children were necessary, being the second son and therefore not needing an heir, even though you longed to be less alone and have someone to care for here in this draughty old castle— you could live with all that.

But if he couldn't even think to say hello to his wife, either ignorant or uncaring that the twentieth of every month was another month gone by since the wedding, then he was worse than you realised.  Up until now he’d avoided you, sure, but he wasn’t… mean, except for avoiding you, which was mean in itself.  It made you think of what Philip said a few weeks ago— no wonder he hates you.

So, that was what compelled you to find Aemond in his chambers, swinging the doors open and blurting out your question.

He sighed, seeming annoyed, as he shut his book and looked at you.  Even after seeing firsthand how little he cares about you, part of you imagined he'd be offended when you asked that.  Hate you?  Darling, of course not!  You're my wife, aren't you?

But no, he only contemplated you with an unsurprised frustration as you stood there, shaking hands clenched into fists.  You spoke again when he still said nothing.  "I'd just like you to tell me, Aemond.  Tell me why you despise me so much."

He smiled— fucking smiled— as he tilted his head down and shook it.  "Haven't I done enough for you?  This is the thanks I get, when I try so hard to be kind to you?"

You choked on your gasp, tears falling down your face already even though you wanted more than anything not to let him see you weep.  "Is this what it looks like when you try?  I'd hate to see what happens when you just give in and show me how you really feel."

He scoffed.  "You would hate it," he agreed.

"You're so cruel…" you whispered, choking on a sob.  "How do you do that, Aemond?  How are you so horrible to me, without a second thought?"

That seemed to anger him properly, and he finally stood up as rage heated his face.  "How dare you come to my chambers and question me?  After all I've done for you—!"

"All you've done?" you repeated incredulously.  "Ignored and belittled me?  Treated me like a stranger, secluded me to another bedroom… are these your mercies?"

He seemed confused— an emotion you weren't used to seeing on him.  "Yes!" he answered, irritated.  "What more could you want?  I can't exactly have you living on another continent, can I?"

You blinked quickly, shaking your head at him.  "I— I don't understand…"

"I grant you all that, because I know this marriage was not your choice," he explained, like it was obvious.  "It wasn't mine either— we can at least be civil, and keep up appearances, for your honour and my own."

"Honour?  Aemond, the court believes I am barren!  I haven't the heart to tell them that you're disgusted by me!"

He stepped closer to you, the short distance making your heart race.  "Disgusted?  You may think me a monster, but I am only a man— even I know how beautiful you are."

Your throat caught.  He said it like you should know— but it was news to you, and it made your heart skip.  "If… if you think me beautiful, why— why did you never lay with me?  Even on our wedding night?" you asked, feeling your face warm to discuss something so crude.

"I'm not like my brother," he sneered.  "I have no desire to force myself on you…"

His eye darted to the side briefly.

"W-well, no intention, at least."

"Force?" you repeated, confused as you shook your head.  "Aemond, you're hardly making any sense…"

"I'm not making sense, am I?  Who are you to question me?  You act like a nice, obedient wife— you like to make them think of you that way, don't you?  But I let you live as you did before, as much as I can.  What more do you want, woman?!" he asked ragefully.

"I… want only for you to hold me," you admitted, voice breaking as you cried in earnest.  You felt like a child when he looked at you like this, even more so as you admitted your foolish desires.  "I want my husband to love me— I want him to touch and kiss me, and tell me that he can't live without me.  I want, even just for one day, to feel worthy of your love— fuck, just your attention!  Just your approval!"

He blinked at you, softening, and you almost jumped when his hand reached up to tenderly stroke the back of your arm.  "My wife…" he whispered, and your lips fell slack with a sigh.

He leaned in a bit closer then, reaching up to wipe a tear from the height of your cheek with his thumb.  In all the months you'd been married, in the weeks you courted, he'd never touched you so sweetly.

"I… I didn't want to hurt you," he promised, "or scare you.  I thought you—"

He lowered his voice again, shutting his eye, and you leaned in closer.

"I knew you couldn't love me," he whispered.  "You're so sweet and lovely— I'm scarred.  And you played the part well, but… I've seen that look before, when a lady is trying to be polite but is upset by the sight of me.  I understand."

You reached up to hold his face, biting your shaking lip.  “Aemond… I never— you’re beautiful.”

He turned away shyly, cheeks starting to tint in a way that only added to the beauty he was about to deny.  “I know you want to be a good wife, but your flattery is inconceivable.”

“I always thought you were handsome, my prince,” you promised, forcing him to look at you so he could see the earnestness in your eyes.  “And I don’t just want to be a good wife— I want to be your wife.”

"You always had my attention," he informed you.  "And you never lost my approval."

Overcome with joy, you threw yourself onto him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.  Though he seemed a bit stunned by your forwardness at first, he returned your hug; you could've sobbed when he embraced you.  It was all you'd ever wanted, and it was so simple: just the touch of your husband— just the warmth and strength of him, wrapped around you.

Squeezing your shoulders gently, he sighed beside your ear.  “You don’t need to be so excited,” he mumbled.

“Of course I’m excited,” you beamed, holding him even tighter.  “I thought you— do you really care for me?”

“Yes,” he assured, and you pulled back to look at his face, just in case he was obviously lying or something.  But he seemed genuine— actually, he seemed surprised that you didn’t believe him already.

"I won't believe you until you kiss me," you decided.  Smiling, he leaned closer and took one more long look at your face before pressing his lips to yours.

It was sort of like how you'd imagined that it would be, at first.  But in a moment, it was better than you could've ever thought.

It was needy.  You loved it; your husband needed you.  His kiss was still delicate and precise, yes, but filled with heavy sighs and hesitant attempts to pull you closer and press his body to yours.  It was teeming with all that suppressed hunger, like he was fighting every instinct so he wouldn't overwhelm you.  If only he knew he could do whatever he liked to you; if only you could make him let go and show his true self.

“I care for you,” he whispered into the kiss, almost so quiet you didn’t hear it… but you did, and you had to cling to his shoulders with your knees going weak.  He pulled away to speak to you more clearly, as much as you hated being away from that kiss again.  “I care for you too much to subject you to my presence.”

“Do you care for me too much to consummate our marriage?” you asked, catching the way his eye widened slightly while his grip at your waist tightened.

“Avoiding you was easier than resisting you,” he explained quickly.  “It’s… difficult, even now, holding you like this, and not—”

“I want you to,” you admitted, nearly whining as you clutched at his shirt to pull him closer.  “Since our wedding night— well, even before then, I wanted—”

"Don't," he pleaded, voice thin as he looked away.  "I… I won't be able to hold myself back…"

"Take me, husband," you begged.  "I— I waited for you all my life.  I need to feel you, to please you—"

He snarled a bit as he shut you up with a bruising kiss, holding your back tightly.

You hummed into it, feeling heat flood your face (and between your legs) as he kissed you so… shamelessly.  Your grip on him loosened, only because all of you went a little limp from the way his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and you pressed your hands flat against the leather in hopes you could feel the warmth of his chest through it.  Unfortunately, you couldn’t, so instead you found your hand slipping between two of the fasteners of his tunic, fingers brushing against the bare skin underneath.  He pulled away from your lips, but you couldn’t seem to find the strength to pull your hand from his chest— his warm, porcelain skin—

"Your eagerness is unladylike," Aemond noticed with a pleased smirk.

"I-I am sorry, but I can't help it," you whimpered.  "I've longed for you— I've dreamt of you—"

"Shh, I know," he smiled softly, petting your hair as you leaned into the gentle touch.  "I quite like this desperation on you, anyways.  Be careful not to let me enjoy it too much, or I'll make you wait another eight months."

"No, please," you breathed, "you could hold me every day and I'd be just as eager, my prince."

He sighed just by your ear, even something that simple making you shiver.  "I'll do more than that— I'll never let you go.  I'll hold you for the rest of our lives.  Then will you be satisfied?"

Crying softly, you nodded and hid your face against his shoulder, sighing at the relief being close to him brought you.

He reached up slowly to help you unfasten the clothing that covered his upper body; watching him undress was just divine, in your opinion— every nimble motion of his fingers exposed a longer sliver of his torso until he shirked the tunic away from his shoulders and revealed himself to you.  Biting your lip, you graced your fingers over his chest, admiring how strong he was and how delicate his ivory skin felt; if it weren’t for how shockingly warm he was to the touch, you’d believe he really was porcelain.

“Do you wish to see me too, husband?” you asked shyly, fishing for a little eagerness from him as well.  He hummed as he leaned in to kiss your neck, reaching behind your back to unlace your gown as you held onto his arms.

“I apologise for how many breakfasts I missed,” he replied, not seeming to be a related statement at all until he went on.  “Seeing you in your dressing gown was becoming too much to bear… all I could do was imagine how you must look without anything to cover you.”

You smiled proudly, though you couldn’t for very long when his tongue teasing along your pulse made you gasp shakily.  “U-uncover me then," you pleaded, as if he wasn't already shedding you of the layers of your dress, down to the thin linen chemise underneath.  You were told from an early age that your body was meant for your husband's eyes only, and aside from the occasional lady's maid who helped you dress, you'd covered yourself in modest wear in order to preserve your own dignity and keep your promise to your future husband.  Maybe some would protest to such a stricture, but it seemed sort of romantic to you.  And now that you were finally here, with Aemond's fingers delicately shedding you of your last layer of clothing, it was more intimidating than you expected— but in a good way, mostly.  Really you were just scared that he wouldn't like what he saw; even if he said he was affected by the sight of you in your nightgown, he knew nothing of what laid beneath.

Taking a shaky breath, you held your arms out just enough for him to slide the thin fabric down, and the garment pooled on the floor at your feet.  

For a moment, you couldn't find the courage to look up at Aemond, just blinking down at the ground beneath you.  But soon, when he said nothing still, you worriedly glanced up to examine the expression on his face.

Before then, you wouldn't have known how to describe what lust looked like.  Well, you still couldn't describe it, but you knew it when you saw it.  And this?  That darkness in those icy eyes, that tightness in his jaw and the subtle smirk on his lips?  That was it. 

You shivered as he ran his hands over you, a pleasant sort of chill that made you clench inside.  You opened your mouth, about to ask him if you were pleasing to him, but he spoke first.

"Lay on the bed, wife."

You were, obviously, already very obedient.  But you may have never been as instantaneous in your obliging as that moment.  You were on your back on Aemond's bed in an instant, and he was atop you just a second later, kissing you again and breathing in deeply as his bare chest pressed to yours.

His hands returned to exploring you as his kiss became more and more overpowering; he was so warm, almost hot, pressed against you and it was simply the most perfect feeling.  You found your legs spreading naturally without much thought put into it, and in the same way, his hand just seemed to move down between them of its own accord, gently rubbing over your mound as you whimpered from the feeling.

"Are you truly untouched?" he whispered against your lips.

"Of course," you answered, "how could I not be?  You never touched me…" 

He hummed softly.  "I longed to," he admitted, "I imagined it…"

He delicately parted your folds with two fingers, making you shudder as his touch carefully discovered every detail of you.  "I-is it like you imagined?" you wondered.

"Even more lovely," he replied.  "You're so warm here, my love— are you warmer inside?"

You gasped loudly as he slid those fingers inside you.  "Shh," he soothed.  "It's only to prepare you."

Only to prepare?  I feel as if I'm being torn apart already! you thought.

"Soon you'll be ready to take me inside you," he whispered.  That was plenty of motivation to get through the pain, and he hummed contentedly as you pulsed inside, more of your arousal leaking out and threatening to leave a puddle on his bed.

"Will… will you keep your trousers on?" you wondered, as you looked down at where the pale skin stopped and the black leather began.

He seemed amused.  "I know you're not naïve enough to think we can consummate this marriage with my trousers on."

"N-no!  I mean—" you choked.  "I meant that… I'm naked, and you haven't taken them off yet."

He raised an eyebrow, curling his fingers inside you and watching your face twist.  "Are you that curious, my darling?" he mocked, leaning down to speak closely beside your ear.  "Would you like to see my cock, is that it?"

Well, it seemed that the time for shame was well past… so, you bit your lip and nodded slightly, feeling his kiss the side of your face quickly.

"Soon," he promised.  "It's easier to keep my patience this way."

Patience?  After this long, his concern is patience?

Of course, you couldn't quite understand yet what Aemond was truly concerned with— but you would soon enough.

As much as it had stung to be entered by something for the first time, you were whining in disappointment when he pulled those fingers out of you— until he brought them to his lips and stared forward at you darkly while he sucked your flavour from them.

When he had licked every drop from his skin, he smiled at you and put those wet fingers by your hole again— wiggling and twisting them to fit three inside as your back arched.

"It's too much," you warned, grabbing his wrist.  "Three is too many!"

"You'll need to take much more than three fingers, my darling," he chuckled.  His free hand grabbed yours and guided it to his erection, firm and hot even though the leather, helping you rub him as he sighed.  Your eyes went wide as you felt it, and he smirked at you.  "Do you see now?  You'll need to be prepared."

"Oh— my husband, you— are you sure it will fit?"

"Yes."

It wasn't as convincing as you'd hoped it would be.  It felt so thick, and you were afraid your sense of touch was deceiving you with the length of it!  Sure, you had no true point of reference having never even seen a man naked before, but you understand the mechanics of all this to find a sense of fear bubbling up in your gut.  Would it hurt you?  Would it break you?

And why did that idea, as terrifying as it should be, excite you a little bit?

Pulling him down into another kiss, you found yourself weaving your fingers into his hair, and when he pushed his fingers deeper into you again you couldn’t help but tug on the silver-y strands unintentionally.  You started to apologise, before the little wince he let out turned into a low groan that made your walls bear down on his fingers yet again.  And that made him sigh as he leaned down to kiss your neck, even biting on you just hard enough to make a whine escape from your throat.

“I should give you more time,” he admitted, “prepare you further, but… my patience is wearing thin, dear wife.”

“You don’t need patience with me, husband,” you assured, surprised by your own voice’s wavering as he kept filling you with his long fingers.  “Just… say that you love me.”

He smirked a little, and the pridefulness in his face made you feel sort of foolish— but you sort of liked it.  “I don’t know you enough to say that,” he replied.

Well, that wasn’t exactly your fault, was it?  And he had three fingers to the knuckles inside you, he certainly knew you better than anyone else!  “You don’t have to mean it,” you mumbled, “just say it…”

His free hand, attached to the elbow that he balanced himself on beside your head, lightly pet the line of your jaw as you blinked up at him.  “Say that you love me first,” he decided.

“I love you,” you replied instantly, “of course— I love you more than anything.”

Smiling wider, he closed the space between you and kissed you softly.  Only when your eyes fell shut did he answer in a whisper below his breath, “and I love you as well.”  It seemed like it might be too much for him to say it with his eyes open.

He took his hand away from you and reached down; excitement jumped through you like a shock when you realised he was removing the rest of his clothes.  It made the kiss suddenly much more… thrilling, less precise and more desperate as you grabbed onto his shoulders and felt his bare body lay fully on top of yours.

His hands ran up the back of your legs, holding them open wide for him, and his cock pressed against your waiting cunt; it was warm, that was the only word you could think of for it, and you moaned into his mouth as he just barely rocked his hips to slide himself over your slick folds.

Right as he held himself tightly, hissing softly between his teeth, and guided his thick and leaking tip to your opening, a second wind of hesitance startled you.

"Wait!" you blurted out, pushing him away just slightly by his shoulder.  You could tell by the fear in his eye that he thought you were about to renege on the whole thing, admit that he was right from the start and you were too afraid of him to go through with any consummation.

Instead, you reached up to the brown leather patch on his eye, gently caressing it.

"Let me see my husband," you pleaded.  "I know you don't like to show me— but I want to see you as you are."

You'd only seen him without the covering for a brief moment, on accident; a few weeks into the marriage you entered his chambers without permission, finding him without his shirt or patch, and he covered his face quickly to scold you for your rudeness.  You were much too flushed by the sight of his bare chest— that toned, pale torso with scars of the softest pink in a few places— to mind his sapphire eye much or his frustrated rant.  He could yell at you all he wanted if he did so in any state of undress!  You thought he had the most beautiful body— seeing more of it today only proved your suspicions correct— and as he took off his eyepatch now, you smiled as you finally saw your husband's face.

A moment later, your smile fell into a gasp and a cry as he pushed himself into you.  Head falling back onto the down pillow, you whined through your teeth as his cock filled you, and you dug your nails into his shoulders with more strength than you thought you had.  "I'm hurting you," he noticed.  "I tried to prepare—"

But as he pulled back, you reached down and held onto his hip.  "No!" you whimpered.  "Don't… don't stop.  The pain will fade, yes?  I— I want this so much, Aemond…"

He sighed, leaning down to kiss away a stray tear from your temple.  "I know— and you've waited long enough, haven't you?  My poor wife… I never wanted you to be lonely.  I only wanted to protect you."

"From what?"

"This."

He put his hand over your mouth and shoved the rest of his cock inside you, muffling your scream as he groaned in satisfaction.  He was so deep, and it burned to be stretched for the first time; you sobbed but wrapped your legs around his waist and tried to keep him inside.  Still, he started to move, and you shuddered and wept as the pain seemed to bloom from your cunt and crawl up your back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I can't— I can't stop now, and you feel so warm…"

He looked at your face, twisted in pain, and stared at the hand over your mouth with and heavy gaze.

"I don't want them to hear you.  No one should hear my wife but me— in her pleasure or pain."

Even as you shivered from the way it hurt, your heart sang to hear him call you his wife, and to be possessive of you in some way.

"You feel so perfect," he grunted, starting to fuck into you faster already.  "It won't always hurt like this— just a little longer, I know you can take it for me, can't you?"

You nodded against the pressure of his hand over your face, hoping he wouldn't mind the way you pierced your nails into his skin to try to cope with the pain— you’d feel terrible if you left any marks on such a beautiful form as his, but then again, wouldn’t it be sort of erotic?  Little half-moons carved into his white skin as a memory in the flesh, a way to claim him in return as he claimed you?  

Yes, actually, it would be wonderful— and so you held onto him tighter, and he certainly didn’t seem to mind.

Each time his hips collided with yours, your whole body rocked under him and his grip on the sheets beside your head tightened until they threatened to tear.  His breaths were fast and sharp as he moved, a lovely flush on his cheeks and his eyes shut (the scarred one only as much as it could be) as he chased his own ecstasy.  Even though it still stung for a few moments longer, you loved looking up through your teary eyes as watching him, feeling impossibly proud knowing you were pleasing your husband this way.

He knew something had changed when your grip on his shoulders relaxed and you exhaled a long sigh from your nose that tickled his hand over your mouth (which he took away to admire your face in this moment).  "Is it beginning to feel better?" he asked.

"Yes," you whimpered.  "Yes, yes, yes—"

He laughed softly.  "I heard you the first time," he soothed, "but you may say it as much as you like.  Say my name as well, love— it never sounded as nice as it does from your lips…"

"Aemond," you breathed.

It spurred him on even more, deeper thrusts making your back arch and moans jump from your throat quickly.  "Such precious sounds you make," Aemond noticed proudly.  "Have you never felt this way before?"

You shook your head, and a snarl of twisted pride ghosted over his face.  "Never— it feels— oh!"

He had leaned down to capture one of your hardening nipples between his lips, gently flicking at it with the very tip of his tongue until you jolted under him.  You hadn't even known of such a thing before, you didn't realise how sensitive you were there or how beautiful Aemond would look with his mouth latched onto your breast.  He switched back and forth between them, smiling occasionally when your moans grew louder or you gasped out his name at the feeling.  A long whine slipped out when he kissed his way up from your nipple to the curve of your neck, moving his hips harder and faster as his bent arms kept him balanced and caged you in.  “Tell me again,” he demanded in a pant, “how much you like this.”

“It’s— you feel so—” you choked, really trying to answer him but losing focus each time he filled you to the brim and rubbed against that one place that made everything light up inside you.  Your legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, and your toes curled, and you clung onto him as each thrust made your body— and mind— feel more and more beautifully helpless.  “It’s so… deep…”

He purred a little.

“It feels so good,” you finally decided to answer, knowing it wasn’t the most descriptive but not sure how else to put it.  “It feels amazing— you feel amazing… I don’t want it to ever end…”

His next sound was a hum of approval, and while it made you feel happy, you felt the urge to press for a more conclusive response.

“Does— does it feel— is it nice for you, too?” you panted out.  For all those attempts to ask that question, it still came out sort of needy and pathetic, but he found that amusing and smiled against your skin as he kissed beside your ear.

“Nice isn’t the word,” he admitted.  “There isn’t a word for how you feel, my darling.  The closest I can think of is perfect.”

You were just hoping for a small compliment; you didn’t expect him to so flippantly say something that romantic, even poetic.  

Just after you’d said you didn’t want it to end, he decided to stop and pull out of you.  The emptiness was jarring and disappointing; reaching out for him as he sat up, he smiled and gave your waiting hand a squeeze.  “Just a moment, my love.”

He sat up enough to lift your legs from around his hips, and hold them up as he pushed them against your upper body.  Just when you wanted to warn him that you may not be as flexible as he expected, he slipped his cock inside you again— and when you’d remarked before about how deep he was, you had no idea how this would feel.

Your whole body tightened up and your face twisted in a gasp.  “Is it too much for you?” he asked softly, the concern in his voice making your heart swell.  

“No, please— keep going,” you insisted, though your back had to arch when he slid the rest of the way inside and you swore the head of his cock was going to go into your stomach or something.  But it didn’t— it only stretched you to your absolute limits, a new sensation that wasn’t quite sharp enough to be pain but more powerful than you’d ever known pleasure to be.  You whimpered, but braced yourself, ready to give him anything he needed.

"My sweet wife, so devoted," he groaned as he pushed his hips as hard as he could into you, holding you steady to force his cock just that last little bit deeper inside until your eyes rolled back.  "You wanted so much to fulfil your marital duty— and look at you, taking it perfectly, even better than I imagined."

"You… you imagined this?"

Aemond laughed, heartily, at your question.  "Only every night," he replied quickly, "with my hand around my cock, wanting to call for you but barely resisting each time."

You would've been ecstatic if your husband had called for you in the middle of the night to soothe his aching need; even if he sent you away right after he was finished and went back to ignoring you, it would've made you feel like less of a complete failure of a wife.  

"I imagined more than this, though," he admitted.  "I imagined kissing you and tasting you and hearing you say how dearly you love me…"

That explained why he’d asked you to say it before.  You’d say it a thousand times if he asked— or, probably, even if he didn’t.

"I imagined you pregnant."

To say your heart skipped a beat was an understatement.  Your heart skipped so many beats that you might have been technically dead for a couple seconds— except that you felt more alive than ever.  There were a thousand things you’d like to say, but rendered totally speechless, all you could do was pant out his name weakly.

"We don't need to make any heirs," he reminded you.  "But I could give you a child, if you want one."

Your heart had never been so filled before— finally, your husband's child, inside you: it could really happen.  You'd longed to give him one (or many) since you met him and now… now you could finally bear him one.  "Yes," you whimpered, "Aemond— a baby, I want one so desperately…"

But then again, you'd wanted a baby so you wouldn't be so alone— someone to keep you company.  And now he was here, finally, and you didn't need to be alone anymore.

"I want us to— to be a family," you choked out, and you felt his smile against the side of your face.  

"We are," he whispered.  "Already, we are.  Husband and wife.  But, you would look divine carrying a son…"

You hummed contentedly at the praise, feeling his hand rub gently on your belly right where it would swell the most.

"Perhaps I will, then," he decided.  "Bless you with a child… if you'd like that."

He was taunting you, tricking you into begging him for it— and you didn't mind at all, happy to oblige.  "Yes!  Please, my husband, my prince— I long for it, let me have your son, please… if you give me your seed, I promise, I'll do all I can—"

"Shh," he soothed softly, "I know you will.  I know— such a good wife you are, a perfect wife…"

You felt warm tears run down your temples, all this devotion to him finally appreciated when you feared it would all go to waste.  Clinging tighter onto him, you tried to hide your face in the curve of his neck.  But he gently pried you away, cooing, "No, no— let me see you, let your husband gaze on you— oh, what a sweet face.  Shall I kiss your tears away?  All will be right, my love… you'll have our son.  And what a lovely mother you'll make."

Maybe it was a strange thing to push you right up to the edge— but you’d been approaching it for a while, that was just the moment you realised how close you really were.  The way he said it, you could somehow tell he’d thought for a while that you’d make a good mother for his children; maybe he thought that from the start, he must have if he agreed to marry you.  And at the same time that it filled your chest with pride, it made your gut burn with a need for something you couldn’t quite define but that you knew was incredibly close.

Apparently, he was in a similar situation, though much more aware of what it really was than you were.  “It won’t be much longer,” he promised.  “If you ask me, I will— are you sure it’s what you want?”

"Please, my prince," you whimpered as you held on tightly to the sheets.  "Please!  Give me your seed, please—"

"Fuck," he groaned, "once more—"

"Fill me, Aemond, with your child— I'll do anything, I want it so much, I want to be pregnant—"

"My name," he hissed, shutting his eyes tightly as his thrusts became erratically fast.  "Say my name again."

"Aemond," you whimpered, losing yourself in pleasure just as his name crossed your lips.  "Aemond, my husband, my beloved— yours, m'yours, only you, Aemond—"

It was a feeling so powerful that it felt like you separated from reality for a brief moment— like you were floating in water except less wet and more… hot, more all-encompassing, more pure sensation that filled you from head to toe— and then seemed to rob you of all your remaining strength at once.  As you went limp, he whined loudly and his movements faltered.  It took you a moment to realise it was finally time: you were finally being filled by your husband.  He groaned softly as he panted, silver hair sticking to the sheen of sweat on his face.

He looked absolutely beautiful, even more than usual.  And he finally blinked his eyes open and looked at you like he'd never seen anything so perfect.

His thumb gently wiped away a tear from your temple.  "Lovely wife," he praised under his breath.  "I can't wait to see you with child.  I hate how long I waited… if I had taken you as I should have on our wedding night, our son would be almost here now…"

You pulled him down onto you for a tight hug.  "None of that matters now," you whispered to him sweetly.  "Just hold me, my husband— you said you'd never let me go."

He smiled as he sighed, melting into your arms and wrapping you up in his own.  "Yes, my lady," he agreed as he tenderly kissed the side of your face.

~

He looked up at you when you entered the room, and even just the slight smile on his face made you fill with joy; for someone as stoic as Aemond, you knew it was a sign of incredible affection to be smiled at that way.  “Good morn, my lady,” he greeted, standing from his seat at the breakfast table.

“I worried when I awoke without you,” you admitted, clutching shyly at your nightgown.

“I figured you would be used to it by now,” he smirked.  “Have I spoiled you with affection already?”

Chewing your lip, you glanced away.  “I thought— you said you’d never let me go.”

“Well, I wasn’t hungry when I said that,” he replied, chuckling.  “I awoke earlier and was afraid to disturb you… you seemed in need of your rest.”

You seemed worn out from all the fucking, he really meant, but he was still trying to be polite.

“Aren’t you going to sit with me and dine, my love?” he prompted, nodding towards the chair nearest to him— not even across the table, where you used to sit.  Feeling like you’d received some sort of promotion to sit so close, you happily bounced up to the table and a servant stepped forward to pull the chair out for you.  “Actually—”

You and the servant both stopped, and you worried you were about to get kicked back to the end of the table; instead, he sat back in his chair and motioned for you to step closer.  Normally, Aemond wouldn’t sit again until any lady in the room was seated (he was mindful of custom, always), but as you came closer, he patted his knee, and you felt your face warm up.  

“You could sit with me,” he suggested, and you tried not to show how ecstatic you were as you perched yourself in his lap.  He looked up at you with his uncovered eye, smiling, and draped his arm around your waist.  It felt, honestly, a little bizarre to have him be this affection, even if he’d shown you love in the most literal way just last night… you were still getting used to it.  And this felt very different, though it made you quite happy.  “Would you like a grape?” he offered, gesturing to his plate.

“I was upset before that I felt I didn’t know my husband very well,” you recalled, totally ignoring his innocuous question, “and now I think I knew even less than I thought.”

He tilted his head.  “How do you mean?”

“You’re so… romantic!” you blurted out, and he laughed.

“I don’t know about that,” he denied.  “But I am rather taken with you.  And I must say…”

His voice lowered, as did his gaze, while his hand traced down your back delicately through your clothes.

“...I’m still just as affected by seeing you in your dressing gown,” he finished softly.

“I-I—” you stammered, making him smile amusedly at you.  “I’m still just as amazed at how forward you can be, my prince… and to think I thought of you as shy once.”

He raised an eyebrow at you.  “I am shy,” he assured.  “I’ll even dismiss the servants before I fuck you on this table.”

You raised your hand to your mouth to cover it, hoping to suppress your shocked giggle, but he grabbed it and held it tightly as he pulled you even closer, until you thought he might kiss you.  He didn’t, yet: he only looked at your face very carefully.  You looked back at him, of course, and found yourself reaching up to stroke his cheek as you admired his sharp, harsh sort of beauty.  “You… you really plan to take me again, husband?  Now?”

He smiled wide, maybe wider than you’d ever seen.  “I was going to let you have breakfast first,” he clarified.  “Unless ‘now’ is your preference.”

You looked away, smiling to yourself.  “I’ve heard eagerness is unladylike,” you dodged his obvious attempt to make you out to be the needy one.  Which wasn’t exactly false, but not fair either: you knew he wanted you just as badly, and finally knowing that gave you a little confidence to toy with him instead.

“Maybe you aren’t the finest lady, then,” he accused, which almost hurt before he continued, “but you are the most perfect wife any man has ever had, or wished to have.”

And, in an objective sense, Aemond hadn’t been much of a husband.  Last night notwithstanding, he was all but cruel to you— and though he’d finally allowed himself to give in to desire for you, it was not as if his entire personality would change, he was still… whoever he was, an enigma with white hair and an eyepatch.

But he was perfect to you, and you loved him with everything you had.

~

You knew Aemond hated these sorts of things, but you loved them.  He hated the loud guests, the small talk, the awkward customs— but those were the things you liked the most, they seemed to bring life to the empty old castle.

It wouldn’t be as empty soon, though; that was the purpose of this banquet, to announce and celebrate your impending addition to the family.  And as much as Aemond generally disliked social engagements, he was obviously glowing with pride as he showed off his pregnant lady wife to the court.  Now that you saw it on him, you thought maybe that was what he meant when he said you were glowing… but you weren’t sure, because whenever he said it you just figured it was sweat from having to carry around his massively heavy child all the time.

Not that you minded!  You loved it, and he doted on you more than ever, kissing your belly and coming up with all kinds of plans for his son— and he was still sure it was a son, with no proof at all, but you weren’t even going to try to convince him otherwise.

“A toast,” Aemond instructed his guests, who raised their goblets in turn with him, “to my son, Vaegon—”

The guests started to lower their cups, but he wasn’t finished.

“— and his mother, my darling lady wife.”

You beamed as he squeezed your shoulder.  Yes, it was no wonder you loved banquets now that you had the most adoring husband by your side for the night.

---