Bella Writes ✍️ - Blog Posts
Finally A Targaryen
summary | The nature of your marriage with Aemond is shaken when you are caught kissing the gardener.
pairing | modern!aemond targaryen x wife!reader
tags | 18+, MINORS DNI!, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, semi-arranged marriage, neglected wife, infidelity (it's one kiss lol), reader's into sweaty guys ?, jealousy, possessive aem, mention of drug use
wordcount | 3.3k
note | whoever can guess which satc episode this is based on gets a cookie and a kiss on the forehead... <3
likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!
The cicadas buzzed in the late midsummer haze, holding your hand as you wandered the gardens of Dragonstone Manor all alone. Your husband was on the tennis court with his brothers, as he always was most afternoons you’ve spent in his family home. Not that he cared much for what you busied yourself with, but you were sure to face the disapproving sharpness in his eye when he found out you were once again missing from the aperitif his mother was having on the veranda with the other ladies. Alicent was sweet, but gods, you couldn’t stand sitting through another bout of her re-telling of Targaryen history despite being married into the dragon’s den herself. You have heard more than enough of dragon lore, medieval inbreeding, and the many Aegons, including the current one who snuck bumps of snow before each family meal to keep his sanity. If you were any less careful, you would’ve given in to his invitation long ago and huddled next to him in the powder room sink for a line.
These people were rich, that was to be sure, of insurmountable wealth well before democracy had even been established. Your family, on the other hand, was new money. Your father had struck gold when he made his way up the corporate ladder of his real estate firm in his tenure, making himself top dog with a key to a 12th-floor office and another to the secret world of the rich.
It was how you met Aemond.
Walking through the step stones across the manicured gardens, you couldn’t help but sigh at the memory of your life before him. He had been so sweet at first, lovely enough that you couldn’t deny the inevitable push of fate into his arms. What a fool you had been, too starry-eyed over that unmistakable silver hair and the smooth timbre of his voice to realize it was not fate at all but the expert machinations of Otto Hightower and his desire to add your father’s firm to Valyria Corp.’s extensive belt of partners. Your friends warned you a million times— the perfect man didn’t exist. Your heart used to beat a little faster with every man who held the slightest potential of being the one, thinking him perfect until he wasn’t. Now your husband, he was just… there. Courteous enough to see you well taken care of but out of your reach when it really mattered.
Love was a fallacy in this world. Who needs love when you can have so much more with enough power and money? Loyalty was an even bigger farce. Marriage simply served as a means for business, you’ve seen it now. It was no wonder why Helaena seemed to be more than happy to be without her husband, Cregan, on this summer getaway. Wolves don’t do well in the southern sun, she simply said when you asked about him, apparently stuck to his father’s firm in his hometown of Winterfell. Aegon and his wife, Mirella Lannister, were no image of a devoted marriage either, both were consistently caught with other big names by the press. They seemed to get along well, however, if the loud thumping from down the hall nightly was anything to go by.
Heavily occupied in your thoughts, you reached the edge of the multi-acre plot without realizing it. The estate overlooked a quiet river on the back end, though surrounded by an impressive topiary for privacy, with rose bushes littered all around. There was always something to work on in Dragonstone, always a leaf out of shape for the gardeners to trim and keep them busy.
One of them took care of the roses. Young, strawberry-blond curls, and a well-built physique that glimmered with sweat under the blistering sun. Danny, you heard them call him. He was pretty, not in the sleek, highly tailored way that Aemond was, but his rugged edges held a charm that made any simple girl blush. You’d seen him throughout your stay, always so diligent at work in the gardens every time you spotted him on your walks. He would greet you with a respectful, dimpled smile as he asked about your day, and it would take effort to keep your composure as he wiped the sweat off his brow with the edge of his shirt.
There was no harm in it. You were simply… admiring. Just because you were now a married woman didn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate a fine-looking man when you saw him, it was objective. His arms were nicely rounded with definition, as was his back, muscles ripping beneath his damp tank. You wondered what else those hands could do, perhaps he could plow something else, something left neglected and wanting…
“Afternoon, ma’am.”
You jumped at the sudden low tone, finding yourself unknowingly staring like an idiot. Danny leaned his weight on his shovel, a crooked smile on his sweaty face that made something flutter deep within you.
“Hi,” you greeted awkwardly, cheeks warming up like a sudden heat wave had blazed the area.
“All on your own again, ma’am?” he queried, naturally resuming his work while giving you his attention. You tried to play it cool by leaning on the tree right by him, though fidgeting with the sparkling stone on your ring finger. Shit, he wasn’t catching onto you, is he? What an embarrassment that would be, the boss’ new wife sneaking around for the gardener’s attention.
“Yes, just needed some air,” you responded as casually as you could, and Danny nodded in understanding.
“That house can get stuffy, doesn’t it? As big as it is, nobody ever wants to stay there for long,” he said, slightly panting as he worked on the soil. Closer than you had been, you could smell him from where you stood. He had such an intoxicating scent about him, a mixture of sweat, musk, and something else you couldn’t put your finger on. It made you dizzy with a newfound heat. You wanted more of it. You wanted a taste of the salty tang of his sweat on your tongue against his hot skin.
What were you doing? You’re married! Okay, perhaps your sex life had become a little pedantic compared to when you were still on the market, but you had made a vow!
“I’m still getting to know my way around it, I’ll admit,” you chuckled. Danny’s smile widened at the sound, grabbing his shears to snip off a blooming rose and offering you a stem. “Oh! How pretty,” you smiled up at him, pressing the soft petals to your nose to inhale the sweet scent.
“Forgive me, madam, for being too forward, but this doesn’t seem like your type of crowd,” he said, taking a bold step closer. Your brows slightly dipped in confusion, head tilting in question.
“What makes you say that?” you asked.
“You’re not like the rest of them rich folks. To anyone else, I’d be invisible.”
You looked up at Danny, words lost on your lips. You weren’t so different from him, both outsiders in the impenetrable world of the elite. The transition had not been so easy, not with a husband who felt like a stranger and a family who barely tolerated each other. It all overwhelmed you, and to be seen by a man like Danny…
You didn’t know what had gotten into you, but the next thing you knew, you were grabbing the collar of his shirt and smashing your lips against his from the overwhelming blossom in your tummy. He tasted salty and sweet, of hard work and grit. You were hungry, as was he, tongues dancing and gliding as he pressed you against the aged oak.
Dinner was long, and cocktail hour even longer. Aegon and Aemond were bickering about who won the last round of tennis, despite the youngest Daeron keeping score. You were nursing a pinot grigio as the conversation shifted to circle around the events of everyone else’s afternoon— Helaena and her new cradle of newly hatched creepy crawlies, Alicent’s ever growing ire with the new neighbors and the scandal they brought with them. The lady of the house seemed to know everything, from the happenings in the staff room to beyond the vines crawling to the next house over. What went around this place came back around the sitting room. The dry sweetness of the wine coated your tingue with every sip as you listened on quietly, mind still stuck in the gardens, under the grand oak with a certain warm blonde. Your lips still carried the salt of his sweat, despite the rich lamb you had for supper. It was sinful, a taste of another man on your tongue while your husband sat on the opposite end of the couch.
“I’ve had quite the day myself,” Mirella spoke up, sharp blue eyes sweeping across the room. “I took a nice long swim in the morning, then I took a walk in the gardens in the afternoon—”
“Went hunting for your next feed?” Aemond snickered, earning a sarcastic smile from the lioness.
“Mh, yes, and after that I saw your lovely little wife kissing the gardener!”
The heat rushed to your face at once, eyes widening as Mirella’s jaw dropped in mock surprise. You ducked your head in utter humiliation, awaiting the flurry of gasps of disbelief coming your way. It was silent, which seemed to be worse. The only sound was the chiming of the grand clock at the turn of the hour, broken by the sudden shrill of Aegon’s cackle.
You looked up at your in-law’s faces, finding little shock in their features but rather amusement, especially so from your husband’s mother. Though you didn’t dare to look in your husband’s direction, who suddenly turned rigid at the news.
“Well, my dear, you are now finally a Targaryen,” she quipped, surprisingly nonchalant as she lifted her glass to be topped up. Your eyes flickered to Criston Cole, her closest personnel, who poured her wine in a flash, and everything started to click.
It was bizarre. Publicly outed in front of your in-laws yet met with no repercussions. In fact, it seemed you were now more welcome after such news. It should please you, make you feel closer to your new family, but Aemond was now colder than ever. When he was once mindful of getting you drinks at cocktail hour, or making sure you were pleased with the garden access you had from the room you were staying in, he now actively avoided being alone with you. He indulged his brother in staying well past the appropriate hour and drank, sneaking back to your shared room only when you were asleep. It made things harder when neither one of you wanted to move into one of the spare rooms lest they wished to face his mother’s incessant prodding, the tail end of your summer turned into a sudden dance around not having to face each other.
This was your life now, perhaps. An irreparable marriage. A distant husband. So much for the fairytale romance you prayed the gods for.
With avoiding your husband came a shift in the daily routine you had established in Dragonstone Manor. You would usually be awake the moment you felt Aemond shift around to start the morning, the light sleeper that you were, but now you’ve taken to feign sleep until he left the room. Your arrival to breakfast would come a few minutes later than his, all nicely covered up with a smile towards the lady of the house.
On a particularly balmy morning, you took a nice jog around the property, narrowly avoiding your spouse who was on his way to the steam room. You worked up a decent sweat, swiftly jumping into the shower right before breakfast. You took your time, thinking yourself wise if you managed to avoid facing the family altogether. It was tiresome to keep up the persona you held in front of them. In some ways, you were glad you were getting more time to yourself with Aemond’s avoidance, a brief reprieve to drop your mask and loosen the tension in your shoulders.
Your little bubble of isolation burst when you found the man himself in the room when you exited the shower. You let out a small gasp in surprise, tightening your hold on the towel wrapped around your form when he turned to face you. It seemed your husband had been caught guard as well, the unmasked look of surprise on his handsome face at the sight of your undress. He composed himself in a blink, clearing his throat before turning to leave the room and shower in the other guest room instead.
“Are we never to speak anymore?” you spoke up, unable to stop the words from escaping your lips. Aemond stopped in his step, one hand on the doorknob and the other clutching the towel swung over his bare shoulder.
“Is that how you want it?” he responded. You scoffed at his indifference, ire starting to grow restless in the state of your marriage.
“Of course not,” you refuted. “But we have been living separate lives despite the fact you and I are married. I know you’re mad at me, husband.”
Aemond was silent for a long minute, and it made your heart thump loudly you feared he would hear it. He turned to face you, his gaze dark and sharp like a dragon provoked.
“You think it amuses me to hear my wife was kissing the fucking gardener, hm? In my own home, no less,” he said, his words slow and deep like a slithering snake. It should have you more scared than you were if it weren’t for the fiery frustration that made you bare your teeth back.
“I didn’t expect you to be bothered so much seeing that seems to be the way all marriages work in this world,” you muttered, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.
“What did you say?” he snapped.
“You don’t care about me, Aemond. There’s no need to start pretending now,” you said, keeping your chin lifted high as your husband approached with a menacing glint in his eye.
“You carry my name. I would not have my wife acting like some harlot,” he seethed, pointing an accusing finger in your face. If you had the courage you would have slapped his hand away, and perhaps another across his cheek for thinking so low of you. He had quite the gull to blame it all on you, not when he had kept his own wife an outsider.
“Titles alone don't mean much. Haven’t we already established that?” you pointed out, turning to head to the closet when your husband grabbed you by the elbow to pull you back around.
“Perhaps I should make my point clearer.” You were barely spared a moment to retort when Aemond’s lips smashed straight into yours, claiming in a bruising kiss. He tasted different than Danny, an addicting mix of tobacco and mint that kept you wanting more. His strong hands pulled you flush to his chest, the towel slowly slipping off from your bare body. You grounded yourself by gripping his shoulders, warm and damp from the steam room.
He was all over you before you could gather your bearings. All the times you both had spent in the bedroom were respectful, mild even, but never like this. He had flung the towel off your body in one swipe, leaving you bare in front of him. You crossed your arms to cover yourself, but his firm grip kept you uncovered.
“Don’t be so shy now, it’s just me,” he smirked, before dipping to capture your pert nipple into his mouth. Your sounds were shy, though growing in courage as your husband sucked on your tit and fondle the other. His large, warm palms explored every inch of your bareness, squeezing with a firmness that left your skin tingling. When he switched his attention to your other breast, his fingers slithered their way to your heart, trespassing your folds despite your attempt to squeeze them shut. “For a woman who hates being my wife, you sure are wet for me.”
You had to blame it on the prolonged lack of satisfaction, but the way he was caressing your folds and circling your clit was breaking your resolve with ease. You grabbed his nape to pull him back to your lips, kissing him with a plea for more. Desperation growing, your hand descended his chest to his shorts, palming his growing hardness.
“Please,” you mewled, slightly pouting up at your husband.
“Please, what, love? Tell me nicely and I might give it to you,” he teased, shallowly dipping two fingers into your cunt before swiping them back out.
“I need you, husband, please,” you pleaded, eyes starting to well up in frustration. You peppered persuading kisses all over his jaw and neck when he let your hand slip past his shorts to grab hold of his cock, hot and stiff in your smaller palm.
“Poor you,” he frowned in mocking before his lips returned to their natural state of a smirk as his fingers continued to work your dripping cunt up. Hope bloomed in your chest as he turned you around to face the bed frame, pressing on the small of your back to bend you over.
You braced your arms on the soft mattress as you waited, tuning into the rustling of his shorts being dropped. The anticipation burned in your chest, making you gasp when you felt something hot and blunt press against your folds. It swiped up and down your slit, gathering slick and teasing your pearl. It made you whine, hips wriggling back in impatience.
Behind you, your husband chuckled darkly. His warm palm ran down the length of your spine, squeezing your waist, before leaving a hard smack on your arse that lurched you forward on impact and made you yelp. Heat bloomed beneath your skin, his mark no doubt left on the imprint of his hand.
“You know what that was for, don’t you?” he asked, his voice growing gravelly with a heated desire. You nodded, obedient and pliant as you turned your head to look at him. His eyelid was heavy as he looked down at you, his hand lazily stroking his cock. You stared at it as though you were starved, craving it like none else you had wanted before.
Aemond would think himself kind to finally end your torment. He lined up his cockhead to your hole, pressing into your walls and burying himself to the hilt in one breath. It knocked the breath out of you as your husband rocked into you with vigor, his pace bruising and unforgiving from the start. You fisted the sheets to keep your balance, tits bouncing with every harsh slam. Soon enough, your arms gave out, and your face smushed into the soft mattress while Aemond grabbed hold of your hair. He forced your head to the side, where you faced the double doors leading out to the garden, covered only by the sheer curtains. Despite the hard jolts that left your view scrambled, you could see an outline of a figure in the gardens, the light shadows of a certain head of strawberry-blonde hair unmistakable, and you wondered if he could see the precarious position you were in.
“Look, it’s your little sweetheart,” Aemond cooed, holding you up by the elbows to speak in your ear. “Why don’t you show him how well your husband fucks you, hm? Let the whole fucking staff hear you.” His hand snaked down your front, rubbing your clit with urgent circles to barrel you straight to your end. Your back was arched against his chest, your moans reverberating against the centuries-old walls as you came— hard. Your thighs quivered with fatigue, knees buckling while he continued to ram into you to chase his end, holding you steady with a firm grip on your arms. You had started to see stars when Aemond came with a harsh groan, warmth spurting in your pulsating walls.
You collapsed on the bed, breathless and broken in while Aemond disappeared into the bathroom. As he returned with a warm towel to clean you up, you watched as the figure walked away from your view, leaving you alone. Something sparked in your chest when your husband softly caressed the harsh mark he had left on your rear, bending down to kiss it softly before placing another on your temple. You craned your head to meet his eye, and you let yourself hold out hope when you found him looking at you differently than before.
“Best get dressed, don’t want to keep them waiting,” Aemond said, before turning back into the bathroom. In the silence of your isolation, with nothing but the faint sound of the shower keeping you company, you pondered on the aftermath. Others may call you foolish, but as you looked out to the perfect garden in your perfect husband’s perfect family home, perhaps you were still to find the perfect connection in your imperfect marriage.
Finally A Targaryen
summary | The nature of your marriage with Aemond is shaken when you are caught kissing the gardener.
pairing | modern!aemond targaryen x wife!reader
tags | 18+, MINORS DNI!, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, semi-arranged marriage, neglected wife, infidelity (it's one kiss lol), reader's into sweaty guys ?, jealousy, possessive aem, mention of drug use
wordcount | 3.3k
note | whoever can guess which satc episode this is based on gets a cookie and a kiss on the forehead... <3
likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!
The cicadas buzzed in the late midsummer haze, holding your hand as you wandered the gardens of Dragonstone Manor all alone. Your husband was on the tennis court with his brothers, as he always was most afternoons you’ve spent in his family home. Not that he cared much for what you busied yourself with, but you were sure to face the disapproving sharpness in his eye when he found out you were once again missing from the aperitif his mother was having on the veranda with the other ladies. Alicent was sweet, but gods, you couldn’t stand sitting through another bout of her re-telling of Targaryen history despite being married into the dragon’s den herself. You have heard more than enough of dragon lore, medieval inbreeding, and the many Aegons, including the current one who snuck bumps of snow before each family meal to keep his sanity. If you were any less careful, you would’ve given in to his invitation long ago and huddled next to him in the powder room sink for a line.
These people were rich, that was to be sure, of insurmountable wealth well before democracy had even been established. Your family, on the other hand, was new money. Your father had struck gold when he made his way up the corporate ladder of his real estate firm in his tenure, making himself top dog with a key to a 12th-floor office and another to the secret world of the rich.
It was how you met Aemond.
Walking through the step stones across the manicured gardens, you couldn’t help but sigh at the memory of your life before him. He had been so sweet at first, lovely enough that you couldn’t deny the inevitable push of fate into his arms. What a fool you had been, too starry-eyed over that unmistakable silver hair and the smooth timbre of his voice to realize it was not fate at all but the expert machinations of Otto Hightower and his desire to add your father’s firm to Valyria Corp.’s extensive belt of partners. Your friends warned you a million times— the perfect man didn’t exist. Your heart used to beat a little faster with every man who held the slightest potential of being the one, thinking him perfect until he wasn’t. Now your husband, he was just… there. Courteous enough to see you well taken care of but out of your reach when it really mattered.
Love was a fallacy in this world. Who needs love when you can have so much more with enough power and money? Loyalty was an even bigger farce. Marriage simply served as a means for business, you’ve seen it now. It was no wonder why Helaena seemed to be more than happy to be without her husband, Cregan, on this summer getaway. Wolves don’t do well in the southern sun, she simply said when you asked about him, apparently stuck to his father’s firm in his hometown of Winterfell. Aegon and his wife, Mirella Lannister, were no image of a devoted marriage either, both were consistently caught with other big names by the press. They seemed to get along well, however, if the loud thumping from down the hall nightly was anything to go by.
Heavily occupied in your thoughts, you reached the edge of the multi-acre plot without realizing it. The estate overlooked a quiet river on the back end, though surrounded by an impressive topiary for privacy, with rose bushes littered all around. There was always something to work on in Dragonstone, always a leaf out of shape for the gardeners to trim and keep them busy.
One of them took care of the roses. Young, strawberry-blond curls, and a well-built physique that glimmered with sweat under the blistering sun. Danny, you heard them call him. He was pretty, not in the sleek, highly tailored way that Aemond was, but his rugged edges held a charm that made any simple girl blush. You’d seen him throughout your stay, always so diligent at work in the gardens every time you spotted him on your walks. He would greet you with a respectful, dimpled smile as he asked about your day, and it would take effort to keep your composure as he wiped the sweat off his brow with the edge of his shirt.
There was no harm in it. You were simply… admiring. Just because you were now a married woman didn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate a fine-looking man when you saw him, it was objective. His arms were nicely rounded with definition, as was his back, muscles ripping beneath his damp tank. You wondered what else those hands could do, perhaps he could plow something else, something left neglected and wanting…
“Afternoon, ma’am.”
You jumped at the sudden low tone, finding yourself unknowingly staring like an idiot. Danny leaned his weight on his shovel, a crooked smile on his sweaty face that made something flutter deep within you.
“Hi,” you greeted awkwardly, cheeks warming up like a sudden heat wave had blazed the area.
“All on your own again, ma’am?” he queried, naturally resuming his work while giving you his attention. You tried to play it cool by leaning on the tree right by him, though fidgeting with the sparkling stone on your ring finger. Shit, he wasn’t catching onto you, is he? What an embarrassment that would be, the boss’ new wife sneaking around for the gardener’s attention.
“Yes, just needed some air,” you responded as casually as you could, and Danny nodded in understanding.
“That house can get stuffy, doesn’t it? As big as it is, nobody ever wants to stay there for long,” he said, slightly panting as he worked on the soil. Closer than you had been, you could smell him from where you stood. He had such an intoxicating scent about him, a mixture of sweat, musk, and something else you couldn’t put your finger on. It made you dizzy with a newfound heat. You wanted more of it. You wanted a taste of the salty tang of his sweat on your tongue against his hot skin.
What were you doing? You’re married! Okay, perhaps your sex life had become a little pedantic compared to when you were still on the market, but you had made a vow!
“I’m still getting to know my way around it, I’ll admit,” you chuckled. Danny’s smile widened at the sound, grabbing his shears to snip off a blooming rose and offering you a stem. “Oh! How pretty,” you smiled up at him, pressing the soft petals to your nose to inhale the sweet scent.
“Forgive me, madam, for being too forward, but this doesn’t seem like your type of crowd,” he said, taking a bold step closer. Your brows slightly dipped in confusion, head tilting in question.
“What makes you say that?” you asked.
“You’re not like the rest of them rich folks. To anyone else, I’d be invisible.”
You looked up at Danny, words lost on your lips. You weren’t so different from him, both outsiders in the impenetrable world of the elite. The transition had not been so easy, not with a husband who felt like a stranger and a family who barely tolerated each other. It all overwhelmed you, and to be seen by a man like Danny…
You didn’t know what had gotten into you, but the next thing you knew, you were grabbing the collar of his shirt and smashing your lips against his from the overwhelming blossom in your tummy. He tasted salty and sweet, of hard work and grit. You were hungry, as was he, tongues dancing and gliding as he pressed you against the aged oak.
Dinner was long, and cocktail hour even longer. Aegon and Aemond were bickering about who won the last round of tennis, despite the youngest Daeron keeping score. You were nursing a pinot grigio as the conversation shifted to circle around the events of everyone else’s afternoon— Helaena and her new cradle of newly hatched creepy crawlies, Alicent’s ever growing ire with the new neighbors and the scandal they brought with them. The lady of the house seemed to know everything, from the happenings in the staff room to beyond the vines crawling to the next house over. What went around this place came back around the sitting room. The dry sweetness of the wine coated your tingue with every sip as you listened on quietly, mind still stuck in the gardens, under the grand oak with a certain warm blonde. Your lips still carried the salt of his sweat, despite the rich lamb you had for supper. It was sinful, a taste of another man on your tongue while your husband sat on the opposite end of the couch.
“I’ve had quite the day myself,” Mirella spoke up, sharp blue eyes sweeping across the room. “I took a nice long swim in the morning, then I took a walk in the gardens in the afternoon—”
“Went hunting for your next feed?” Aemond snickered, earning a sarcastic smile from the lioness.
“Mh, yes, and after that I saw your lovely little wife kissing the gardener!”
The heat rushed to your face at once, eyes widening as Mirella’s jaw dropped in mock surprise. You ducked your head in utter humiliation, awaiting the flurry of gasps of disbelief coming your way. It was silent, which seemed to be worse. The only sound was the chiming of the grand clock at the turn of the hour, broken by the sudden shrill of Aegon’s cackle.
You looked up at your in-law’s faces, finding little shock in their features but rather amusement, especially so from your husband’s mother. Though you didn’t dare to look in your husband’s direction, who suddenly turned rigid at the news.
“Well, my dear, you are now finally a Targaryen,” she quipped, surprisingly nonchalant as she lifted her glass to be topped up. Your eyes flickered to Criston Cole, her closest personnel, who poured her wine in a flash, and everything started to click.
It was bizarre. Publicly outed in front of your in-laws yet met with no repercussions. In fact, it seemed you were now more welcome after such news. It should please you, make you feel closer to your new family, but Aemond was now colder than ever. When he was once mindful of getting you drinks at cocktail hour, or making sure you were pleased with the garden access you had from the room you were staying in, he now actively avoided being alone with you. He indulged his brother in staying well past the appropriate hour and drank, sneaking back to your shared room only when you were asleep. It made things harder when neither one of you wanted to move into one of the spare rooms lest they wished to face his mother’s incessant prodding, the tail end of your summer turned into a sudden dance around not having to face each other.
This was your life now, perhaps. An irreparable marriage. A distant husband. So much for the fairytale romance you prayed the gods for.
With avoiding your husband came a shift in the daily routine you had established in Dragonstone Manor. You would usually be awake the moment you felt Aemond shift around to start the morning, the light sleeper that you were, but now you’ve taken to feign sleep until he left the room. Your arrival to breakfast would come a few minutes later than his, all nicely covered up with a smile towards the lady of the house.
On a particularly balmy morning, you took a nice jog around the property, narrowly avoiding your spouse who was on his way to the steam room. You worked up a decent sweat, swiftly jumping into the shower right before breakfast. You took your time, thinking yourself wise if you managed to avoid facing the family altogether. It was tiresome to keep up the persona you held in front of them. In some ways, you were glad you were getting more time to yourself with Aemond’s avoidance, a brief reprieve to drop your mask and loosen the tension in your shoulders.
Your little bubble of isolation burst when you found the man himself in the room when you exited the shower. You let out a small gasp in surprise, tightening your hold on the towel wrapped around your form when he turned to face you. It seemed your husband had been caught guard as well, the unmasked look of surprise on his handsome face at the sight of your undress. He composed himself in a blink, clearing his throat before turning to leave the room and shower in the other guest room instead.
“Are we never to speak anymore?” you spoke up, unable to stop the words from escaping your lips. Aemond stopped in his step, one hand on the doorknob and the other clutching the towel swung over his bare shoulder.
“Is that how you want it?” he responded. You scoffed at his indifference, ire starting to grow restless in the state of your marriage.
“Of course not,” you refuted. “But we have been living separate lives despite the fact you and I are married. I know you’re mad at me, husband.”
Aemond was silent for a long minute, and it made your heart thump loudly you feared he would hear it. He turned to face you, his gaze dark and sharp like a dragon provoked.
“You think it amuses me to hear my wife was kissing the fucking gardener, hm? In my own home, no less,” he said, his words slow and deep like a slithering snake. It should have you more scared than you were if it weren’t for the fiery frustration that made you bare your teeth back.
“I didn’t expect you to be bothered so much seeing that seems to be the way all marriages work in this world,” you muttered, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.
“What did you say?” he snapped.
“You don’t care about me, Aemond. There’s no need to start pretending now,” you said, keeping your chin lifted high as your husband approached with a menacing glint in his eye.
“You carry my name. I would not have my wife acting like some harlot,” he seethed, pointing an accusing finger in your face. If you had the courage you would have slapped his hand away, and perhaps another across his cheek for thinking so low of you. He had quite the gull to blame it all on you, not when he had kept his own wife an outsider.
“Titles alone don't mean much. Haven’t we already established that?” you pointed out, turning to head to the closet when your husband grabbed you by the elbow to pull you back around.
“Perhaps I should make my point clearer.” You were barely spared a moment to retort when Aemond’s lips smashed straight into yours, claiming in a bruising kiss. He tasted different than Danny, an addicting mix of tobacco and mint that kept you wanting more. His strong hands pulled you flush to his chest, the towel slowly slipping off from your bare body. You grounded yourself by gripping his shoulders, warm and damp from the steam room.
He was all over you before you could gather your bearings. All the times you both had spent in the bedroom were respectful, mild even, but never like this. He had flung the towel off your body in one swipe, leaving you bare in front of him. You crossed your arms to cover yourself, but his firm grip kept you uncovered.
“Don’t be so shy now, it’s just me,” he smirked, before dipping to capture your pert nipple into his mouth. Your sounds were shy, though growing in courage as your husband sucked on your tit and fondle the other. His large, warm palms explored every inch of your bareness, squeezing with a firmness that left your skin tingling. When he switched his attention to your other breast, his fingers slithered their way to your heart, trespassing your folds despite your attempt to squeeze them shut. “For a woman who hates being my wife, you sure are wet for me.”
You had to blame it on the prolonged lack of satisfaction, but the way he was caressing your folds and circling your clit was breaking your resolve with ease. You grabbed his nape to pull him back to your lips, kissing him with a plea for more. Desperation growing, your hand descended his chest to his shorts, palming his growing hardness.
“Please,” you mewled, slightly pouting up at your husband.
“Please, what, love? Tell me nicely and I might give it to you,” he teased, shallowly dipping two fingers into your cunt before swiping them back out.
“I need you, husband, please,” you pleaded, eyes starting to well up in frustration. You peppered persuading kisses all over his jaw and neck when he let your hand slip past his shorts to grab hold of his cock, hot and stiff in your smaller palm.
“Poor you,” he frowned in mocking before his lips returned to their natural state of a smirk as his fingers continued to work your dripping cunt up. Hope bloomed in your chest as he turned you around to face the bed frame, pressing on the small of your back to bend you over.
You braced your arms on the soft mattress as you waited, tuning into the rustling of his shorts being dropped. The anticipation burned in your chest, making you gasp when you felt something hot and blunt press against your folds. It swiped up and down your slit, gathering slick and teasing your pearl. It made you whine, hips wriggling back in impatience.
Behind you, your husband chuckled darkly. His warm palm ran down the length of your spine, squeezing your waist, before leaving a hard smack on your arse that lurched you forward on impact and made you yelp. Heat bloomed beneath your skin, his mark no doubt left on the imprint of his hand.
“You know what that was for, don’t you?” he asked, his voice growing gravelly with a heated desire. You nodded, obedient and pliant as you turned your head to look at him. His eyelid was heavy as he looked down at you, his hand lazily stroking his cock. You stared at it as though you were starved, craving it like none else you had wanted before.
Aemond would think himself kind to finally end your torment. He lined up his cockhead to your hole, pressing into your walls and burying himself to the hilt in one breath. It knocked the breath out of you as your husband rocked into you with vigor, his pace bruising and unforgiving from the start. You fisted the sheets to keep your balance, tits bouncing with every harsh slam. Soon enough, your arms gave out, and your face smushed into the soft mattress while Aemond grabbed hold of your hair. He forced your head to the side, where you faced the double doors leading out to the garden, covered only by the sheer curtains. Despite the hard jolts that left your view scrambled, you could see an outline of a figure in the gardens, the light shadows of a certain head of strawberry-blonde hair unmistakable, and you wondered if he could see the precarious position you were in.
“Look, it’s your little sweetheart,” Aemond cooed, holding you up by the elbows to speak in your ear. “Why don’t you show him how well your husband fucks you, hm? Let the whole fucking staff hear you.” His hand snaked down your front, rubbing your clit with urgent circles to barrel you straight to your end. Your back was arched against his chest, your moans reverberating against the centuries-old walls as you came— hard. Your thighs quivered with fatigue, knees buckling while he continued to ram into you to chase his end, holding you steady with a firm grip on your arms. You had started to see stars when Aemond came with a harsh groan, warmth spurting in your pulsating walls.
You collapsed on the bed, breathless and broken in while Aemond disappeared into the bathroom. As he returned with a warm towel to clean you up, you watched as the figure walked away from your view, leaving you alone. Something sparked in your chest when your husband softly caressed the harsh mark he had left on your rear, bending down to kiss it softly before placing another on your temple. You craned your head to meet his eye, and you let yourself hold out hope when you found him looking at you differently than before.
“Best get dressed, don’t want to keep them waiting,” Aemond said, before turning back into the bathroom. In the silence of your isolation, with nothing but the faint sound of the shower keeping you company, you pondered on the aftermath. Others may call you foolish, but as you looked out to the perfect garden in your perfect husband’s perfect family home, perhaps you were still to find the perfect connection in your imperfect marriage.
A Moment's Reprieve
summary | Aemond just can't seem to get a moment alone with you, driving him to the point of madness.
pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader
tags | 18+, MINORS DNI!, lil quickie, rough sex, aeggy cameo <3, slight exhibitionism, semi-public sex, not proofread :P
wordcount | 3.3k
note | hi, it's been a minute <3 feeling kinda meh about this but i hope u guys like it!
likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!
It was hard to fuck while wearing leather. The heat from Aemond’s body was so easily trapped in its wall, dissipating into fat droplets of sweat cascading down his back. Moving around was no easy feat either, but the momentary suffering would have to suffice. He was easily lost enough in the fire in his loins that burned hotter than the damp flush creeping up his chest. His thrusts were hasty, his grip on your exposed breasts tight as he slammed himself in and out of your core.
On better days, he would have taken the time to take you apart piece by piece, perhaps starting with his mouth on your sweet cunny, but you both hardly had time to even undress. Your skirts were carelessly rucked up to your hips, neckline haphazardly unbound just enough to free your teats, while your husband had lowered his breeches just enough to expose his hard, swollen cock before he drove into you. Your grip on his bicep was tight, while your nails dug into the bedpost with the other for support as you stood by the bed’s edge. The pulsating of your core was enough to drive him mad, the dizzying haze of desire overwhelming his wife just as it did with him.
“H-husband, I’m so close,” you moaned in his ear, head leaned back into his chest. He must have grunted something in response, though he wasn’t sure he even heard himself, voice lost in the din of loud smacking of his trim hips against your plump arse, and your sweet melodic mewls. The rising heat in his belly let him know he was right with you, only a few thrusts behind the release that threatened to overtake him. It was easy to get lost in it all— in you, in your warm, perfect walls. So much so his thrusts turned even more desperately erratic as his body moved in its own accord, his usually alert mind hardly registering the creaking of wood and the sudden breeze into his marital chambers.
Then he heard cackling.
“Seven fucking Hells, brother!”
Aegon stood at the threshold, one hand still on the doorknob and the other clutching his stomach as he doubled over in laughter. The younger whipped his head at the intrusion, eyes widening before shifting to cover you with his body. He heard you gasp, before scrambling to cover your exposed chest away from Aegon’s curious eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Aemond barked, turning to move to storm over where the idiot stood when he caught his brother eyeing the exposed flesh of your upper thigh, but your firm hand on his wrist kept him where he was to save yourself the last bits of dignity.
“I… ha!” the elder snorted, laughter finally dying down into low chuckles that rumbled from his chest. He exhaled a deep sigh, dramatically wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Mother sent me to call on you because court starts in five minutes and she believes the Seven Hells have cooled over when she found me ready before you, but I guess you were preoccupied, eh?” he shrugged, amethyst eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint that irked Aemond to no end. “Dear me, fucking before noon? And I thought I was oversexed.”
“Shut up before I make you,” Aemond seethed. His wife sighed, peeking over his shoulder to speak to Aegon.
“Would you give us a few moments, brother? Let Her Grace know we will be right out,” you asked softly, smiling sweetly enough to earn a tight squeeze on the hips from your dragon in warning.
“Of course, best to, uh, finish up then,” he responded, wagging his finger mockingly before turning to leave, snickering. “Good to know I had you taught well, Aemond!”
“You fucke–”
The door slammed shut before Aemond could finish, sighing against your temple in exasperation from the ruined moment. The soft kiss on his cheek was hardly enough to make up for it, the humiliation in his chest killing whatever drive in his gut. He begrudgingly tucked his softened length back into his breeches before helping you with your laces. You turned to face him once your dress had been rightened, hugging his waist and leaning your chin against his chest.
“Such a shame, everything was feeling so good,” you pouted up at him. Aemond grunted in agreement, head still running hot in annoyance.
Surely, the court wouldn’t be too curious if his brother strolled in with a bruise on his face. He’d been in worse shape before, what was a little marked-up cheek?
There must be some sick game the gods were playing on Aemond. They were teasing him, testing to see how long he could withhold being unable to have a moment alone with his wife before going completely mad. Court took up a better part of his afternoon, long hours of appeals and hearing whatever problems their people wished to voice. It took much of him to keep his eye forward, ignoring the heat radiating off the flesh of your arm that was warmed by the sticky air of the mid-summer sun filtering into the throne room, while you stood by your husband’s side, his nose engulfed by the flowery sweetness wafting from your hair.
Supper was just as torturous, though having you sat by his side slightly made up for it, and teasing you under the table was a good way to pass the time. Aemond’s rough fingertips crept up your skirts and took hold of your thigh, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t relish in the way you swatted his hand away in panic, cheeks growing adorably flushed. With dessert promptly served and devoured, the one-eyed prince all but jumped from his seat, your hand in tow to lead you back to the privacy of your chambers, but the deep drawl of his grandsire’s voice halted him before anything else, inviting him to the Tower to speak on a matter of the utmost discretion. He let your hand go with a scowl, helplessly watching you walk off into the direction of your apartments.
His grandsire sat him down to talk until well into the night, speaking in hushed tones of a matter of concern in the Reach. He was to fly to Oldtown to settle brewing disputes in the Hightower seat in his grandsire's stead, a task entrusted to him that required his sharp eye and his partiality to matters of politics.
His steps were heavy on his return, his chest even heavier, and when he finally crossed the threshold of your spacious apartments, you were deep into your slumber. You snuggled up into his side of the bed, arm extending to where he should have been. When a responsibility like this would’ve once had Aemond eager to fly out at first light, he found himself unable to tear himself away from you when duty called, having found a home in your arms that sheltered him with warmth and lightness his reality was so deeply void of.
He was gone for a sennight—a slow-passing, cruel week.
The separation was torturous, and not a moment passed where your husband’s mind didn’t wander to his sweet wife. He’d tucked one of your handkerchiefs into his pocket before his departure, tracing the embroidered curves of your initials with his thumb when he grew agitated within Oldtown’s walls. They had given him a comfortable accommodation, a bed much too large to sleep in alone. Aemond had grown spoiled with your warmth, and with this temporary withdrawal, sleep came miserably.
At the week's end, disagreements were smoothed and hands were shaken. Aemond took to the skies, not a second too soon after the Lord Hobart thanked him for the crown’s aid, his longing for home shamelessly showing itself in the tension in his shoulders every minute he was there. Daeron would have to forgive him for not flying together as much as the younger wished, but his brother, ever the kindest out of all the dragon princes, saw him off with a nod of understanding and a firm pat on the back, whispering the promise of his own return to their family.
Vhagar traversed the horizon at a speed unexpected for her size and age, but his old girl shared her rider’s wish for home. They cleared the distance in a day, and the returning prince was greeted by Ser Criston and a wheelhouse that would take him back to his home, to you.
But the gods wouldn’t grant Aemond reprieve that easily.
The streets bustled with life as the carriage rolled through the cobbled streets. He had returned just in time for his father’s nameday, a week-long celebration for the ailing king that called for the grandest celebration, with music, wine, and dancing for guests hailing from all over the realm. Aemond watched through the thin slits of the carriage— faces passing in a blur, voices of every pitch overlapping the other. His brow furrowed in perplexion when they took a sudden turn, an unexpected route that led him away from the hill leading to the Keep, but right to the middle of the celebrations— the melee.
“Queen’s orders, my prince,” Cole explained, standing stoically in front of the brooding prince. “She wished to have you join the celebrations as soon as you returned, have the family all present in front of the people.”
Aemond grumbled under his breath all the way up the steps to the royal box, plopping exhaustedly into his seat beside Aegon. The elder patted him hard on the back, adding to his aggravation, clearly oblivious to his dampened mood. “Good to have you here in time to join us, brother, Reyne’s just about to fuck Tarly up,” he cackled, taking a big swig of his wine.
“A change of clothes first would have been nice,” Aemond huffed, ignoring the battling knights as he looked around for his wife. He twisted around his seat in confusion at the absent sight of you, earning a look from his grandsire that had him uncharacteristically slumping in his seat.
“She’s with Helaena,” Aegon said, whose eyes stayed glued to the violent display before them. “Orwyle said it was ill luck for pregnant women to look upon violence or whatever he was on about. Your wife’s keeping her company.”
Aemond sighed defeatedly, his chest twinging with annoyance. Of fucking course. Everything seemed to be working against his wishes, toying with his already short patience. Gods be damned, they would know better to keep a man like him away from his wife. Perhaps this made him seem like an addict, no better than a drunk stuck to his bottle or a pervert to a whore, but he was well past the point of denying it. You were a part of him, whether either of you could help it or not.
He turned to his mother, who sat frowning with a hand half-covering her face as she watched on, muttering some half-excuse of wanting to freshen up and be rid of the smell of dragon on his skin before enjoying the festivities. The queen granted him leave with the ghost of a quirk on her lips and a knowing look, waving him off dismissively with a ringed hand.
He all but dashed the way back to the Keep, strides large and booming through the halls back to Maegor’s Holdfast. His pulse thumped heavily in his ears, his chest sparked with a renewed lightness with every step closer. Aemond found you in his sister’s apartments, sat on the settee as you embroidered.
Your head shot up as the door swung open, eyes brightening like a starry night when they landed on him. “Aemond!” you gasped, promptly jumping up from your seat and into his arms. With how tight your arms wound around his neck, it was clear his dearest wife was just as tortured as he.
Aemond nuzzled his nose into your hair, breathing in the sweet scent of your skin he had missed dearly. With you back in his arms, right where you belonged, everything felt warm. He felt near bursting at the seams, his body immediately responding to the heat of your body pressed against his. His lips found yours on instinct, hungrily devouring the sweet taste he’d grown starved for. Large, calloused hands wandered on their own, finding purchase on your rear with a tight squeeze. It made you whine, pulling away in haste to glance at a sleeping Helaena. Her third pregnancy often had her weary, as she was now, laid on her bed, with the twins tucked on either side as they slept through the peaceful haze of the late afternoon.
“Come,” your husband ordered, grasping your wrist to pull you out of the room. The growing fire in his loins left him too impatient to lead you up another flight of stairs where your apartments were, urgency nagging at him to hasten lest someone called for him to return to the melee. He led you with quick steps to the end of the hall, in a quiet alcove where he pressed you against the wall, caged between his arms.
His mouth devoured yours, tongue slithering into the warm cavern and dancing with your own. It soon descended onto the length of your perfumed neck, nipping and biting at the spots that pulled deep, pleasant sighs. Your hands gripped his doublet, subtly pushing him away as you called his name.
“Husband, h-here?” you asked, mewling as he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot below your jaw. You were right, this wasn't exactly an ideal location for your reunion, but he was pressed for time, and having to wait to have you until nightfall would drive him to insanity.
“There’s not one soul around, dearest,” he said into your skin, parting with a kiss on the fresh mark. With the inhabitants of the Keep all away at the tournaments, the halls were empty enough, save for the occasional passing servant and the knight standing guard outside Helaena’s door. With the near ravenous state Aemond was in, he could give less fucks who could witness him taking his wife. Your skirts were messily rucked up to your hips, wandering hand dipping past your smallclothes and finding your heat, already dripping in sweet arousal. “Did you miss me this much, wife? You’re already soaked,” your husband chuckled devilishly, eye darkening when you bit your lip as he teased your slit.
You nodded at him eagerly, a whine rising from your throat when his fingertip brushed against your pearl. “You were gone for too long, husband. It has been miserable without you. When I saw Vhagar fly over the city I could have dashed to the gates myself if Helaena didn’t need me,” you pouted. His heart swelled at your sweetness, peppering adoring kisses onto your hairline as you pulled him in even closer.
“I have been tormented just the same, my love. Every day that passed, you were all I thought about,” he whispered. “No one will keep me away from you now, sweet girl, I promise you.”
Somewhere in the frenzy of tongue and spit, your smallclothes fell to the stone floor and his breeches were aptly unlaced. Your smaller, dainty hand wrapped around his hardened length, stroking his leaking cock. Gods, it was pathetic how he could come from your slightest touch. He grasped your wrist to stop you, gulping as he continued to twitch in your hold.
“Wait,” he huffed. The need possessed him with a primal urge, prompting him to grab hold of both of your thighs to lift you off your feet. With you pressed against the wall and holding onto his shoulders for dear life, Aemond sunk you onto his cock, down onto the hilt. There was little time to savor the subtle pulsating of your walls, his hips taking on a steady pace from the start. “Fucking... finally,” he grunted.
You bounced in his firm hold, lower back rubbing against the rough stone, but you didn’t seem to mind one bit. Quite the opposite, rather, with the way you openly moaned, your voice echoing through the dim hall. “Gods!” you whined. Your husband’s pace suddenly shifted, hips starting to slap more ferociously against yours. Any soul who would have the misfortune to walk these halls at this very moment would hear you from the opposite end from the resounding rhythm of skin against skin.
“There are no gods here, wife, just you and I,” Aemond growled against your ear, before biting down on your shoulder, making you squeal even louder.
“I– mmph! Ah, Aem–” Any semblance of coherence on your usually pretty head dissipated in a heady jumble. It made your husband smirk, despite the heat starting to tingle in the back of his neck.
“Something to say, my love? Or have I already fucked you into a loose whore, hm?” he taunted, chuckling under his breath when you merely whined in response. He was starting to overheat in his leathers, the sharp warmth in his nape slowly trickling down his spine to signal the start of his end. Something deep within his core made his abdomen flex, the ache in his thighs no match for the utter bliss of the warm embrace of your lovely cunt. With your legs wrapped around his trim waist, his hand raised to the back of your head, fingers wrapping around your hair to pull your forehead against his. He quickened his pace to spur you to your end first, thumb rubbing your pearl in tight circles. “Come for me, wife. I want to feel you spill around me. Go on,” he rasped, breath hot in your ear.
His wife was a moaning mess. You were never this loud, even in the privacy of your own chambers, but the separation had you desperate, heart sticky with need in a way you had never let yourself be before. He and you were both the same in this way, never too forward with what you wanted, until desire ate away at you from within and you started to lose better thinking.
With a particular harsh thrust, your release broke with a moan that Aemond was sure had echoed to the White Sword Tower. He came no second later with a lower, quieter grunt into your neck, spilling thick ropes of his warm seed into your quivering cunt.
You both stayed there for a second, breaths heavy and minds still in a cloud. Aemond placed you back onto your feet, though wobbly. He huffed amusedly, earning a warning smack on his chest as you furrowed your eyebrows playfully. His lips placed a kiss on your damp forehead, and you kissed his scarred cheek in return. For a second, you only looked at him, your flushed cheeks lifted in a smile, and it made him happy.
An echo of clinking steel let Aemond know his time was up. He made sure your dress had been rightened and your hair smoothed before tying his breeches back up. The prince peeked to see Cole coming up the staircase, no doubt sent by his mother to take him away again. He sighed heavily, nuzzling one last time into your neck as you rubbed his back comfortingly. “You should go. Mustn’t let your mother fret,” you said softly. Your husband merely grunted in response, savoring the feeling of your fingers running through his hair.
A clear of the throat from the knight made Aemond finally pull away, frowning despite the pleased smile on your lips as you smoothed his doublet. He parted with a kiss all-consuming, and whispers of a promise to fetch you the moment he could.
His return to the royal box came with much reluctance, though his demeanor visibly changed. The tension was gone in his shoulders, his aura different, and his face not so grim anymore. He settled back into his seat with a deep exhale, directing his attention to the faceless lordlings swinging swords much too large for them, though his mind stayed in an alcove somewhere in the Keep.
Beside him, Aegon yawned loudly, having grown deathly bored with the melee. Sensing the younger’s subtly brighter demeanor, he snickered under his breath. “Feeling rather refreshed now, are you?” he teased.
Aemond’s gaze flickered to him in a glance, turning back to watch the young Bolton land the winning blow. “Hm, yes, quite.” He lifted his hand to a squire for wine, taking a small sip to quench his parched throat.
“Even without a proper change of clothes?” Aegon pushed, raising his brow mockingly. He cackled as Aemond shifted in his seat, a warning glare in his lone eye. The elder, unbothered, merely patted his brother’s knee as he shook his head. “Good for you, brother.”