#aemond targaryen fluff
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tourney favor ; aemond targaryen (m).
pairing ; aemond targaryen x wife!reader
synopsis ; it was rare for knights to ask married ladies for their favors, as it was often a way to win a lady's hand in the midst of courtship. but it wasn’t improper by any means. strange, perhaps, but not improper. you glanced back at aemond. he was studying you, single eye narrowed, jaw clenched. was he jealous?
wc ; 2.1k
themes ; smut, mild fluff, established relationship (married)
warnings / includes ; jealous aemond, unprotected sex, breeding kink and brief mentions of pregnancy/children, wall sex, foul language, mentions of violence/murder
a/n ; if this fic sounds familiar, i took some lines from my far-lengthier aemond fic, balance the scales :)
main masterlist.
A grand tourney was held in honor of Jahaerys and Jahaera’s eighth nameday.
You sat beside Helaena in the high platforms on the elongated arena, hands twisting in your lap. Tourneys usually bored you to no end—watching men hurt themselves over little else than theatrical show and bragging rights was not something you were very keen on. It felt like a waste of time to you, especially because you were already spoken for—you’d much rather be reading, or honing your needlework, or playing with the twins. To your other side was your husband, Aemond, looking equally disinterested in the event. You noticed his long fingers tapping impatiently against his knee, as if he were itching to leave. His older brother Aegon was nowhere to be seen, most likely somewhere in the bowels of the Street of Silk.
You couldn’t help but feel envious. How come the father of the children the realm was celebrating was off gallivanting through the city, probably sunken into his cups and his whores? He was free to fuck whoever and whenever he wanted. Whilst you had to sit for hours on end beside your beloved husband, with whom you wanted to do nothing more than clamber into his lap and kiss him until the two of you grew dizzy.
Perhaps a large part of your agitation was due to the fact that Aemond had sunken to his knees in your chambers only an hour before, his tongue spelling worship over your drenched core. And you’d been so close, ever so close to falling off the edge—
Until there came a knock on the door, and Criston Cole’s muffled voice echoed through the shut door. He had to urgently speak to Aemond before the tourney, apparently.
Something akin to a growl caught in his throat as your husband reluctantly drew away from you. You moaned lowly at the loss, sitting up at the edge of the four-poster bed as you watched him wipe your arousal from his chin.
“We’ll resume this tonight,” he had whispered into your flushed ears, before whisking off to speak to Ser Criston.
Seven fucking hells.
It took several moments for you to compose yourself, before you called in one of your handmaidens to help you dress for the tourney. Redo your hairstyle, too, because Aemond had certainly mussed it beyond salvation.
And now, as you fussed with your fingers in the stands, boredly clapping whenever the crowd was, it only came as an utter surprise when you heard your name called out. You sat up straighter, eyes falling from your hands to the riding grounds down below. It didn’t slip past your notice seeing Aemond tense, his fingers curling into a pale fist over his thigh.
A handsome knight donned in black-and-yellow armor stared up at you. You faintly recalled the patterned sigil emblazoned into the shield he was holding—he was of House Darklyn. He had taken off his helmet momentarily, lodged between his waist and his free arm. Gorgeous dark locks spilled over the nape of his neck, only slightly curled.
The olive green of his eyes gleamed boldly, full lips upturned into a charming smile. “Might I be honored with your favor, my Lady? I can certainly use the luck.”
Your gaze flickered over to his formidable opponent, a strong and muscular man, shrouded in white. His shield bore a red lion. House Reyne.
It was rare for knights to ask married ladies for their favors, as it was often a way to win a lady's hand in the midst of courtship. But it wasn’t improper by any means. Strange, perhaps, but not improper. You glanced back at Aemond. He was studying you, single eye narrowed, jaw clenched.
Was he jealous?
You could feel the muted arousal roar back to life in your lower abdomen.
“Of course, Ser,” you called back with a knowing smile in your husband’s direction. You grabbed a ring of woven flowers and tossed it down over the jousting lance. “Be careful.”
Off the Darklyn knight went with your favor swaying by the lance’s handle, the metal grating of his helmet pulled down over his grinning features. You weren’t even sure what his name was.
The joust began just as you sat back down beside Aemond—but you found yourself barely paying attention to what was unfolding, and rather kept your eyes trained on your husband.
“Rather improper of him to ask for your favor,” he commented snidely, voice lowered so only you could hear. “You’re my wife.”
“Perhaps you should be down there, then,” you replied lightly, offering him a cruel smile. You knew well just how little Aemond cared for all the glamor the tourneys offered. “Show them who I belong to.”
Expression hardening to stone, he suddenly gripped your arm with iron-strength, hauling you up out of your seat, despite your half-hearted protests. You wondered if the Darklyn knight would search for you once the tourney was over. You found yourself unsurprised that you couldn’t care less about him.
Especially not with Aemond leading you down the halls of the Keep, twisting several sharp turns before shoving your chamber’s entrance open. Just as quickly as you were yanked inside, the wooden door slammed shut behind you, and you were promptly shoved up against it.
His lips were angry over yours, claiming you, biting you, devouring you completely. You fell slack in his arms, one of your hands resting over his chest, almost as if you were debating between pushing him away or pulling him closer. He swallowed the noises of contentment that slipped from your throat.
“You just couldn’t wait,” he snarled, shoving you against the door harder until he was pressed flush over your body. Jealous Aemond was certainly a sight to behold. “My greedy little wife.”
You preened at his words, arching your back, desperate to reconnect your lips to his. He didn’t put up a fight, allowing you to fight for dominance, claw at his neck and chest in desperation as you kissed him as if he were the very air you needed to breathe.
Wasting no time, he reached down to yank the bottom of your dress upwards—cursing under his breath at all the damned layers you were wearing—and hurriedly shoved away your shift so he could reach your pulsing cunt.
You were drenched. Warm and wet and fuck, he couldn’t wait a moment longer—
Sensing this, you made quick work of his trousers, yanking them downwards before moving up to pop off his tunic’s buttons. A startled, pleasured cry—verging on a hysterical sob—tore from your lungs and rattled across the chambers when he suddenly thrusted two long fingers into you, his thumb working quick circles over your sensitive clit. You’d already been denied an orgasm once, and you found a litany of breathless pleas erupting from your lips, as if it were just second nature.
“Please, Aemond, please—” You choked on whatever else you had to say, eyes rolling back as your orgasm slammed into you far too soon for your liking. Heavy and all-consuming.
But it wasn’t enough. You wanted more, more, you’d always want more of your husband.
“Aemond, please, I need you inside,” you croaked, letting out a sigh when he drew a few tender kisses to your forehead. A glimpse of the softer side of your husband, scarcely shown unless it was with you. You loved him like this, but you wanted—no, you needed—him to lose all abandon with you.
“If you won’t fuck me, I’ll ask the Darklyn knight,” you growled with a serrated tone.
Aemond drew away from you, violet eye ablaze. Was it fury or was it possessiveness written so plainly over his features? Perhaps both. “What did you say?” he whispered, a hand suddenly surging up to grip your jaw.
“I said,” you huffed, staring at him with a challenging quirk of your brows, “I’ll ask another man to fuck me. If my husband won’t do so, that is.”
Silence on Aemond was scarier than anything. You wished he would speak, or scream, or call you filthy names. But no, he… he was observing you. Calculating. Like a cat would a mouse.
Or a dragon would its kill.
With one fluid motion, he drew his length into his hand—long and hard and angrily weeping with beads of pearly precum. The other hand abruptly flipped you around with surprising strength, crowding you against the wall beside the door so your back faced him. You moaned out his name when he pushed your dress up over your hips and dragged his tip over your drenched core.
“Please,” you begged, bracing yourself against the wall and jutting your hips back. If you could hear yourself over the buzzing in your ears, you’d be absolutely mortified at how delirious you sounded.
In one quick motion, he sheathed himself into you. Your warm, pulsating cunt was gripping him like a vice, eliciting a shuddering groan from his lungs. You mirrored his reaction, squeezing your eyes shut and holding onto him for dear life as he began to pound into you with no restraint. The lewd noises ricocheting in the room made your cheeks heat up until your entire face felt like it had been set aflame. With each snap of his hips into yours, you found yourself crying his name like a mantra, his hands bruising over your waist, pulling you back into him.
You were blubbering incoherently, begging for more. You just about lost it when one of his hands disappeared from your waist—only to roll over your aching clit with quick circles. A sob broke past your lips and you clenched hard around his length, feeling every hot inch of him buried deep inside you. His pace staggered with the sudden shift and he groaned out a curse, followed by your name.
“Who did you want to fuck?” he bit out, slightly breathless, words dripping with venom. “What’s his name?”
“I—” You hiccupped a cry with a particularly loud thrust. “Oh, fuck, Aemond!”
“Right,” he hissed, bending forward to bite down on your strained neck. “I’m the only one who can fuck you like this. Not pretty boys in silly costumes—mmph—not daft knights who lose tourneys. Me.”
The last word was ground out when your cunt spasmed around his girth once more, and you wailed out his name as your orgasm rolled over you. It was a wonder nobody had barged in to see if there was someone being murdered.
“Perhaps I’d have to get you all round and swollen with my child. Show them who you belong to. Who fucked you this good. Would you like that, sweet wife?”
“Yes, yes, Aemond, I need—I need you to come inside. Please, I need you to stuff me full.”
You reached behind you to blindly grapple for his arm and he briefly shifted the angle and began pounding into you even harder. His cock hit your sweet spot just right, and you saw stars swimming over your vision.
A near animalistic noise tore through Aemond’s chest when you tightened around him one last time, your warm cunt fluttering around his cock. His rhythm faltered. What drove him over the edge was when he glanced down and saw the thick ring of your creamy arousal at the base of his cock. Gods, you were… beyond perfect.
With a staggered rasp of your name, he thrust into you thrice more before he spilled his seed deep in you, thick spurts of white coating your slick walls.
Heavy pants filled the room. You barely registered his lips kissing along your bare shoulder, where your dress had slipped in the midst of your heated frenzy.
Slow, he eased himself out of you. “You did so well for me,” he murmured against your skin, smoothing his hands over your waist. “Are you alright?”
“Mmh,” you hummed, because no words would come to you at the moment.
He laughed, a wonderfully rich sound, before gently urging you towards the bed.
“Get some rest, wife,” he told you, laying you onto the plush mattress and dipping down to kiss your forehead. He regarded you with raw adoration folded over his expression. Though, it was quick to melt into a thunderous one with his next sentence. “I have a certain knight to exchange words with.”
If you hadn’t been so high off your orgasms and exhausted with the new-found urge to sleep the whole night away, you would’ve realized that Aemond was likely going to commit manslaughter over something as trivial as a tourney favor. But you hadn’t thought about it much, not in your sex-addled haze, and promptly fell asleep with only the dream of silver-haired babes with wonderful purple eyes to accompany you.
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond fluff#aemond smut#aemond targaryen x you#hotd fanfiction#aemond targaryen fluff#house of the dragon fanfiction#hotd smut#hotd x reader
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okay…. but imagine having aemond stuff his cum back inside you, loving to press his seed back inside your overstimulated cunt and breed you every day—
— 𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒.
gif credit.
© aemvnd 2022. do not plagiarize, translate, modify or post my content on any other platform.
author’s note: y’all betta know…… i just had to write something for this -- my imagination ran absolutely wild with this one. i didn’t wanna write a lot, just somethin mini for myself to get these sinful thoughts outta my head… im sorry in advance. ♡ if you enjoyed – please reblog, comment + leave ur feedback! thank u & happy reading. :)
warnings: minors dni. smut. breeding kink. p in v sex (slight). fingering. cunnilingus. female pronouns. possessive behavior. dark!aemond. wife!reader. overstimulation kink. pain kink. pet names. romance. fluff. any grammatical errors are my own – in advance, i sincerely apologize.
word count: 2,3k.
pairings: aemond targaryen x reader (f).
♡࿐ bliss.
true, undying bliss overwhelmed you, completely.
“you’re so perfect for me, my sweet girl,” aemond murmured, leaning down to press a loving kiss against your forehead, lingering there and closing his eye for a moment, breathing you in.
pulling back after a few seconds, aemond observed your face closely, feeling a warm sensation tugging at his blackened heart, feeling it crack into a million little pieces, watching you gaze back up at him in awe.
there was a soft look in your doe eyes, wide and innocent and full of love.
love for him, your husband.
aemond would never admit it, but he was almost certain that the very same look graced his face too, softening his sharpened features with equal amounts of–if not more–love.
with a deep groan, aemond thrusted his cock inside your cunt a few more times, feeling your inner walls tightening around him, wanting to keep him inside and milk him dry.
a faint, little mewl escaped your swollen lips, making aemond lean forward again and capture your lips with his, kissing you slowly and passionately. the wet, warm muscle of his tongue slipped out, licking your bottom lip, before tugging it gently with his teeth, causing you to moan.
you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, pulling him flush against you – his naked, hard chest was pressed against yours, constantly brushing over your sensitive nipples, a whine making its way up your throat.
aemond smirked, reaching one hand up and tangling his fingers into your messy locks of hair, his other hand holding on to your hip to stabilize himself so to not crush you with his body.
“…mmm – gods, you were made to take my cock,” aemond purred against your mouth, slipping his tongue inside, your tongues slowly caressing each other’s sensually, neither of you in any rush.
“i love you,” you whimpered, your mouths molding together as one – perfection.
with one last gentle thrust of the prince’s hips, he squirted his warm cum inside of you, his load entering your womb.
aemond stilled his hips, your fluttering cunt sheathing his cock, making aemond throw his head back with a feral growl.
with his cock still buried to the hilt in your pulsing cunt, aemond squeezed your hip that he was holding, digging his fingertips into the sweaty flesh as he felt his cock twitch inside of you, softening and feeling spent.
immediately, he collapsed on top of you, his face nuzzled into your neck. sleepily, he started leaving little kisses against the salty skin of your neck, sucking on your pulse point, feeling your fingers gently brush through his long hair.
aemond practically purred, the feeling of your nails scratching lightly at his scalp, always a sweet comfort. “sweet girl… ‘m gonna try something,” aemond mumbled, though he did not move for a few more minutes, completely relaxed in the safety of your arms.
however, you did not mind – especially the feeling of his large cock still buried deep inside you, making your insides begin to tingle again, your belly tightening at the thought of his royal seed settling in your womb.
gods be good, you prayed silently for a son of your own to give to your dear husband.
you loved aemond more than anything – more than life itself, all that you wanted was to give him everything he wanted… most importantly, you wanted to give him all the love in the world, including an heir of his own.
suddenly, aemond slowly pulled himself out of you with a sharp hiss, not hearing you wince slightly at the uncomfortable feeling of being empty overcame you. you tried to suppress it, making your face remain neutral.
the prince simply leaned back on his knees between your spread thighs, tilting his head back and releasing a deep sigh of satisfaction. then, his head looked back down towards you, his one eye sharp and observing you, as usual.
aemond always enjoyed watching you, he liked making you feel uncomfortable, especially when around him, watching the way you’d start to overthink everything about yourself, making yourself think – was there something wrong with you?
it amused him greatly, no matter how many times he’d done it to you.
however, no matter how much the prince could be cruel, he’d never intentionally hurt you. releasing a calming sigh, aemond’s large hands moved to grasp both of your thighs, squeezing them and then shaking them a bit, watching them jiggle slightly with a twitch of his lips.
he adored your thighs.
then, his head snapped back up to look at you, his eye piercing and observing your naked figure, admiring it without shame.
the prince looked at the soft delicateness of your pretty face, down to your neck and collarbones that were littered in love bites from him, to both of your breasts which were swollen from him sucking and biting on them earlier, until you cried out his name.
you watched him trail his eye down further until he stopped at your bare cunt, watching it with an amused glint in his violet eye, his seed dribbling out of you slowly.
smirking, the prince seemed to have thought of a idea.
aemond slowly looked back up at your face, the sapphire that rested in the socket of his missing eye sparkled from the massive fireplace – although, you did not look away from him. if you knew anything about your husband, you knew how he loved a challenge, and you were not going to be the first one to look away.
no, not this time.
chuckling softly underneath his breath, aemond clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, before raising an eyebrow at you.
“will you be a good girl for me?” he asked, his tone flat but there was that hint of amusement hiding somewhere underneath.
if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the prince was up to something.
you gulped, nodding your head and started fidgeting with your hands, making him tsk at you, slapping your hands away. instantly, you stopped – nervousness eating away at you as you dropped your arms directly by your sides, waiting.
aemond hummed, nodding once before shifting his body so that he was now laying on his stomach, resting comfortably between your spread, open thighs. your cunt glistened beautifully, making aemond’s eye dilate with need and a feverish lust.
as he laid down, he could feel his cock twitch underneath himself, no doubt hardening once again. he couldn’t control himself when he was around you, you drove him nearly insane with a need to have you – always.
“my pretty little wife..” aemond drawled, his hands creeping up to rub up the outside of your thighs, his hands warm and comforting.
“you’re even pretty here, too,” he murmured, no doubt smirking as he heard you take in a sharp breath, his lips connecting to your mound, peppering kisses along the skin and across your hipbones.
he rubbed his warm, large hands up and down the outside of your thighs, closing his eye as he was merely enjoying himself – kissing, sucking, biting your hot skin into his mouth, moving down until his lips wrapped around your swollen, overstimulated clit.
you cried out into your shared chambers, one of your hands reaching up and grasping hold of one of the many pillows–one that happened to have belonged to aemond, since you loved to lay on it since it smelled like him–fisting your small hand into the soft material.
you immediately wrapped a leg around his head, unconsciously pulling him closer against your cunt, wanting more.
always, always wanting more of him.
aemond had made you come so many times tonight–too many times–that you had lost count.
without warning, aemond removed a hand from massaging the meat of one of your thighs and brushed a finger up your dribbling slit, gathering his cum that was leaking out and stuffing it back inside you.
you whimpered, fisting the pillow and the silk sheets below you, your head thrown back and your eyes rolling into the back of your head, feeling him curl the finger inside of you.
aemond hummed, continuously sucking and sending vibrations through your sensitive, little clit – before adding two more long fingers, stuffing them inside and just leaving them there, not moving.
almost like a plug.
minutes had passed, with just him sucking and flicking your clit back and forth with his hot tongue, though he fingers did not move, only remaining plunged inside of you, causing your walls to tighten and flutter, endlessly.
“aemond..!? what.. w-what are you doing?” you heaved, your chest rising and falling quickly, feeling your belly tighten once again, painfully – your muscles sore and aching now as you could feel yourself about to come again.
“please, aemond – i am going to come again,” you sobbed, sweating profusely and your heart feeling like it was about to explode in your chest.
aemond nodded, not missing a beat, “go on, then.”
“no..! no, no, no – please, aemond.. i cannot. it hurts, it hurts so much…” you sobbed, tears now burning your eyes, falling freely. your throat felt like it was on fire, as well as like it was closing from you gasping in too much air, trying your hardest not to come again.
however, aemond continued his ministrations on your clit, not stopping for a moment and evening wiggling his three fingers that were inside of you–keeping his cum from leaking out of you again–and with his other hand dug his fingers into the meat of your thigh that he was still holding, making you yelp in painful pleasure.
you were exhausted.
“p-please.. please,” you sniffled, shaking your head and begging.
aemond growled, pinching your thigh and then slapping it harshly in punishment, feeling you wiggling around too much.
“be sweet, wife – stop moving and come for me again,” he commanded, his words muffled but you could still understand him.
you choked on your own saliva, “oh, gods..” you whined, feeling your muscles tense and tense and tense, before the band inside of you snapped like a violin string and you let out the most earth shattering screech.
you cried your husband’s name over and over again, feeling aemond quickly squeeze in a fourth finger, beginning to curl all four of them inside of you, feeling your walls clamp down around them.
you were honestly afraid – afraid that he would want to see how much you could take and shove his entire fist inside–(you had heard ladies of the court gossip that their husbands had done that to them, and it was the most painful experience)–you never wanted to find out for yourself.
luckily, for you – even in your blissed out mind, you trusted your husband, knowing he liked pushing you to your limits, but knowing exactly how much you could take.
your thighs were quivering, your orgasm washing over you in tsunami waves of endless pleasure, with aemond continuing to gently lick your clit now, barely applying actual pressure – though his fingers remained.
“so, so perfect for me.. you’d done so well for me, my sweet girl.”
a genuine, dopey smile tugged at your lips, feeling relieved that you had pleased him, again.
once your high had calmed down, aemond pulled his mouth away from your clit, resting the left side of his face on your thigh, glancing up at you with a small smirk on his handsome face, watching you try to keep your eyes open.
“enjoy yourself, did you?”
you giggled, nodding your head yes. “i thought i was going to black out,” you confessed, embarrassment flooding your veins.
aemond lightly chuckled, “wouldn’t be the first time.”
you looked down, pouting and making him laugh harder, giving a sweet kiss to your thigh, before locking his violet eye with yours once more.
gods, how he loved you.
“i’m just teasing, my love.”
your eyebrows furrowed, “no, you are not,” you said, knowing he was speaking the truth – in fact, you had blacked out before while he was fucking you, his love for overstimulating you overwhelmed you.. time and time again.
although, you did not mind so much.
nonetheless, you liked to tease him back and pretend you hated it when he teased you – both of you knowing full well that you secretly adored it, just as much as he.
aemond snorted, before lifting his head and leaning forwards again, giving your clit a kiss, feeling you tense up immediately. “relax,” he said, eyeing your face. “i think you’ve had enough for tonight.”
you flushed, feeling his fingers twitch inside of you, before pulling them out slowly and began observing them.. they were drenched in his cum and yours, practically dripping on to your sheets.
aemond felt the corner of his mouth tug up, before opening his mouth and shoving all four fingers inside, sucking both of your mixed essence right off, swallowing with a low hum of approval.
your eyes widened, but then you licked your lips, watching him suck and work his tongue between each of his digits, his eye locked on yours as he put on a little show for you, smirking playfully.
with a pop of the last finger, he smiled, “delicious.”
you didn’t say anything, you couldn’t – you couldn’t even begin to describe how unbelievably attractive your husband was… and he was all yours.
“i love you,” you blurted out, but meaning it anyways. you were always more of the sentimental one between you two, but you could see the softness settle over aemond’s face every time you told him those three little words.
those three little words held so much meaning to him, especially coming from you.
aemond didn’t respond – instead, he climbed up your body, being careful not to crush you and settled until he was hovering above you, his face only mere centimeters away from yours. “..i love you, my beautiful wife.”
fin
feel free to send in requests / thots here.
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Enchantress
Reader x Aemond Targaryen
Summary: You would guard your throne from vultures no matter the cost and so the games begins. In which Aemond Targaryen regrets making an enemy of his wife.
Aemond is a cheating hoe. No one wanted this I just really wanted to write some angst. As always your features and ethnicity is not mentioned, background is not specified but you are a highborn. After the Serpentine series I wanted something spicy.
Word count: 8.1k
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By nature you were a patient person, taking great diligence in ensuring emotions doesn't overcome your judgment. But as the hour grows late your forbearance for your husband had begun to wear thin. It nears twelve and you had been waiting for Aemonds return for well over three hours now. With every passing minute you find yourself drowning in madness as you draw a blank on where or what he was up to. Succumbing to the ill thoughts on your mind as the flickering dance and crackle of the fire floods your senses. You're tired, you're anxious and your ears are ringing yet you still sat unmoving. Why?
There was no doubt that the man in question confused you to no end, nevertheless you still made sure to act accordingly and play the part of his wife. Although you're finding it increasingly hard to upkeep the role of his good little lover when the man is hardly in your presence. It was true that your marriage with Aemond was one out of political leverage, but you still did your best to care for him. Always making sure your relationship was fostered and tended to in the hopes of something blossoming.
You had faith that he would grow fonder of you as the years went on, but with every passing day that thought was challenged. It had been a long journey but without fail you acted kind and loving towards him no matter the expense. Valuing your relationship with Aemond a great deal, you were willing to do anything for him.
Even endure his callous behaviors towards you.
It was no secret that the prince was rather displeased with your union. For a man that preached the importance of preforming duty, he was awfully bad at it. You had been wedded for almost half a year now and have yet to consummate the marriage. Not that you weren't willing to, the problem lies with your husband. It was plain to see behind closed doors that he did not take you seriously.
In his eye this marriage was a joke, you were but strangers at best due to his lack of effort. Now you know not of the origins of his distant behavior but you've tried your best to minimize them. Dragging Aemond off to accompany you on walks around the castle, asking him to join you for lunch; everyday without faltering you tried.
But to no avail, your attempts does little to dull the wall between you two. He doesn't interact with you unless it was mandatory or for show, displayed little emotions past cordial. And god forbid laying a hand on you was the end of the fucking world. Was this who Aemond Targaryen was? Cold and cynical? Deprived of all that makes a person human. Every time you looked at him he was a ghost, fading into the background slipping from your grasp. He was untouchable, invisible. His self-righteous aura creating a vortex around him.
The distance between Aemond and you had started to become apparent to the ladies in court. Everyday without fail they would voice their concerns, asking you if you were being mistreated. Of course you lie, a task that comes easy to you, easier than you thought it would since you had little ties with your husband. Though it makes you wonder if Aemond also found it easy to lie to you....
The thought gets lost on you as an intrusive sound rings through your chambers. Brows furrowing at the disturbance, why would Aemond feel the need to knock on your shared room? The train was rather absurd so it leads you into thinking that it wasn't him paying you a visit. Much to your disappointment. With confusion in your voice, you call out to the visitor.
"Come in." Anxiously bringing your palms together on your lap. Your fingers locked themselves in a manner of worry, squeezing tightly as you prepare yourself. Soon the door opens and in follows Ser Larys Strong. His pronounced way of walking evident as the cane hits the ground harshly. The sound announcing and intrusive, almost counting down the seconds before he reaches you.
"I am sorry to intrude on your private time my Lady, especially when the hour is so late but I fear this matter cannot wait till dawn." He smiles sympathetically although you do not like implications behind it. You notion for him to sit across from you, watching the scene carefully. You don't utter a word as he moves to take his place. Ser Larys's visits are always prompted.... And by the look on his face it reads that he knows something you don't... That fact slightly unnerved you...
"I thought this news would be best heard if it were from me.... From a friend..." Bullshit. Larys always had an ulterior motive, he liked cultivating favors from the court only for them to owe him in return. No doubt that he was a sick man that enjoyed manipulating others, finding power in mind games in a way that he cannot with the sword. You were far from friends but played the game together. He only viewed you so highly because you were one of the only people the didn't fall for his lures and cryptic words.
"I take it this news is not pleasant." Lifting a brow at him in question, you kept your manner strong and imposing. He swallows and nods his head briefly, averting his gaze from you to look at the floor.
"Earlier today.... Prince Aemond was caught indulging a servant girl in Harrenhal." He says the words carefully though no amount of safe keeping can withhold your anger. Larys words were vague but you understood clearly what he meant. Shaking in your seat, you calm yourself. Or at least tried to....
You were going to fucking kill him.
"Ah.... I see... Who else knows?" Your words come out strained. Tone cut and tense, implying that you were holding back an outburst as tears of anger slowly clouds your gaze. What did you honestly expect? Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, vision tunneling as rage began crawling up your center. For a moment your breath stills, the abyss captivating you before you snap out of it and focusing on Ser Larys once more. He says nothing as he watches the fire burn, avoiding your venomous stare.
"Just you and me." He nods slowly, finally looking at you, only to drop his gaze soon after. He was uncomfortable beyond measure... His mouth opens to say something once more but stops to take in your shape. You clutched at the chair with a murderous grip, nails digging into the stained leather. Slowly he met your unmoving eyes, taken aback by the poison swimming amongst them. Gods be good... That look never meant well. The tension was heavy and for a moment Larys feared for his own life. You were not sad nor disheartened, instead you were seething in hatred. The room fogs with something unpleasant as the walls welcomed the illness like an old friend. Such atmosphere was suffocating as he watched you shake in retribution, no doubt planning your next calculating moves.
Vengeance. That was all you wanted. Many questions plagued your mind, had you not been good enough for him? You've done all that you could to please him and yet he disrespect your name with his adultery. You honestly didn't know what to say, it wasn't like this was much of a shock to you since a part of you always had suspicions. But you dismissed those thoughts as nothing but intrusive and toxicant. Yet to hear the words out loud coming from a reputable man such as Ser Larys Strong was much different than you telling yourself. Larys was many things but he was not a liar. His words always had claim and a backbone, despite how distasteful the intentions behind them may be. You could not care less about what he wants to get out of you, what you want to know is what else he's keeping locked away. And what will it take to get him talking.
"The servant that caught them and sent for a raven was found killed under.... suspicious circumstances... I only received both letters now, of the girls retelling and of her death.... A dagger through the mouth what an awful way to go..." Larys speaks when you don't, watching the way you thought in silence. He wondered what you were thinking, for he was one of the only people that knew your true nature. You were a murderous woman, manipulative, vigilant, and vengeful... Behind those stupid smiles and shy fronts was an enchantress, turning the tides in her favor. And now an outsider trespasses on your waters. Larys knows more than anything that you were willing to guard your throne from vultures at any cost.
You didn't like coming second to anybody, and for a moment he prays for the prince...
"I understand that this must be difficult for you, but if you are ever in need... I'll be sure to be of service in this trying time..." You scoff at that, the sound reverberating through the room. There it was. The bait he dangles so tempting in front of foolish fish.
"At what cost Ser Larys, I am no fool. I know everything from you must always come at a price." Holding your chin up high, you crossed your arms and leaned back into your seat. Having calmed down a little, you plan a rainstorm of hell fire.
"Not this time... You see, this girl that had somehow managed to enthrall the prince.... She is a nuisance on my side so you can insure my allegiance is with you. As Lord of Harrenhal I make it a point to know everything and anything going on in my own castle, even if I'm not present. I can ensure you that I have eyes everywhere." You ignore the way your stomach turns at the thought of someone else captivating Aemond as you thought on his proposal. It would be quite useful to have someone with such connections on your side. Shaking your head as you corrected yourself. There were no sides nor factions, you were not at war with Aemond. Yet.
"Can you tell me the name of this girl?"
"She goes by Alys Rivers, you may know of her...." It was almost comical enough to force a laugh.
A bastard Strong... How truly ironic and cliche. It would seem that the very vendetta he had against his own nephews would be the cause of his own demise. The pain that rushed through you didn't burn anymore, instead it courses through your veins in bittersweetness, fueling your vengeance and need for revenge. You didn't care all that much about closure, instead looking for all the ways you can induce the same pain onto Aemond. You were patient to a fault, all the unwanted emotions manifesting into pettiness and spite.
To hurt Aemond Targaryen you must be precise and conniving, you couldn't afford any spill ups. In truth the stature he built of himself was great; intimidating, undying, a menace. But beneath all that you knew he was still the same little boy that got bullied for not having a dragon. Scars like that cannot be grown out of, especially when they've left such permanent imprints on him. You were not going to evoke One Eye Aemond who rides the largest dragon, but rather the young little boy he held so dearly to his heart. That was the Aemond you wanted to hurt. Not the man that gave you blank stares and barely spoke any words to you. Not the man that dares call himself your husband when he has not deserved the name. The neglected outcast freak, that was who you were going to murder.
How dare he choose her over you. Suddenly it clouds your vision. All the violence, the fire, the insecurities. Your inability to think clear, the pride and pain of being his wife. Your lust and distaste for the man that caused you such pain. It ruptures your heart. You would trade love for greed just to induce the same feelings onto him. Oh how you wanted to ruin him. Ruin her for him. By the end of it you wanted him begging at your knees, crying apologies. Who does Alys Rivers think she was to steal your husband away from you. And who does Aemond think he was to assume you wouldn't retaliate. Or perhaps he knew and simply didn't care... That was a common theme in your husband, not caring about you. He was more of a fool than you thought of if he thinks you were just going to stand for this and take it.
No. You wanted an eye for an eye. Or more plainly, a heart for a heart.
"Her existence threatens you." Speaking lowly as you projected your thoughts onto Ser Larys. You aren't the only one to have a reason to hate the aforementioned wench. You may be hazed with hatred but you are not blind. There was a reason Ser Larys chose to come to you instead of Aemond with this information. Without him you wouldn't have known anything, and surely the favor of a prince would be worth more than you could ever give him. Yet he came knocking at your door.
"I am the sole heir to my fathers title, if that bastard had somehow managed to persuade the prince then my very seat is challenged. An outsider amongst the natives. I need to ensure my status, my lady. Can I trust you on this." His words were frantic almost, his long brown hair falling over his face as he leaned in close. Ser Larys was pleading, in his own way...
"You can. Now, my friend... what will you have me do?" The smile that spread across your face was sinister as you prompted his guidance. Though it was more rhetorical, you knew what had to be done.
"Seduce Aemond. Capture his attention enough so that he begins to question his love for her." Love? Was that burned between them? Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you thought on it more. It wasn't a bad design, far better than you stabbing a knife through Alys in front of Aemond. Only one minor flaw.
"And how shall I manage to do that!? The man can barely look at me!"
"To the unseeing eye it appears that way. Though the amount of times I've caught his gaze lingering longer than it should is great. You are a smart woman y/n, I'm sure you can figure out a way to break through his barrier."
Could it be that all this time you just hadn't noticed him looking at you? Regardless that was irrelevant as you pondered your first move. You and Larys had the advantage, Aemond doesn't know that you knew of his infidelity. And as far as you're aware your image as his good little wife was still intact, so perhaps you would play into that role more. Aemond’s betrayal made you realize that you've grown stiff as a board. It dulls you as you realize that you've come to be the very woman you pray for. Desperately lost in their marriage. Endlessly dreaming, hoping one day Aemond would come around and play pretend with you. He was taking advantage of you without you knowing it. He sees your very being as something he can twist and turn in his palm like one of his daggers.
At a certain point he was bound to get cut.
To hurt Aemond Targaryen you must hurt that little boy. It had been weeks since your night with Ser Larys and silently you had been scheming. So far you remained indifferent, trying hard to make sure you aren't faltering by acting the same. It was a hard task that you've come to dread as you knew the cold truth behind his behaviors. At day he would be with you, by night he would be deep in her. You only began to notice the missing hours in your days and curse yourself for being so foolish. You thought long and hard about how you were going to approach the situation. Dissecting your husband under a magnifying glass whilst hiding behind timid smiles. And soon enough your praying and mute jealousy had manifested into the form of a golden haired beast bearing red and gold.
Ser Tyrin Lannister...
A handsome, charming young lord that has come to pay the crown a visit... Though you saw him for what he truly was, a prideful and egotistical man that's blinded by arrogance. The perfect pawn for your game. Truthfully, you only picked him out because he beared such acute resemblance to prince Aegon. The only difference in appearance was instead of the famed silver hair his was pure gold. You hoped that your choice of companion would strike a nerve with Aemond, seeing that he's spent so much of his youth being tormented by the image of the man.
And by the way he was glaring daggers at you and Tyrin, your expectations fall true. It was easy to manipulate the Lannister with sugar coated words and flirtatious giggles, the problem lied with Aemond taking the bait. Up until this point you were basically going off theory, but now you can trust that Aemond was a possessive man.
Your laugh rings through the room as you giggle at something Tyrin whispered in your ear. The man was indeed charismatic which made talking to him easy enough. If you hadn't diluted him to nothing but a playing piece you would have found yourself actually enjoying his company. You had been acquainted for quite some time now, ever since his first arrival, and everyday without fail you were with him. Slowly but surely you had began replacing Aemond with Tyrin in your life. It was him you went on walks with, it was him you dinned with. There was no doubt that Lannisters had vanity and he was aware of it, he was aware of how his gracious gifts won you over and softened you. Or so he thought. In weeks time you had managed to accumulate a collection of gold and ruby jewelries from the man himself.
Something Aemond has not taken kindly to, seeing the way his jaw would clench everytime you adorned the treasures. At this point you had purposely made a show of it, parading in a red and gold gown with massive ruby earrings dangling from your ears. All while you showcased a brilliant ruby and gold choker around your neck. You looked more like Tyrin's wife than Aemond's and perhaps that was your goal. Though honestly your endgame gets lost on you as you're having so much fun toying with him. No doubt Aemond had begun to pick up on your absence and it was hilarious to see. His worries and insecurities must've gotten the best of him because now you can't go anywhere without him trailing behind. He was always there, watching in silence, perhaps judging you but you did not care. The fact of the matter was, whatever you were doing was working.
"If you stare any longer I'm sure a fire will start to burn." Aegon says dryly from beside his brother, looking down at his empty chalice before placing it down all together. The elder rolled his eyes at the familiar 'hmmm' that escaped Aemond as he opens his mouth to say something but he turns mute. Instead he narrowed his eyes at the sight.
Contrary to popular belief, Aegon was not a complete fucking asshole. Well... sometimes he wasn't... He sensed his brothers discomfort greatly and although he didn't want to pry, he wanted to know what laid within the inner workings of Aemond's mind. Call it care or intrigue, but he loved gossip like an old widowed wife. Fact of the matter was, Aegon Targaryen was painful self aware and it didn't take much to figure out that Tyrin Lannister was him in lions clothing. Of course Tyrin was him if he actually tried and excelled at things. His drunken habits aside, he wanted to know why his sister in law was so taken by him with golden hair....
"He looks like me..." Aegon turns to his brother only to notice him swiftly walking away at his words. He turns to the man once more, brows pulling in contempt. Maybe he should have been born a Lannister....
To say that Aemond was irritated was an understatement. It was all so ridiculous. The fact that you were throwing yourself so carelessly for a man such as that imbecile. All Lannisters were dazzling armors with nothing truly potent inside. They were blinded by shine and glimmer just as much as everyone else was from their looks. He wouldn't admit it out loud but the resemblance Ser Tyrin had to his brother was uncanny. And he wouldn't dare admit that these unbecoming feelings were derived from that fact alone. Call Aemond what you will, a bitter husband, a possessive man, but he did not like what was playing out in front of him.
Over the passing weeks you had devoted your attention to that man and him alone. From the moment you awoke you were dressed in red and gold, throughout the day you were by his side. He no longer saw you and you no longer sought for his attention. He thought it'd be nice, to finally get you off his back but everyday he grows increasingly impatient. Were you not his wife? He knows he doesn't have a proper claim over you especially with how he's been acting but he still owned his emotions. And he was allowed to feel however he wanted to. Although he doesn't speculate any infidelity from your end, mainly because you weren't the type in his eye, it was plain that you were taken by a lion. Whether you knew it or not, you were dancing with a beast and Aemond would not take such defeat.
In all honesty, he's certain you aren't fucking Tyrin. Now perhaps that was just wishful thinking fueling his denial but you weren't exactly the type. All your marriage he's known you as nothing but dull... The perfect embodiment of who his parents wanted him to marry. Kind, respectable, a push over... In his opinion you were devoted to a fault. Seeing you as nothing but mindless doll who had no other choice but to fall in line and agree with whoever owned them. Hence why when seeking companionship he purposely chose some the exact opposite of you. Alys was older by a few years and had all the experience he craved. It was no question why that he sought for her instead of you. Word around the castle was that you were thought to be too pious to succumb to sins of temptation unless duty was in order.
He hadn't meant to grow so attached to Alys but she was exhilarating. Everytime they were apart he yearned for her body. She was captivating and alluring in all senses, intoxicating him. With long brown hair and a figure that could make the gods envious, she held him with a death grip. His Alys. Aemond knew that what he had with her wasn't love but more so addiction, but he didn't care what it was just as long as he got to have more of it. The differences between you and Alys were stark to see, you were at polars end. But what drawned him to her was the fact that she was so aware of her touch. He liked women that knew how to wield a weapon, and he quite honestly couldn't picture you doing the same. They called her many names for her beauty, searing her as a witch for her dominion over man.
If he wanted an enchantress you would give it to him. You would be better than Alys in every way imaginable. If he wanted someone who can satisfy him then you would drive him into the brink of madness with your touch. You wanted to suffocate and flush out Aemond Targaryen till he was no more than a shell. It started off slow. Switching your clothing in favor of another, something more hugging and accentuating. Your old gowns so colorful and modest were now replaced with darker tones that showed off your body well. It was an odd switch but you felt more comfortable this way strangly enough.
Then you traded innocent stares for something more bidden, your once doe eyes turning siren as you realize the effects of you had. Perhaps Aemond cheating on you was a blessing in disguise. You only now realize how good it felt to be wanted. All throughout court, men and women a like would fall in line for you. They would bow if you commanded so. You looked like someone to be taken seriously and not so much like a walking virtue. Everytime you entered a room eyes would be on you, the silent respect your new aura demanded was intoxicating. You knew who you were and what you were capable of, it was time for them now to know too.
It was empowering. You felt Immortal and unchallenged. To have them speak so nervously to you, the shy stares and permanent blushes. Your new change had prompted many curiosities but what captures people so was your attitude. Cunning, sly and quick witted, all the aspects of your being that you suppressed. You had never felt this in control all your life, like the tides were moved by your will.
All your life you've been taught to be one way despite your true wishes. You painted yourself as the image of what a lady was supposed to be without understanding why you were doing it. Or who you were doing it for. Perhaps this is why the change was so liberating, because you no longer chose to hide yourself. Maybe this was who you were all along and just needed a push to embrace it. You no longer felt like you were wearing a mask and truthfully you don't think you could ever put it on again. Not when they all doted around you. Not they all craved for you. Not when you had such power over desires.
They all fell into line... all but Aemond.... but you had something special for him. For now you let his judgment cloud him. You doubt that he's picked up on your facade faltering. It was quite strange to embrace the very values your teaching went against. Sensuality, unkept emotions, temptation. Having been guided to act one way only to realize that people yearned for the other more. To switch from being subdued to domineering. You no longer let people tell you what to do and how truly inebriating it was.
〄
"You are intoxicating...."
You know not how much time has passed, only consumed on Tyrin's lips as he grasped your body all over. Laughing when his teeth grazed your neck, you threw your head back in bliss. Maybe this was what the Septa was trying to keep you away from, the overwhelming sensations of sex. It rushes through you, sending your skin on fire in it's wake. God, he knew how to please you so. Giggling into your ear as his golden locks curtain the sinful things he whispered, Tyrin's fingers expertly yanks your skirt up. You let him pin you to the bed, a stupid smile spreading across your face. If such an act was so bad then why on earth did it feel so good?
How exhilarating it was to be desired, to be wanted and fondled with care. And to think, all this time you had spent rotting away in your bed chambers waiting for Aemond. If he would not satisfy you then you would satisfy yourself, fulfillment taking the form of a rogue lover. Perhaps it was messy to set your eyes on the men of the court but maybe that's what you wanted. You like the thrill of getting caught, liked the rumors that murmured through the halls. Although you hadn't slept with anyone but Tyrin, you couldn't contain yourself from teasing the occasional lord and lady. Naturally, word got around of your effects and of you and Tyrin's speculated affairs. And not so long after, word finally traveled to your dear stupid husband. Though it wasn't until he caught you in the middle of the act did he finally take it seriously. Up until this point they were but toothless claims, not believing his tight laced wife would ever be capable enough to find her own back bone.
"Faster.... faster..." You say through half lidded eyes, blurry vision locked onto the man in between your legs. Your fingers intertwined with his golden hair as you guide his head at your will. Body heaving and grinding up against his mouth. You pull at your skirts more to get a better view of his face.
All was falling into place and you would make your first strike as footsteps approached up the hall. You were nearing ecstasy as your eyes stay trained onto the door. You had perfectly timed everything and in a manner of seconds you would land such a blow so harsh that it would shatter Aemonds views of you. His boring and dull, obedient little wife coming undone by a man that was not him. You suppress a moan as Tyrin slips his middle finger in you, fucking you in and out as his lips wrap around your swollen clit. Almost there, almost there....
Oh it was all too much yet not enough at the same time. It floods you, sending you over the edge as you desperately grasp onto the bed covers. And at the sound of the door opening you let out a series of gasps turned moans as you lock eyes with the cause of your downfall. The look on his face was satisfaction enough, but you wanted more. Eyes closing in bliss as your head falls onto the bed, a laugh so sinister rings through the room. You pull your skirt over to hide your exposed skin as you smile up at Tyrin. Drawing him close to place a long loving kiss on his lips, you nod your head out the door, whispering empty promises of later. Aemond watches the whole exchange, mouth clenched and fists balled. As the man walked past him and out the door Aemond had to physically stop himself from mauling him and setting him on fire.
There was no doubt about it, he was angry. Shaking in place much like you had in your seat weeks ago. He didn't know what these emotions were blossoming in his chest but he didn't like it. It burned in a way so violent he fears that a hole may form in his chest. He does nothing for a few moments, simply standing in place eyeing you like a predator to it's prey. You do the same, putting all your body weight on your elbow as you laid on the bed unmoving. If he expected a stream of desperate apologies to fall from your mouth then he was not going to get it. You looked at eachother with much venom and alcohol. The gratification you got coursed through you as the image he had witnessed stayed forever burned in his brain.
Good. You wanted him to remember that forever. Much like you'll remember his actions towards you for eternity. Suddenly you were angry. Angry at him, angry at his fucking Alys, angry at Ser Larys. Snarling in hate as your gaze hardens you force yourself to speak.
"Get out." The words were cold, and for a moment Aemond flinches as it echoed through the walls. He does what you command, harshly shutting the door behind him and you fall onto the bed once more.
What had you done?
You were getting even. You wouldn't be here if he hadn't have provoked you first. Truthfully, you didn't know what scared you more, the fact that you could have potentially ruined your marriage or how absolutely addicting it was to inflict pain onto him. One things for certain though, you weren't done.
Aemond didn't know what to feel. He was a mess of emotions, lashing out at anything and everything in his way. A part of him knew that this was only fair yet why did it hurt him so bad? He thought he didn't care about you, thought you were a mere pawn in this game but it appeared that all this time you were playing him. All of it is a mystery to him as he begins to think on your relationship more. What parts of you were actually real, which was really you and which was his wife? Were your affections for him true and had he hurt you so? All this time he thought you were playing a role, or maybe you were. Because the girl laying on that bed laughing like the stranger was not his wife.
No, she was a demon. A succubus getting off on his pain. All of it is so confusing, the bruises you left dragging him down into the depths. Yet why did it excite him a little... Watching you like that.... Aemond feels as though he couldn't breathe, the remaining fragments of his heart shriveled at the thought of falling victim to weakness. He would not allow this, he wouldn't allow a man like Tyrin Lannister to best him and steal you away. The sorrow he felt was akin to an old friend, the bittersweetness that plagued his soul reminded him of his youth. This was a feeling he promised himself he would never endure again. The feeling of being less than and not enough. He had failed you. He had failed you so bad that you had to go seeking for another. Now he knew that he was being a hypocrite on that but he was vulnerable.
Being vulnerable was not something Aemond Targaryen was used to.
〄
"You aren't to see him again." Aemond yelled, trailing after the girl as you entered your shared chambers. The space thankfully empty as you ignored his impending attitude. Your breath quickens as you find yourself caught in a rather unpleasant situation. It had been merely an hour since that gurly sight with Ser Tyrin Lannister, and Aemond finds himself losing all remaining composure he had left with you.
"Huh?" There was something rather vexing about your tone that proved to be daggers in Aemond's ears. The way you expressed such profound boredom and taciturn, as if this conversation was an inconvenience to you. You displayed an tired exposure that puzzled him to no end because the confrontation has yet to begin. Your slack demeanor and annoyed undertone was both riddling and infuriating to Aemond.
"Ser Tyrin Lannister, you aren't allowed to see him again!" Deciding to forgo any avoidance, Aemonds tone was cut clean. He told you how it was, and he did not care about preserving feelings when you were showing such childish behavior. You would either accept never seeing that man, or any man for that matter again, or Aemond would turn to more extreme measures.
"Well... who knew it was possible to evoke such emotions from you. And here I thought you were incapable." Aemond's eye widen in shock as you put on an uncharacteristic display of theatrics. You scoffed and silently berated him with your inflection. This was a side of you he's never seen before. It was a tiny probe that was meant to provoke him by angling into his worries in a brash and unnecessary way. Aemond didn't know whether or not you were intentionally trying to anger him, but he couldn't find it in himself to care if it was deliberate or not.
"...I beg your pardon?" His words wry and barren with any emotions, genuinely taken aback.
"Well then kneel and start begging." You turn to him sharply, backing him against the door as he looked down at you in shock, yet you don't back down.
"You can't tell me what to do. But if you wish to keep believing that you have some sort of power over me, I will try my best to be more discreet with my partners." You wave your hand at him, as if done with this conversation but he was far from finished.
"I will not have you acting like a whore y/n! You are my wife and mine alone!" Aemond did not mean to call you that but as the words slip from his lips he soon finds himself regretting it. Watching the way you hesitated for a moment, a flash of hurt gleaming on your face before turning angry. He knew men have called their wives much worse but not him. His mother had always made sure he knew how to treat women. If only she knew how that back fired...
A whore....
He thought that you were a whore......
Normally you wouldn't let such meaningless words effect you so but that was exactly it, it wasn't meaningless. Not when it came from the mouth of the person you once thought the world of. Aemond used to be everything to you, and to hear that coming from him was disheartening to no end. Yes you knew that he was just angry because you pushed him so, but that fact became irrelevant as you begin to feel claustrophobic from your emotions. You felt frail, burning with a thick blanket of insecurities and rage constricting you, like a greedy serpent, ready to prey and corrupt you whole. You felt like Alice, falling into a dark rabbit hole of anxiety and panic, despair beginning to pull you down. It was all too much, and you suddenly began to feel so small. Your once defiance now subdued and replaced with the image of a shaking girl maddened. You felt afraid... not of Aemond but of your emotions...
Compose yourself, you were not going allow such disrespect and you were not going to fall into your old ways again.
"Don't play the fool, Aemond. You started this. Quite honestly what did you think was going to happen?" You yelled firmly in his face, trying so hard to push your emotions away. But thoughts of Alys tainted your mind. He would never speak to her this way. He would never act this way around her. You let the bitterness hug and empower you. The same need to hurt him reignited.
"I am simply playing the game that you started." You were reticent but in a prolix and unnecessary way. You would not reveal that he had hurt you so. Aemond opens his mouth to say something but doesn't for a few moments.
"What prompted this change..." He sounded desperate, his words breaking as he desperately searched for an answer.
"I don't know! Maybe now I don't feel the need to hide behind a mask anymore." You say to him honestly. This need for revenge and affinity for spite and pettiness, it had always been there. Aemond just didn't look at you long enough to notice it.
"I'm tired Aemond. I'm tired of doing my best to please you only for it to not be good enough!"
It wasn't just about you or Aemond being possessive anymore, it was the fact that you had reached your end. Was it so wrong to want a partner that actually loved and cared for you? Was it so wrong to want to be loved? The more you thought the more empty and hollow you felt. You can feel your soul decaying all together as anxiety crept up on you. He didn't want you.... The little voice in your head spoke. He thinks Alys is better than you..... stop... Why do you try so bad? because I must... You don't deserve to be with him... yes I do... No you don't... The voices in your head taunted, feeling feverish and flushed, you took a step back from Aemond. Suddenly afraid to be too close to him. But it did no help to calm the mean words the whirlwind through your brain. It picked at you, in a way that the thought of Alys couldn't but funny enough it was the personification of her plaguing your mind.
He doesn't think you're good enough...
I don't think you're good enough...
He doesn't think you're good enough...
We don't think you're good enough...
It's not just her anymore, the voice that invades your head is your parents speaking to you..... Then it's the King and Queen screaming... And after that it's Aegon and Helaena laughing at you...
It's Aemond talking down to you, —it's everything, it's everyone, all at once, all-consuming, suffocating and demanding. And suddenly the ability to hear is ripped from you; it's nothing. You're forced into a pliable mass being sullied, your body isn't yours anymore. It's a vessel of flooding anxiety and negative thoughts.
"I want somebody that loves me...." You say, looking at the man with such betrayal.
Be strong....
"I want a happy life with a husband that can actually stand to be in my presence. I want children of my own to fill the hole you left." You spoke after a short minute, your voice small and fragile, pleading... Aemond watches you shake and cry from where you stand. He had done this to you...
"I have spent so long loving you but that love has never served me..." Your words were soft, a timbre of spite concealed with broken confidence. You hated this... hated how you got in your own head and ruined your own self esteem... Pain feeding off your scorched heart and the embers of your love for Aemond. It was agonizing... agonizing to watch him look at you cry like this. But perhaps he needed to see you this way.
He had hurt you so badly and the moment he finally got a taste of his own medicine he ordered you to stop. It was the consuming fear of not being enough for him that killed you so, the thought of not being able to live up to the expectations. And for Aemond to stand there and call you a whore when all you ever did was try to love him.
"Forgive me my dear wife... I did not know that you have been suffering so badly all this time. Had I known...." He softens for a moment, trying to get you to understand whilst failing to consider that you didn't need to, he did.
"But you did! You knew and you still went off in search for something I cannot give you. Had you have known would it have changed anything?" You scream in broken anger and despair.
"No..."
You never learn, hearing it in your own head was a lot different than hearing it out loud. It will never be the same, it will always be ten times worse. Aemond had just confirmed your words. Of course you knew that he thought this way but it hurt a lot more. Just like that night with Ser Larys. Your shoulders slump in defeat, frowning as tears began to prick at your eyes. Aemond takes notice of this, swiftly cupping your cheeks with his large hands and forcing you to look him.
"No, because either way you would have been discontent. I cannot give you the life that you wanted." Yet you can give it to her?
"Why not!?" You yelled with such anger and rage, ripping his hands off you. Your voice echoing through the room as you cussed the boy out. You were frustrated beyond measure and above all else heartbroken. Was it truly too much to ask for? You would lying if you said it wasn’t nice having him treat you like this. Maybe weeks ago you would've swoon at the thought of his hands caressing you. But that was then and this was now.
"I am not made for love..." You fear that you can slay Vhagar with the great efforts it takes you now to remain calm. That was his excuse? A pitiful one at that. He had you standing there.... sad and broken... and all he can come up with was that love wasn't in his nature? Pain is the perfect word to describe this sensation oppressing your chest at those words. This doesn't stop you from peering up at him in question. You felt a calling to yell at him but you couldn't, no matter how badly you wanted to you. Staying baffled, every cry dying in the back of your throat. Your visage contorting in somber at Aemonds blasphemy.
"I don't believe you!" You yell at him, pushing at his chest when he tries to hug you. You break down in his arms, collapsing onto the floor as you weep into him. Aemond desperately held you close, oh what has he done to you.... He felt a myriad of emotions wash over him. Guilt, sadness, shame... He was ashamed he pushed you to this point. So he held the woman he barely knew well enough to call his wife.
"Tell me Aemond! Does your heart belong to another? Tell me now, please and I'll stop." You didn't know what you meant by stop. Stop trying? Stop loving? But if he said the words you would end it so. Aemond looks down at you, hugging onto the portrait that was once his wife.
"No! No one has captured my heart, those who came second to you, they mean nothing. They are nothing..." He says quickly, his words ringing truthful. He didn't know what prompted this new change but he panicked at the thought of losing you.
"Prove it to me." You whispered slowly. Uttering the words in a tone so cold and firm, your gaze locks onto Aemond's. Your wide eyes morphing into something else as a small smirk pulls at your lips. Distraught gone from your face as the water flow of tears halt.
"Bring me the head of Alys Rivers."
"How do you know..." He looks at you in shock for a moment, your expression ridden of distress and replaced with something sinister.... Watching his expression carefully, you place your hands on his shoulders and leaned into his ear.
"Do it and I will be yours again." It came out as a pur, a tempting whisper urging him, and Aemond found himself liking the way it sounded. That was Aemond's cord. He was as possessive as he was jealous. Much like you, he didn't like being second to anyone, but would that be enough. Turning your head to meet his gaze, it would be so easy to kiss you but he keeps a firm hold on your waist.
"If not then I will take it myself." Nodding your head briefly, you remove his arms from around you. Standing up, you walk over to your shared bed, wiping away the rogue tears before sitting down. Aemond's brows furrowed in confusion, you were much more composed now and hidden behind your eyes was a sense of coldness.
"It appears that I have much to learn about you my lovely wife. But If it will please you then as you wish." Aemond stands soon after you, nodding his head as he planned to make amends.
"You're willing to kill her just like that?" Turning your head to him slightly, you questioned where his loyalty lied.
"I told you she means nothing to me... Did you think otherwise?" His sly expression displayed a certain vainglory that caused you to turn away. So maybe you had thought otherwise but your insecurities had to come from somewhere.
"If you're lying to me Aemond I will have your other eye." Threatening may not be the answer but you liked the hesitancy it triggered from him.
"I suppose this is my fault.... you don't trust me." Nodding his head as he walked slow steps towards you, Aemond kneels down in front of the bed and takes your hands in his.
"You have given me every reason not to trust you." With a stiff lip, you turn from him.
"I know... But let me make it right." Guiding your chin with his fingers to make you look at him, you noticed a hint of regret and shame swimming in his eye.
"The road to forgiveness will not be easy." You tell him firm.
"I know... my love." You ignore the butterflies that awoke from that title and watch as he rose to grab his riding coat. And so it begins...
༺━━━━━━━━━༻༒༺━━━━━━━━━༻
Autho's Note:
Let me know if you guys want more! There's more to this story but I chopped it up into two parts because I wasn't done and I wanted to have something out for you guys. I swear to god I drop fics unannounce then dissappear for months lmao.
- Armoni
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond smut#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond imagine#aemond one eye#aemond scenario#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen fluff#prince aemond#aemond fluff#aemond the kinslayer#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen angst#aemond angst#aemond and alys#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen scenarios#aemond x you#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#helaena targaryen#alys rivers#hotd aemond#house of the dragon aemond#house of the dragon#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#hotd fanfic
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❛ ♡. header credit. ⎯⎯ 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲. ❜
★ ⎯⎯ aemond targaryen has always wanted someone as his own; and with him already having claimed his vicious mount vhagar, the queen of dragons herself--- what is there to stop him from claiming you, too?
author’s note᛬ heey! 🍓 so……this is my second time posting this particular story--- however, it was a long time ago & someone anonymously requested to read it again. happily, i offered to repost it for them (with the exception that i re-edit it since my style of writing has changed / improved!) … anyways, reblogs & comments are deeply appreciated. ♡ + both aemond & reader are equally unhinged. <3 mwuah !
warnings᛬ mdni! smut, dubcon [kind of… but trust me, it’s wanted], dark!aemond, profanity, she/her pronouns, afab reader, innocence kink, corruption kink, coercion, manipulation, pussy whipped!aemond, breeding kink, cunnilingus, fingering, obsessive & possessive behavior, pet names, romance, fluff. any grammatical errors are my own--- in advance, i sincerely apologize.
word count᛬ 2.5k
𝐎𝐇, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝒀𝑶𝑼, 𝐈’𝐃 𝐃𝐎 𝑨𝑵𝒀𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮.
aemond targaryen has always thought of her as his--- his to protect, his to care for, his to love; ever since he’d met her, he surrounded himself in her feminine presence, around her sweetness and innocence, keeping her close by and never letting her trail very far out of his sight.
unless, of course, it was absolutely necessary, and even then, he’d have one of his most trustworthy guards (loyal only to him) follow her around all day--- discreetly, of course.
however, during their short time apart, the one-eyed prince would be on constant edge; irritable and in a foul mood throughout the time that they were apart, not being able to trust anyone to truly protect his lady the way he knew he could.
oh, how he missed his dearly beloved so--- so much so, that the wayward prince was known for his brutal lashings and merciless beheadings (all a gift to his love) to all of those who merely breathed the wrong way in his proximity.
or simply, sweet gifts of pretty, sparkling sapphires and pearls.
still, he knew that she thought his temper and rage was charming, as she had once told him in that sweet, gentle little voice of hers, soothing his fiery temper as if she were the maiden reborn.
like his own little angel, so delicate, tender-hearted and mine, aemond thought.
sometimes, most of the time, aemond would just simply gaze at her, at her beauty, longingly; like she was the center of the universe and held all of the twinkling stars in the night sky.
most people wouldn’t dare to believe such a thing, but aemond thought it was cute when she learned something new in philosophy, excitedly wanting to share the new knowledge she’d learned from her septa with him--- even if he already knew, just to be able to listen to her sweet, angelic voice.
oh, and on those simple days, content to just listen to her babbling on about whichever subject she deemed of interest; he would lovingly hand feed her fresh strawberries, one by one; the ripest, juiciest and sweetest ones, listening as she breathily moaned in content as each one entered her pouty mouth.
meanwhile, as his little darling continued on about whichever subject interested her at the moment; the one-eyed prince watched in delight as the red juices dribbled down her chin, allowing him to quickly swoop in and kiss it delicately away, causing him to hum in content at the sweet taste.
whether it be from the strawberries themselves or the sweet taste of her skin, it mattered not to the prince--- because the next moment, he would drop to his knees and feast on her delicious, drooling cunt; burying himself right beneath her fluffy skirts as he heard her girlishly moan and whimper for him, as he continued enjoying the taste of her maidenhood.
on lazy days, the prince will sit with her in his lap, one of his strong, lean arms wrapped snugly around her waist, most protectively; meanwhile, his free hand would slip beneath her fluffy skirts and play with her virgin, soaking cunt, teasingly stroking his long, calloused fingers through her wet, puffy folds.
seven above, and the sounds of her soft, breathy little moans, almost luring him to bend her right over the wooden table in the back of the library and rut into her like some wild, depraved beast, claiming her maidenhead as his.
‘twas almost too much to bear for the prince, knowing she was already his in body, mind, heart and soul.
he always imagined what she must taste like that day, right before he would feast on her cunny, almost to tease himself--- like freshly baked sweet tarts, spoonfuls of honey, strawberries…
late at night, while in the privacy of his own chambers, he’d furiously fuck his fist to the thought of burying his face between her smooth thighs once again, wanting nothing more than to taste and fuck her cunt with his tongue greedily; before he’d come so fucking hard in his hand, his seed coating the skin of his taut abdomen and dripping down his fingers--- sticky and messy and entirely spent.
sighing heavily, aemond would barely resist the temptation to exit his chambers and go straight to hers, knowing she’d welcome him with an open heart and open legs.
…fuck, what a waste of his seed, he thinks, for he could’ve pumped her empty womb full of his seed; fuck load after load inside of her, and come by morning, she would already be carrying his son in her belly.
rightfully so; she’s be so beautiful, so fragile, so obedient, a perfect little wife she’d be for him, indeed.
meanwhile, back in the library, aemond would continue teasing her little cunny, occasionally dipping the very tips of his fingertips into her little virgin fuck-hole, feeling how fucking tight she was for him, causing him to harden almost painfully inside of his leather breeches, right below her squirming, little ass.
like his very own wanton, silk street whore.
she continued to moan and whimper repeatedly; making him gently shush her with delicate kisses across her neck, spreading her dripping arousal all around her swollen bud, hearing her mewl his name like a prayer and grip the polished library table forcibly, watching her blissed-out face until she came all over his fingers.
when he made her come so hard with just playing with her little bundle of nerves, he had to slap a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries of pleasure and whisper sweet praises into her ear, knowing how sensitive and needy she was in his arms, just after coming down from her peak and making her come so hard on his fingers.
of course, the more time he spent with her, the harder it was to resist her--- and so, most nights, when aemond could no longer resist being away from her; the need to see her being just too much for him to bear any longer, he’d eagerly seek her out, knowing she’d be in her chambers, awaiting his arrival.
just as eager and wanton as he was, it seemed.
smirking, aemond chuckled softly, embracing her; “my sweetest, my darling, my little love--- fuck, i have missed you.”
he couldn’t control himself anymore, he needed to see her, to be with her, to have her.
always.
specifically, in the late hours of the night, wanting to be as close to her as physically possible; fuck, he loved her so much, he didn’t ever want her to doubt his love for her--- he stripped them both of their evening clothes, his amethyst eye dilated and wild at the sight of her nude form.
during those private evenings, aemond had convinced her for him to claim her as his… fully, in the ways only a man could claim a woman.
with his persuasion, his silver tongue easily convinced her into saying yes; causing him to release a purr and claim her body multiple times that night, until she was a shaking, sobbing and sweaty mess beneath him, full of loads of his seed, while he held her tightly against him in his arms--- possessively.
uncaringly, the prince left all sorts of love marks all across her skin, kissing every inch of her soft, glistening skin that he could reach, suckling on her swollen, puffy nipples, knowing her plush breasts would soon grow heavy with milk for their many babes that’d come someday soon.
selfishly, just maybe; he could persuade his little darling for a taste for himself--- fucking hells, he couldn’t wait for her to grow round and fat with his sons!
insatiably, he would fuck his already hardening, leaking cock back inside of her sopping cunt, his and her own moans of pure love and ecstasy echoing off of the walls of her chambers.
however, even with all of the bliss and pleasure and love; still came her doubts and worries.
his sweet lady, his precious love, his only girl--- was utterly terrified of someone finding out about their affair.
however, the fearsome, bloodthirsty dragon prince would always reassure her; whispering sweet words of his love and devotion into her ears, calming her by kissing her love-marked skin before he would fuck her squelching cunt once again with his cock, ploughing into her mercilessly, filling her with another load of his seed, until tears would stream down her blushy cheeks.
unable to stop herself, she’d let out the most feminine moans for him, not being able to control her sweet mewls from escaping her kiss-swollen lips, sobbing out deliriously as he continuously fucked her ruthlessly, uncaring of who heard them; for the one-eyed prince was too addicted to the taste of her and the pretty, precious sounds she made just for him.
it wouldn’t matter anyway, if anyone were to find out about their love affair--- aemond genuinely honestly couldn’t give a fuck if someone were to tell her lord father that her maidenhead was claimed by him anyone.
if anyone would dare to question his lady’s virtue or purity, he would cut out their tongues, before mercilessly killing them and feed their mutilated corpse to his mighty beast, vhagar.
aemond had always been a possessive man, especially when it concerned his sweet little lady, to the point that most of the noble lords and ladies of the court started to take notice; however, the fearsome prince paid them little attention--- nowadays, his only concern in life was his darling little bride.
some days, when the weather was warm enough and the sun was shining brightly, aemond would take his lady on long walks around the red keep’s royal gardens, right after he finished his morning training session with ser criston.
as always, it was just the two of them, together; and while he watched her instead of admiring the pretty flowers that she seemed so smitten by, he couldn’t stop the tiny grin from spreading across his face at just the mere sight of her.
her, her, her.
his--- his lady, his woman, his wife.
there was a secret, hidden alcove surrounded by various cherry trees and gorgeous pink peonies, which aemond would often bring her to visit; it was almost as if it was their special spot.
then, without warning, aemond would gently press her back up against one of the trunks of the pretty, blossoming cherry trees, kissing her so sweetly, so passionately, so tenderly; it made her swoon and see constellations on the backs of her fluttering eyelids.
“marry me.”
suddenly, she felt as if her heart had suddenly stopped beating and she felt rather faint--- for a moment, her heart felt as if it had skipped several beats, because surely… her sweet aemond did not just ask the impossible of her?
again, aemond spoke.
“marry me,” he murmured against her soft, perfumed skin (that smelled of the lavender oils they’d previously bathed in that morning together) trailing open-mouthed kisses along her sensitive neck, causing a breathy whimper to escape her pretty, pouty lips.
instantly, aemond’s ears had perked up to the sound of her breathing that was quickening, his large hands roaming and grasping at her sides as if to soothe her sudden panic, enjoying the feeling of her womanly curves against his big hands, even through the silk fabric of her pretty, sapphire colored dress.
“hmm…no,” she drawled lazily, though her sweet voice was teasing, “—my father is suspicious enough already about all of the rumors going on about us…he doesn't ask, of course; i’m afraid it’s because he is too frightened of you,” she giggled softly, batting her long eyelashes up at the handsome prince.
aemond smirked, amused by his little darling.
“besides,” she continued softly, her usual sweetened voice saddened and aemond watched as his lady’s heart was visibly breaking right before his own eye, “—my father… he will arrange a betrothal for me soon and i must do my duty, as is expected of me,” she whispered, while gently twirling a few strands of her lover’s long silvery hair around one of her fingers, her face sullen--- like a little girl having her favorite treat taken away from her.
aemond hummed; a soft, dangerous sound as his face remained stoic, not displaying a single emotion that he was currently feeling--- his natural-born eye on the other hand…was a raging storm of a dark, angry violet, screaming promises of fire and blood.
“that'll never happen,” aemond murmured softly, his voice a raspy baritone, completely unbothered, “—if your father even dares to try and take you away from me, he'll suffer a most painful death; i assure you, my sweet lady.”
her heart fluttered, both of her cheeks heating up and her head began to feel fuzzy, a dreamy expression forming on her pretty face; though she wasn’t sure if it was from the warm weather or by his loving, murderous words.
“you're so sweet,” she cooed dreamily, smiling up at him as she wrapped both of her arms around his neck loosely, her fingers gently brushing through more of his long silvery hair, feeling how silky-smooth the strands were--- curtsey of the queen, his darling mother; a sweet gift of scented oils she had gotten for her favorite son all the way from pentos.
“only for you, my beloved,” the prince promised, tenderly brushing his knuckles along one of her rosy cheeks, bending down towards her shorter height and capturing her rouge-stained lips in a sweet, deeply passionate kiss--- a deep, throaty sound of lust escaping from him.
ah, she tastes of the sweetest of innocence and strawberries.
his favorite.
‘twas as if the prince could never get enough of her taste, of her.
sweetly, she releases a little whine, high-pitched and so needy for him; the sweetness of a poisonous kiss--- oh, how he wants to love her forever and bathe in all of the glorious love she had to offer him.
gods, he loved her… only, only, only her.
“my angel, so soft and pure, so innocent; and your precious heart… it is mine,” he growled, deepening the kiss against her lips--- his large, warm and calloused hands began trailing down to cup her sweet, little ass through her skirts, bundling the silky, sapphire colored fabric in his greedy hands to fondle and squeeze the soft flesh of her asscheeks; pinching and clutching possessively.
grinning wolfishly, aemond trailed his open-mouthed kisses down her delicate neck, suckling freshly new love marks into her fading, bruised skin--- all across her neck, jawline, collarbones and the very tops of her soft, perky breasts.
“marry me,” he asked once again, sounding impatient, though he wouldn’t mind begging, if it only meant claiming her for himself.
she wrapped her arms around his neck more snugly, standing on the tips of her toes to kiss him sweetly, all across his chin and the corners of his mouth, feeling his hands roam freely all over her once more before settling still, giving her backside a loving squeeze.
“be my wife,” he pleads once more, his tone of voice more desperate than ever before, sweet as sugar and the burning flesh of corpses.
she released a small sigh, moving closer just slightly so that she could brush her saliva-coated lips softly against his own, “yes,” she breathed lovingly, feeling as he visibly shuddered against her just from her mere acceptance of his begging proposal.
“i’ve always been yours.”
fin.
#꒰ ⋆ ♡⃘ 𝗇𝗈𝖺’𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌. ꒱#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond the kinslayer#aemond one eye#prince aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond fanfic#aemond smut#aemond fluff#hotd aemond#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#hotd season 1#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#unhinged!aemond#ewan mitchell
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❝Uncle Aegon said you threatened muña— threatened!❞
[ Aegon amusingly reveals to your children how his brother actually met you. ]
[ 2,272 ] | aemond targaryen x dr. wife!reader, modern au!
contains— no warnings, just fluff, innuendo - children (you & aems have four kids hsdhjsdhs) - aemond being a dick the first time he met you!! but within reason ig??? - you're a doctor, hon, cos you're so smart - aegon being the fun, shit-stirrer uncle help - hospital? accident but no graphic depictions.
a/n— enjoy my first fic mwa ♡ comment, like & reblog at will!
Every weekend, you spend your days with your mother in law and the rest of the family. Family— to your husband — is very important. Spending it surrounded not just you and your kids, but his mother, his siblings, and the afternoon sun casting a glow over the family home that he grew up in, through hells and heavens, was everything to Aemond Targaryen.
A few times a year, Aemond forgets his family also included his older brother.
Because when the birds are chirping, the music of the trees swaying in the breeze are calming, and you are lying on top of him on the hammock, lazily swaying about as he relished in the feel of your body on top of his, your warmth engulfing his senses, and a book he placed gently on top of your back— of course Aegon Targaryen was going to be the reason his oldest child and teenage daughter, was going to come thundering in big steps and a huff, smacking her hands to her hips and glaring at her father.
"You lied to me, daddy!" she half roared as she stopped right in front of him. Her siblings, like little ducks, followed suit as they clamoured all over the hammock, giggling at their mother who woke up from her drowsy reverie, blowing raspberries at them before turning amusedly at their daughter, then to Aemond.
"What'd you lie about, hon?" you asked with sleepy mirth in your eyes.
"Apart from Santa and the Easter Bunny incident, I have no idea." He kissed the top of your nose, then sighed, as you rose and untangled yourself from him, picking up your youngest, Daegon, only about four years old, murmurs of asking about his day and did he enjoy having tea with his grandma.
He then turned to his eldest daughters, impatience and betrayal exuding from them in spades (he often enjoyed how much his daughters resembled him; not so much in fiery-licked rage), and he sighed again before he turned to Valera, his eldest. "Can you elaborate better, little dragon? As far as I can remember, I have not lied to you since you were six."
"You said you met mom through Auntie Hel, you lied," your third child and eldest boy, Rhaegar, said with a happy little giggle as he hid from his father into the dress of your skirt, clinging to your leg. Both of you froze, you with a slow, widening smile as you realised the kids knew.
Aemond on the other hand, wasn't as amused. In fact, his entire soul froze.
"Who—"
"Uncle Aegon said you threatened muña, threatened!" your second daughter, Rhaella, shouted, eyes bugged out in disbelief. Rhaegar giggled again, no doubt remembering the chaos that ensued once their uncle told the magnificent story without his permission as his sisters lost their mind.
"I—"
Valera, often sweet and admired her father fiercely (she had three years of being an only child before Rhaella was born, and Aemond did not hold back in spoiling her), started to have tears in her eyes as his heart squeezed at the sight.
"You lied, daddy, how could you?" There was devastation in her voice that mirrored Aemond's, a panic growing deep in the pit of his stomach while you tried to muffle your snickers behind your youngest's head.
He would have glared at you if he didn't feel like he was about to lose his mind, instead employing his best 'please help me i will literally do anything you want' wide eye, before you chuckled, shaking your head as you put down Daegon who immediately plopped down on the ground, yanking grass. Rhaegar followed, trying to find bugs; a habit he formed by hanging out with Auntie Helaena.
As you keep a mindful peripheral eye on your boys, you gathered your daughters to you, they immediately latched to your torso as if they weren't thirteen and ten respectively, sniffling and glaring at their father as he was made public enemy number one.
You bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from bursting into laughter as his face sunk deeper into despair, standing up, unable to stay seated any longer, offering them open palms of mournful looks and piercing glares at the manor behind his girls where the reason for his current predicament was no doubt giggling like an idiot.
"My loves, tell me, what did Uncle Aegon actually tell you?" you ask soothingly, running your hands through their silver hair. They looked up at you mournfully, and you bit your lip harder as you realised they even looked like their father in this moment.
"H-he said," Rhaella sniffed. "That he was angry at you. At the hospital."
"And that he yelled at you!" Valera wailed, shooting his father a withering look that had Aemond sinking into himself before he shot his own withering look at the house again, murder in his eye.
"I did not yell at your mother, Valera."
Amused, you raised an eyebrow. "And what would you call it?"
He shot you a 'you're not helping' look as he ave a disgruntled little hum. "I wouldn't it call it 'yelling', my love, merely raising my voice."
At the sort of confirmation, Val and Rhae let out a hiccuped wail. Aemond begun marching back at the house, fingers flexing with a mutter of, I'm going to rip him from spleen to spine, break every bone in his body and stomp on his—
You jolt out your arm, grasping his, laughing lightly as you brought him close and gave him a peck to the corner of his lips. This abated him, if slightly.
"Please don't kill your brother at your mother's house," you whispered against his lips, grinning.
He rubbed your back, more a habit he used to keep himself in control, whispering back, "Wouldn't be the first attempt."
"Then don't kill your brother with your children present, and your wife, who is a doctor. It is literally against my Hippocratic Oath, darling."
"It's why you're the doctor, my love. My job is to defend our honour freely."
"I really think this is your honour instead of mine." You giggled against his lips as he groaned, and you turned back at your daughters who frowned at both of you. You smiled calmly at them. "Okay, okay, girls. I don't think your Uncle Aegon told you the full story. Let Kepa tell you, hm?"
"Is it a good story?" Rhaella asked, wide eyed. "I don't want to know it if kepa sucked."
"If kepa sucked, does that mean we're bastard children?" Val frowned. "Lyanna said bastard children happens when fathers suck, her father said so."
Aemond and you shared a look, his in alarm, yours in complete mirth, before you burst out laughing, unable to stop yourself anymore.
"What is with everyone saying things to children?!" Aemond inhaled deeply. "Please let me explain. It's a long, longer story than just me raising my voice at your mother. Very interesting that your Uncle Aegon left out the part that I was panicking because of your Aunt Helaena and Uncle Daeron."
"Ha?" Rhaella's eyes comically widened further as she pulled away from you and moved closer to her father. In relief, like a cartoon cat dangling the cheese in front of a mouse, Aemond pulled her hand gently until he managed to wound her arms over his torso. "What happened to Auntie and Uncle?"
"They got into an accident, dōna mēre sweet one," Aemond murmured against her head, palpable relief as he kept her close. Rhaegar, bored brought himself and his little brother to their father, until Aemond swept them the four of them into the hammock, Daegon giggling and blowing bubbles at his father's rearranging of them so they wouldn't fall.
"Wanna go?" you teased your eldest daughter who was squirming not being part of the little huddle. Aemond opened his arms, smiling hopefully. You laughed as Valera gave you a kiss to your chest and raced to her father and siblings, moving around until they all managed to fit together.
The tree creaked as you placed your hands on your hips, pouting at them playfully as Aemond met your gaze with a shit-eating proud smirk on his face.
"Come, ñuha prūmia my heart."
"And risk crashing and burning? No, thank you. Go tell your little story while I avenge your honour and maybe get lemon cakes."
At the chorus of 'me toos' and 'yays', Aemond mouthed 'I love you' before you disappeared off, and he turned to your kids, keeping them close to his ribcage; little pieces of his hearts that grew legs and arms.
"Okay, ñuha byka zaldrīzoti my little dragons, so it all started with an accident that was entirely your Uncle Aegon's fault. . ."
Your Uncle Aegon had borrowed your Uncle Daeron's motorcycle to get to a frat party because the girl he liked would be there— this is irresponsible, children, and this is why you shouldn't be riding motorcycles and going to frat parties, yes Val, it's not as cool as it looks — anyway, his car had a broken taillight and he forgot to had it changed or tell anyone.
Your Uncle Aegon... didn't return the bike— or returned back home for the rest of the night, yes Rhaella, it was because he was, um, reading with the girl all night, like your mom and I do when we go to bed, yes Rhaegar, like how we read to you but, um, just with them.
Anyway! Your Aunt Helaena's little pup at the time, Dreamfyre, yes, baby, Dreamfyre was a puppy before she was a big dog, just like you— Dreamfyre got sick, and since Uncle Daeron was at home and he had a bike, Hel asked him. But then they saw it was gone, they had no choice but to take your uncle's car. They didn't notice the taillights.
They were speeding through, which is bad, yes, don't speed, but this was an emergency and Uncle Daeron was doing his best to hit every red stoplight when they tried to go one way but the light didn't go on, and they got into an accident.
No, Rhaegar, they didn't die, you know this, your Uncle Daeron is with Auntie Nyra, remember? And Aunt Hel is just inside, don't cry, baby. Ok, so where were we? Right, accident.
I get the call and I was panicking, out of my mind. All they said was that both of my siblings were at the hospital, declaring your uncle's plate number and I just knew it was his fault. I was already pretty angry then, and I might have transferred most of that to your mom.
Your mom, at the time, was a resident. A first year resident so she still had bad hours, and at the time, her shift mate had gotten sick and no one was able to take her shift.
Yes, dōna mēre sweet one, the times when muña can't come home fast enough. Because she has to be at the hospital to save people.
That night, your mom had been awake for 32 hours. She was not having a good day. She had lost a patient that day too, but I didn't know that, hm? She was just trying to get through the rest of her shift, having finished checking up on your uncle, when I had barrelled through like an angry beast.
All I could really remember was that I couldn't see your Aunt Hel, and your Uncle Daeron was on the hospital bed with a cast on his foot, and your mom had just looked away when I... well...
"— When you started ranting like an absolute madman, demanding better care of your baby brother when he wasn't even wincing in pain, asking for a real doctor because I looked five shies away from having graduated high school," you said, grinning wide as you handed your procured lemon cakes, and outright laughing at Aemond's sheepish, flustered look as both of his girls stared at him wide eyed.
"Kepa, oh my god," Val murmured, munching on her pastry. "That is so bad."
"You had no game," Rhae continued, sort of perplexed about the reason for her conception. "How did mom ever like you?"
"I would've slapped you," Val confirmed, nodding. "Just like you told me I would do if boys acted stupid."
As you couldn't stop laughing so hard you were bent over, your boys found your joyous display wonderful, pushed and kicked around their father while their sisters yelled about their lemon cakes, before reaching your skirts and you started spinning them around, plopping on the ground not a minute later, snuggling your babies close.
Aemond breathed a laugh, pulling his daughters close. "I know, I know, it was so bad. I was actually impressed your mother didn't slap me."
"I wanted to strangle him with the dextrose!" you chirped. "But I made an Oath, so I didn't. But ohh, with that haughty look your father sometimes get when he thinks— no, when he knows he's right? When he doesn't even need to say I told you so, he's just smirking like it?"
At your daughters— even your darling Rhaegar's triple nods, Aemond made a hm of offense, lips flattening.
"I made you three," Aemond said.
You coughed.
"I helped make you three. This is betrayal," he declared before his hands found its way to your daughters sides and tickled them with no mercy. Crows of 'Kepa, please!' between giggles warmed your chest.
"Aemond," you chidded as Rhaella gasped, snorting, and he stopped.
"So how'd you make mom fall in love with you?"
You and Aemond shared a look, your entire life stretching with one warm gaze, and a smile stretches both of your lips. Its lovesick, and familiar to your kids. Rhaella coos at it, but Rhaegar, having favoured his Uncle Aegon, makes a gagging noise before you started tickling him too.
"He apologised," you said. "Took him several tries. Your Uncle Daeron was actually ready to be discharged by the third day. Your Kepa brought him everyday to have a 'check up'."
"Daddy... that is still so lame," Rhaella whispered, in awe of how dorky her father is. Val is hiding herself in shame.
"Got her to accept my apology, and say yes to a date, you two should be grateful," Aemond said smugly.
"Why, mom?"
"Well, he was handsome for one." You snorted at his smirk. "He was sweet for another, explaining he just panicked, and I could understand that. Also he groveled for a long, long while."
"Even after the first date?" Val asked, eyes owlish.
You smirked. "Oh, definitely."
"I did deserve it."
"You did."
He smirked. "But I charmed you anyway."
You rolled your eyes. "You did."
"Come and give me a kiss, my love."
"Ewwww!"
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x y/n#aemond x fem!reader#hotd fanfic#hotd x reader#elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒
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Wait For The Signal ~ Aemond Targaryen x Reader
Request: Yes! Here
Requests are: Open!
Summary: Aemond comes to your rescue after a malevolent suitor attempts to take advantage of you.
Warnings: Attempted and slight sexual assault (dress being grabbed at and alludes to attempts at going further), language, Targcest (niece!reader), threats, protective!Aemond, period typical misogyny
A/N: she’s a little short but not bad for my first post on here, enjoy!
You lay awake in your bedchambers, anxiously awaiting the-
Tap. . . tap
There it is, you grin. The rocks hitting the stone wall that make up your walls was the signal agreed upon by yourself and Herron Redfield. The elder son of a minor lord who has invited you to see the going-abouts of the city - something you’ve always wanted to do and yet never been allowed to.
You fly out of bed, sticking your head of the second floor window and looking down at the blonde man staring up at you impatiently. He waves his hand, gesturing for you to hurry.
You nod eagerly, throwing on your cloak and swinging your leg over the ledge. Then your door swings open and you almost fly out the window in fright. Your head snaps to the side and you groan internally at the sight of Aemond, your uncle.
He simply cocks an eyebrow, pursing his lips in disappointment.
“Go away, Aemond.” You say, annoyed with his sudden appearance.
“Not likely, dear niece. Where are you off to?” He walks slowly over to the window, looking down upon Herron quite conceitedly.
“It doesn’t matter. I am off with Herron, a respectable lord. I will be back before the hour is up.” You hurriedly inform him as you swing your other leg over the edge of your window, wincing when a vine catches your leg, a burning line raking down it.
He simply frowns in disapproval. You roll your eyes and begin to maneuver your way down the vines criss-crossing over the wall to your bedroom.
You can hear Lord Redfield muttering and complaining down below, but you’re moving as fast as you can. The harsh rock and spiny vines are not forgiving, and your uncle peering down up above you only provides more pressure.
Finally, you reach the bottom. Herron grabs your hand and, placing it in the crook of his arm, leads you off. Before you’ve left completely you spare a glance back at your chamber window - Aemond is gone.
Good, you think, I don’t need him babysitting me. I am 18 years grown. I can take care of myself.
—
Perhaps you can’t. Herron Redfield has proven to be quite the promiscuous fellow. He’s done nothing but drink and hump. You’ve done nothing but mope and try to ignore his failed attempts at flattering the poor women in the bar.
You’ve finally had enough however, when he turns his attention to you.
His hands are already trying to make their way up your arm, slurring what he thinks is a form of flattery.
“Lord Redfield,” you burst out in annoyance, thankfully not drawing much notice to your prominent presence, but you calm yourself before continuing. “I have had enough of our endeavors tonight, I am ready to return home.” It has been well over the hour you had told your uncle and you are exhausted. In fact, you suspect it is not much longer until the sky begins to brighten.
He smiles, and you feel uneasy. “Alright, m’lady—“
“Princess, Lord Redfield, I am a princess.” You remind him shortly. A flash of anger glints in his eyes and you are frightened for a short moment. But he calms himself and apologizes cordially.
“My apologies to the Princess,” he takes your hand and lays a kiss to it. “I shall escort you home now.” And with that he places your hand in the crook of his arm and leads you from the bar.
You keep your head down, watching less of where you are headed and more for who might see you. You allow him to lead you down streets and alleyways, all the while the figure hovering not far behind you going unnoticed.
You take a glance up, noticing that you’re much further from the castle than you were earlier.
“Lord Redfield,” you begin hesitantly, trying to slip your hand out of the bend of his arm. “This is not the way to the castle.” You glance around. Nobody in sight. No houses. No lanterns. Only the cool stone walls sandwiching you, slightly damp and smelling of mildew.
He smiles and stalks toward you, hand slithering up your side. You try to back away, but your back hits the stone wall. The cool dampness binds your dress uncomfortably to your back.
“Lord Redfield, remove your hands from me now.” You command shakily, trying to push his hands away while maintaining some dignity.
He looks down at you, eyes menacingly slanted halfway shut. “Dear princess, I’m gonna teach you how to respect the men in your life. Starting with this dress,” his fingers dig into your side and you try to fight him off but he’s stronger than you. He grunts as you scratch his hand, smacking you across the face.
He’s flung backwards. His head hits the wall behind him, hard. You look around in panic. Your heart is racing and tears you hadn’t realized were streaming over your cheeks are freely flowing again.
A flash of white hair as a sword unsheathes, now pressed against Lord Redfield’s throat. You walk over, whole body trembling. Your savior has a dark hood over his head but you swear you seen the shining glint of Targaryen hair. You feel as if. . .
You pull the hood back as low words are being spoken and feel a rush of gratitude.
Aemond.
He turns, quickly sheathing his sword and wrapping you in his arms. Lord Redfield has not moved an inch. His hot breath is in your hair, he smells of iron and fire and his soap. You wrap your arms around his waist, sobbing into his chest.
“Kepus, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gone with him.” You cry, squeezing your uncle tightly. He lets out an angry sigh.
“Do not ever apologize to me, niece.” He is teeming with hot anger toward the eldest Redfield son. Despite this, he is gentle as ever with you. His fingers lace through your hair, holding your head to his chest. His lips ghost over the crown of your head, and he releases you but holds you behind him as he turns.
“If you so much as come near her again, Lord Redfield, that will be the last day you see the light of day, I swear it by the name of the king, my father Viserys.” His words hold weight, Lord Redfield looks scandalized and terrified. Aemond waves his hand impatiently, and Herron scurries away.
Aemond escorts you back to your chambers that night. The next morning he demands he be betrothed to you.
Your grandfather, the king, agrees.
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#Aemond Targaryen#aemond x reader#aemond#aemond Targaryen x reader#hotd#protective!aemond#Aemond Targaryen x reader#Aemond fluff#aemond Targaryen fluff#aemond angst#aemond targaryen angst
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Spoil
pairing: Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen x reader
word count: 3.6k
warnings: lowkey dark!aemond, alys river type themed, reader’s family gets killed, reader is a plaything, sexual themes and descriptions (not a smut), fluff at the end :)
a/n THAT GIF OML uuhhh this came to me in a fever dream apologies.
summary She’s his spoil of war, and his new found confidant.
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read time: 13 mins 26 seconds
A spoil of war.
Is the one thing you had been demeaned down to. From a visiting Lady to Harrenhal, a betrothed to one of the Strong sons, and now to nothing. A spoil of war.
The first time you ever saw him was weeks after the fateful night that your life collapsed. You still remember the cool breeze in your nightgown and the loose hair around your shoulders. How the moon shone so brightly, but only in the early evening before the fight began. Smoke then filled the air as your new home was captured.
And then they were gone.
The Blacks had just packed up everything and… left? The castle you once knew to be lively, despite its cracks, was suddenly sullen and empty. Few staff remained from the ones who fled. You clung to your betrothed along with the rest of his family. Life felt like a ticking time bomb.
It was midday when you heard the roar of the great dragon, Vhagar. A strange time to invade, but there wasn’t much to do. A glimmer of hope, you thought. A glimmer of hope.
Hope is only something a fool would believe in now, you truly believed.
The Strong family was rounded up by the one-eyed Prince. You had heard of him before and knew what the people whispered about him. Kinslayer. Evil. Egotistical. Irrational.
A plea for help, you thought. How foolish you feel now. The Kinslayer swiftly went one by one, killing every single last Strong, down to the grandchildren. All you could do was scream. Your betrothed was gone, and so was his family. The women and the children were all gone. And all that was left was you.
The worst death of all, you supposed. It was certain now, you were the last one on your knees pleading for your life. Perhaps in another lifetime, you deserved this. Watching your new family die one by one, knowing of your fate. As the Kinslayer approached you, his sword bloodied in his hand, blood splattered all over his armor, and his face, his white hair matted with the blood of your betrothed. His facial expression was unreadable as you stared him dead in the eyes. A soft prayer came from your lips as he looked at you like you were the most disgusting thing he had ever seen now, as a scowl moved to his lips.
His hatred for the Strong family was inconceivable. Why did such a man hate a family that much?
He stared you down, taking in every single inch of you. An evil snarl approached his lips as he grunted. “Mmm…”
“She’ll do.” he called out to a man in armor, an older one than the Prince and with Dornish features.
She’ll do? What in the Seven Hells is that supposed to mean?
The Dornish Knight took you by the shoulders and forced you off your feet and whispered into your ear softly as he was escorting you to horseback, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Just be quiet and listen. Pledge your allegiance to King Aegon. Then you’ll be fine.” His words were far from comforting as he intended them to be. Your betrothed blood was still fresh on your hands.
A war camp was your new home. One of the dirtiest places on earth, not for a Lady such as yourself. Men were constantly poking and prodding at you, calling and shouting at you all sorts of terrible names. When you first arrived, you were brought into a quiet tent away from the evil eyes of the soldiers. The Dornish man sat with you and spoke softly. He seemed as if he didn’t want to scare you, but he still did nonetheless. You pledged your allegiance to King Aegon and kept quiet, listening to the first piece of advice he gave you. He introduced himself to you as Ser Criston Cole. You feared for your life, and the only thing seemingly keeping it here was this Ser Criston Cole.
After a while, Ser Criston left you alone. And for a while, you sat confused as so many things were running through your head. Your cries continued as well did the trembles in your hands, the hands you couldn’t pull your eyes from as they were covered with your love's blood.
A maid who was silent the whole time came in with a tub and began to bathe you after you were alone for a while. Why? You had no clue. A bath did seem nice though, you wished to be rid of the horrors that painted your body. You cried as the maid washed you, traumatized by the events of that day. The clear water turned a murky brown as your old life was washed away. A new dress was gifted to you. One of a deep green and a sinch in the middle, tied with golden strings. It was long-sleeved and floor length, keeping you warm in the harsh, cold, rainy environment where the camp was located. And along was an optional green coat of fur, embroidered with beautiful designs. Something you would never normally choose, but there wasn’t really a choice. The dress was soft and felt a bit snug around your body, but you didn’t feel like complaining would be a good idea at the moment.
Your hair was combed by this maid as her quick hands moved through your locks. It reminded you of your old life and your old Lady maid. Who you thought must be dead by now. The soothing words of your old Lady maid calmed you for a bit, as you closed your eyes and pretended you were simply not there.
The maid dressed you and quickly left. You didn’t know the Dornish man was guarding this tent until the maid left, and you saw a glimpse of his armor from the flap of the tent that was exposed when she left.
Ser Criston returned and looked you up and down. It was not in a perverse way though, more of an inspection. Like you were some… some item being prepared. He sighed.
“He’ll be happy.” Ser Criston stated, crossing his arms.
“Who, may I ask?” you finally spoke.
“Prince Aemond.” Ser Criston replied, giving you one last look up and down. “He spared you for a reason, my Lady. You should be eternally grateful for him and his grace when it came to you.”
Prince Aemond? Having grace?
Ser Criston escorted you to another tent. The men whistled and whooped as you walked by, looking like a fresh piece of meat to the soldiers who hadn’t felt the touch of their ladies for weeks. Heat rose to your cheeks as you looked at your boots, praying this nightmare would end. But oh, it had just begun.
Prince Aemond sat in his tent. It was identical to every single one each soldier had on the outside, but on the inside, it was quite different. The delicately carved chairs and a large bed of hay with many pelts over it caught your eye before the Prince did. You didn’t even notice Criston leaving your side until you turned to speak to him, and he was gone.
He was sitting in front of the fire. His armor was gone, and his hair was cleaned. His stockings were hung by the fire as they seemed to be drying as he sat in a chair, not looking in your direction. You stood still, fear wracked your body as you tried to think of something to do. Should you speak? Just stand there? Wait for him to approach you?
“Come,” he said commandingly as he flicked a few of his fingers towards you, beckoning you over to his side. The Prince didn’t even look your way. His voice was much calmer than it was at Harrenhal. You listened, approaching him with hesitance.
He looked up at you, taking in your features with the same blank look as he did at Harrenhal.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked harshly as you stood next to his chair awkwardly. You nodded. “Mmm…” he hummed once again, moving his hand in a way to ask you to sit in the opposite chair. The chair creaked a bit as you sat, giving an unexpected chill down your spine.
“When I speak to you, you respond to me in words. No nods. Understood?” he scolded you, his tone of voice making you twitch.
“Yes.” you squeaked out, almost silently.
“Yes, what…?” Prince Aemond asked you, testing you to see your limits. “Yes, my Prince.”
“Good girl. You learn quickly.” he purred, standing up from his chair to approach you. You froze as he did, not wanting to mess up. This was your only chance at survival. The Prince circled you, almost as a lion did to its prey not once, not twice, but three times. You couldn’t meet his gaze.
“What is your name…?” he asked, now standing in front of you. You answered him swiftly with your name and your house.
“Your father bent the knee to the Princess Rhaenyra, is that correct?”
Your heart skipped a beat. He had? You genuinely had no clue, as you were already living in Harrenhal with your betrothed as the war broke out.
“M-my father, your grace, I have not seen him in many moons.” you quivered, your eyes fixated on the brick of the fireplace.
“But yet you are his kin…” Aemond sighed, picking up a lock of your hair in his hands. “Such a shame. Ironic, isn’t it? He had pledged his allegiance to Rhaenyra, and yet you are mine.” he chuckled. His laugh sent chills down your spine. You stayed silent.
“How old are you?” he asked, dropping your piece of hair and looking down at you menacingly.
“Twenty, your grace.” you replied hastily, afraid of his presence. “And I suspect you were betrothed to a Strong boy, is that it…?”
You nodded.
“Use your words,” he said demeaningly, his long lanky fingers meeting your chin as he pulled your sad eyes up to meet his gaze. “Yes, my Prince.” “Good girl.”
His words went straight between your thighs. “I think I’ll like you,” he says, letting go of your chin. Tears brimmed your eyes. “Do not worry. I will not touch you tonight.” he says somewhat softer, as he grabs your hand. You didn’t even realize they were shaking. “Touch me?” you asked, looking up at him.
“Oh yes. Don’t you understand what this is…?” he asked, making her feel like an idiot. The way he spoke was so demeaning, making her feel like she was the stupidest person alive. How had she not figured out what this was yet? “No.” she whispered. It was all making sense now.
“You are mine. Mine to do with what I please. My spoil, as some say. You will do as I say, won’t you?” he asked, letting go of your shaking hand. You felt like your tongue was numb as he spoke. No emotion was shown on your face as you felt him kneel down in front of you. He placed a hand on your thigh.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked after a while. You met his gaze as he looked up to you, he seemed like an evil spirit had possessed him. His face was different, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. You were speechless again. Aemond was getting obviously annoyed by your lack of response. “You should be,” he said, his grip on your thigh tightening as your breath quickened. “Tell me, my Lady. Are you going to be a good girl and listen to me? Be my plaything, my lover, my company… or would you rather join the Silent Sisters? I cannot kill such a beauty as yourself.”
His other hand moved to caress your cheek. He awaited your answer.
“I-I…” you stuttered. The Prince grew impatient. “Answer me, now!” he yelled at you. You finally cracked.
“Yes, yes, I’ll listen, I'm sorry.” you cried, cringing at the sudden raising of his voice. His cruel smile only widened. “Good girl.”
-
He was gentle to you at first, but every time after grew harsher and harsher. He often prided himself on seeing you at his mercy, his hand on your stomach as he fucked you slowly. He liked the way you muttered his name as he held you in his arms as you were about to reach your peak. He enjoyed watching you leak his seed out on your thighs as you rested in bed after a long night of pleasure.
Even if he was rough, he never treated you as his whore. He would often put your own pleasure above his, which was quite unexpected. In many senses around the camp, you were seen as his Queen. Even if that was far from the truth.
He never liked it much when you spoke. He had no desire to know about your life, your dislikes, and interests, or anything remotely personal about you. He used you. He took and took and gave nothing in return, besides a mutual pleasure for each other. He took your company, as you would sleep next to him in his bed every night. He never held you or whispered sweet nothings to you as you fell asleep. He took your time, as you waited around for him all day. You had grown quite lazy and bored, with close to nothing to do. He took your worth. Yes, he didn’t treat you as his whore. But he would call you names that made you feel like one. You figured it made him feel better about himself, making you beg for his cock and calling you a slut afterward. Aemond would often tell you mid fucking about how beautiful you would look bearing his bastards. Or how good you looked with him buried inside of you.
Aemond had returned for the night. You had gotten used to the angry footsteps and the sudden whooshing open of the tent door flap when he would return from his days. You hadn’t seen him for five days. You heard of his return to the camp by a few passing soldiers and expected his presence in your chambers tonight. But tonight seemed different. It was eerie how quiet he was. He was usually eager to get his armor off and to fuck you, but tonight was more solemn. He angrily threw his eyepatch on the floor and kicked his armor. It startled you a bit as you watched him seemingly throw a tantrum. Mentally preparing yourself for a night of torture, you began your routine as you had in the past few weeks and began undressing.
“No,” he said, emotionless, not facing to look at you. You stopped. This had never happened. He took off his armor and set it aside, and made his way slowly to the bed in his underclothes. You sat on the bed, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t look at you. Aemond could sense your confusion and your uncertainty.
“Not tonight.” he said, his voice sounding weaker and weaker with each syllable. “Oh.” you said quietly, adjusting your nightgown back on comfortably. You sat in bed next to him.
He reached up a hand and took a lock of your hair in it and twirled it in his fingers. He hummed. You just looked down at what he was doing and watched his fingers, then looked into his gaze. He seemed to have revealed an emotion, for the first time in weeks. Sadness.
You wanted to ask what was wrong but decided to keep your mouth shut. He didn’t like when you talked.
He waited a long time before he spoke. He sat there, not moving, and seemingly staring into space. Groups of soldiers marched by, the only sound breaking the deafening silence between the two of you. You knew better than to speak.
“How has Hilda been treating you?” he asks quietly, still not meeting your gaze.
“Hilda?” you asked, confused. “Your maid.” he said annoyed that you didn’t know what he was talking about. His tongue had a sharp, defensive tone to it.
“Oh,” you replied, confused as to why he was making conversation. He never usually did. “She’s been kind.”
Aemond nodded. He was trying. So hard. He just didn’t know how to approach you with what he really needed tonight. Kindness was something he had not equipped in a while.
“Come,” he said, placing a hand on your back suddenly. You were hesitant. “I won’t hurt you.”
You listened to him and scooted over in the bed, lying next to Aemond as he wrapped his arms around you in a sudden movement. Your stomach was filled with butterflies and fear as he did, he pulled you closer to him. You had so many questions, questions you wished to ask and knew you couldn’t. And you stood still as touched you, confused as to what he wanted from you.
“Do you want me to embrace you?” you asked softly. He nodded, burying his head near your chest and the crook of your neck. You could feel his warm breath on your neck.
What the fuck was this…?
One of your hands wrapped around his head and cradled it as the other moved to his back and gave him some small circles with your fingers. He let out a long sigh.
He looked up at you as he rested in your arms. His eyes were wet and his face was one you had never seen before. Aemond seemed like a complete stranger at that moment. “Do you love me?” he asked her with a tired voice.
She most certainly did not. But that was not the answer he was currently seeking.
“I do,” she said, caressing the side of his face and moving stray strands of hair out of the way. He just held her tighter and placed his head back on your chest, his breathing becoming shallow as he tried to hold in the tears. You were so utterly confused. He knew she truly didn’t love him. But he needed to know if she was obedient enough to lie for him. To hold his secrets, to be an extension of just his thing to toy with. He needed somebody desperately right now, and the only thing he craved was touch. Touch and your attention. He didn’t love you and you didn’t love him. But it hurt nobody to just play the part they were supposed to that night. He was in need.
“I-I went to Rook’s Rest,” Aemond began to speak. His tone was different from his usual commands, he sounded scared. You had never seen this side of him before. She nodded, stroking his hair as he spoke. “My brother, Aegon, and I…”
You had never heard him speak of the King so informally.
“We fought our cousin Rhaenys and her dragon… and we won but-” his voice hitched. He was… he was shaking? “It’s okay.” you said softly, daring to speak as your lover shook in your grasp.
You knew tears were now falling down his cheeks but didn’t dare to say a single thing about it. You knew deep down, he was just a scared little boy. Aemond was only twenty as you were. His big persona of being a ruthless kinslayer was peeling back and he was revealing himself to you. It was something he never did, only in the solemn private moments with his mother years ago.
He had broken at the sight of what he was about to tell her.
“Aegon got hurt. Really bad.”
He was telling you confidential information about the King. He was trusting you. “I-I’m sorry.” you replied sincerely. His hands moved around your ribcage and the other snaked around your back. He felt the fabric of your dress and played with it between his fingers as he tried to calm himself. “H-he can’t walk and he’s burned terribly and he’s barely conscious, and his dragon is injured, and... You-you mustn't tell anyone.” he whimpered, his tone stiffening at the last sentence as his ramblings came to an end. “Never,” you whispered, combing through his hair with your fingers to try and calm him.
“I’m- they made me… they made me Prince Regent.” Aemond confessed as the words left his lips with a sour taste. You could tell he was terrified.
Oh shit.
Aemond in a sense, was King. She finally understood how dire King Aegon’s condition was and understood why Aemond had been acting so strangely that night.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” you asked him softly, trying to look to the positive side. If the positive side even existed in this situation.
“No!” he seemingly barked at you suddenly, making you tense a bit. “I’m sorry…” he whispered, running his hand over the side of your ribcage and down to your hips. You had never heard this man once apologize for anything. He looked up to you with his red eyes as he craved your touch. You cupped his cheek, clearing the tears from his right cheek with your thumb. You knew he was afraid. Shocked. Terrified. And he was asking for you.
“I will pray for the King’s recovery, your grace.”
“Aemond…” he said softly. You were confused and he read it on your face. “When-when we’re like this. Don’t bother with the titles. I am just Aemond.”
You nodded.
“I will pray for the King’s recovery, Aemond.” you corrected yourself. “And that your reign may be successful.”
She kissed the top of his head. He held her close.
“Everything will be okay.”
He held you like that for the rest of the night. No violence. No sex. No words. Just you and him, in a moment where he could have his last bit of clarity before he had to put the mask back on and perform for everyone else in his life. He was quite thankful for you that night. Aemond wept quietly as you held the most powerful man in Westeros all throughout that night.
-
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Appearances (Oneshot)
[ canon • Aemond x little sister • female ]
[ warnings: incest obviously, fingering, smut, angst, sexual tension, obsession, mention of arranged engagements ]
[ description: All Aemond cares about is the recognition and attention of his younger sister, but she seems to ignore him and shun him, driving him to an ever-increasing state of withdrawal and dark, grim agony. Something inside him snaps when his grandsire announces that it is time to marry her off. Sexual tension, understatements due to lack of communication, obsession. ]
This oneshot has its sequels: Experience, but can be read as a stand-alone story.
My other works: Masterlist
_____
It seemed to him, though because of this his throat squeezed in pain and rage, that his little sister was simply afraid of him. He couldn't explain her behaviour otherwise – the way she quickly looked away, meekly lowering her eyelids adorned with her long, dark lashes, playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture as she met his gaze.
She was the only one who didn't have their pearly white hair, the only one who didn't have the eye colour due to the gods.
Even when she witnessed his duels with Criston Cole, when she could see how much he had changed, how skilful he was in wielding his sword, defeating him again and again, she did not congratulate him – she turned and left the square, no longer bestowing even a single glance on him.
Confronted again with her wordless rejection, he thought in the back of his head that she was disgustingly ordinary with her dark hair and eyes inherited from their mother, that she could be the daughter of some commoner walking up to his knees in the mud feeding his pigs.
However, his great annoyance usually lasted only a moment, after which he went back to his state of despair.
He didn't follow her, wanting to spare himself this humiliation and discomfort, feeling his heart twitching in rage, in shame that he so desperately desired her attention, a few words of recognition, one warm look.
He saw her one morning through the window speaking to her servant, gesturing vigorously and laughing pearly, joyful; he thought with regret that she was consorting with people who might take advantage of her, who cared only about her position.
That if she were his he would protect her from them.
She would be safe.
She was so careless, innocent, wise and naïve at the same time, looking at him with those big dark eyes of hers when someone in her presence annoyed him, begging him with her gaze not to explode.
His tongue was like a blade, cutting anyone who approached him – she knew this and was afraid to open her mouth in front of him, imagining for sure how cruel his reaction would be.
He didn't know how to explain to her that he would never hurt her, his sweetest little sister, his greatest joy.
He watched from the distance like a cool, sinister shadow as her fingers intertwined with Helaena's, stretched out side by side on their armrests during supper, observed her leaning towards her with a sweet smile, whispering something tenderly, from which their older sister giggled quietly – there was something mythological in these scenes, making a shiver run down his spine.
He knew that they sometimes met in her chamber and even slept together, confiding in each other about their feminine affairs that were beyond his comprehension, however, he couldn't stop the feeling of burning jealousy that filled his chest when he thought of how he wished it was him she visited at night.
He thought then of how tender he would be towards her, how his arms would enclose her warm, delicate body in his tight, firm embrace, protecting her from anything that might frighten her.
He imagined how wonderful she would smell, her oils teasing his nostrils constantly, sweet and intense – looking at her figure seated next to him he felt the need to bite into her flesh like a ripe fruit.
He thought she would taste like a peach.
When at last they had finished their conversation and her beautiful, soft hand reached for her cup her gaze finally met his – her plump, glistening lips parted slightly, as if the intensity of his gaze frightened her, her breasts quivered in quick, shuddering breaths.
He felt what he saw in his breeches, his length all swollen, demanding her closeness.
Wanting to keep her attention on him he lifted the platter with her favourite dish, sweet cinnamon pie filled inside with apples; he saw that she blinked quickly, her cheeks flushed at the realisation that he knew she favoured them.
He watched her swallow with difficulty, her trembling hand set her goblet aside – his manhood throbbed hard when their fingers brushed in the air as she took the silver platter from him. She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, her sweet, plump lips parted to whisper a quiet, barely audible thank you.
He leaned back again, looking at the pleasing profile of her face, her long eyelashes gleaming under the warm candlelight, a drop of sweat on her skin shimmering like a small diamond ran down her neck.
Gods, how he craved her.
He wanted to touch her, stroke her shamelessly exposed back with his large hand, rough from holding the hilt of his sword, and dig his fingertips into her warm, smooth skin, with a subconscious gesture proving to whom she belonged, that she had been his right, his delight and his duty since she was born.
Why didn't she realize this?
He watched with a squeezed throat as she took a piece of pie into her mouth, the involuntary lick of her tongue with which she brushed her lower lip focused all his attention.
The thought that this fleshy lips could in the same way clench around his painfully swollen cock, suck it and squeeze it, barely able to fit it in with her sweet cry of effort.
He grunted, looking away, feeling his length twitching and pushing against the tight material of his breeches.
She didn't look at him again that evening, absorbed in a discussion with their mother and grandfather as he drank Dornish wine, staring dully ahead, its tart aftertaste melting on his tongue.
"I spoke to your mother about the importance of slowly deciding on a suitable candidate for your husband, my love." Began their grandsire with his eyebrow raised in satisfaction, directing his words to his younger sister, who froze in mid-motion – he saw that her hands, in an involuntary reflex of terror, clamped down on the material of her gown.
She remained silent.
"She's still too young, for god's sake." He hissed out feeling rage like a burning fire pulsing through his veins. He grew hot and took another quick, deep sip from his cup, an uncomfortable silence fell around him.
Otto grunted, turning with a creak of wood in his seat, his fingers stretched out and clenched into a fist on the table top in front of him, apparently wondering why such a sudden and aggressive reaction on his part.
"I understand that as an older brother you feel responsible for her safety, however, she is now of the right age and has begun to bleed, and that's why…"
"Father." Muttered their mother, looking at him pleadingly, clearly not wanting him to bring up such intimate and sensitive topics at the table, moreover in the presence of other men.
He saw out of the corner of his eye how his sister dropped her gaze, her dark eyes shining from the tears of shame that had gathered under her lids, her brows arched in pain.
If she had only asked him to marry her he would have done so at once, freed her from this laughable obligation that her marriage to some mere lord would be.
He felt his jaw clench at the thought that no one would ever love her as devotedly, dearly, warmly as he, her blood, her protector, her brother.
"In the coming months, we would like you to meet a few candidates we consider worthy of your hand." Concluded their grandfather, taking a deep sip of wine from his goblet; he felt rage filling his chest when he saw that his sister merely nodded her head, accepting her fate without a word of protest, looking down at her plate.
He got up from the table, bitter and furious, leaving the hall without a word, unable to look at her, once again letting his anger take over him, accusing her in his mind.
Her lack of reaction, her lack of opposition, when it was so obvious that her husband could only be him, him, him.
He walked into his chamber, undoing the buckles of his tunic, throwing it angrily to the ground, remaining in only his chemise and breeches. Although he did not usually do so, he reached for the wine jug and poured himself a full cup, grabbing it and sitting down with it in the chair by the fire, tilting his head back, letting out loud sigh.
He shuddered when he heard a quiet, tentative knock on his door – he ran his hand over his face, guessing it was his Queen, as usual wanting to be his voice of reason, to come to him with her stoic calm, explaining to him why he had to accept the responsibilities that faced their family, including those standing before his sister.
He didn't feel like having this discussion, however, he acknowledged with reluctance that he couldn't dismiss his own mother.
"Come in." He said coolly, staring into the flames.
He heard the creak of the door opening and closing a moment later – he glanced involuntarily over his shoulder and froze, feeling his heart stop in his throat at the sight of her, beautiful, teary-eyed, her face all flushed red with pain, her fleshy, plump lips parted in a hastened breath, her brow arched in pain.
"Lēkia (big brother)." She mumbled out with difficulty, choking on her own tears – he stood up at her words looking at her with eye wide open in shock, driven by some sudden emotion, moved that she had come to him as he had always imagined she would, vulnerable and desperate, seeking refuge and a reassurance in his arms.
"Come closer, hāedar (little sister). Come." He whispered softly, extending his hand to her in a gesture of encouragement; she moved tentatively towards him, looking up at him with her wonderfully dark, large eyes, tear drops glittering on her lashes like little stars.
He parted his lips and swallowed loudly when her smooth, warm hand touched his, thought with tenderness that compared to his she was so small, so fragile.
When he dared to lift his other hand to her cheek she twitched, wrinkling her eyebrows, breathing loudly, distrustful like a maiden who was afraid of a stranger's touch, simultaneously craving his closeness and fearing it.
He breathed quietly as she let his fingers touch and run over the wonderfully soft, firm skin of her pink cheek, her eyelids closed for a moment, a quiet, sweet sigh leaving her lips.
"Are you afraid of me?" He asked in a calm, low, trembling voice, ashamed of how scared he was of her answer, of her rejection.
She looked at him surprised – her lips parted in astonishment as if she didn't know what to reply to his words, her quivering fingers touched his hand stroking her cheek.
"I fear your harsh judgment, brother. It seems to me that my person often arouses your frustration and impatience." She muttered in shame, lowering her gaze; he felt a squeeze in his throat at her words, not believing what he heard, what she confessed to him.
I am afraid of your harsh judgment, brother.
It seems to me that my person often arouses your frustration and impatience.
How could she think so? Was his eternal desire, his suffering so expressed in his gaze, his facial expressions, his gestures?
Did she perceive his rage at the lack of her closeness as his constant displeasure at the sight of her?
He was horrified by how deep the misunderstanding reached – he didn't know what he should do to fix it now, to reverse it, he ran out of words that could describe what he felt.
How glad he was that she was standing before him now, that she trusted him, that he had adored her from the moment she came into the world, cherished her with a love that was warm, tender and devoted, that he believed she had been born to be his, his sweet joy, his beautiful little sister.
He swallowed loudly, parting her plump, fleshy lips with his thumb, looking at her in emotion, feeling a painful tightness in his throat.
"My sweet sister, where did these words come from? How could I feel anything but adoration towards you?" He asked softly, feeling her whole body quiver at his words – her mouth parted involuntarily, letting his thumb go deeper, between her puffy, sticky lips.
Something changed in her gaze, dreamy and warm, from which he felt heat in his chest and lower abdomen, her fingertips digging into the skin of his palm.
"Ivestragī umbagon issa (let me stay)." She whispered in a trembling, uncertain voice, and he felt his breath caught in his throat, his manhood throbbed aggressively in his breeches at the thought that she wanted to stay in his bed, in his embrace.
His surprised silence made her lower her gaze, ashamed, apparently panicking at the thought of what she had suggested, of how indecent it was, surely thinking that he would now despise her.
"Very well." He muttered quickly, not wanting her to leave his side.
She lifted her hopeful gaze to him and nodded, swallowing loudly, her cheeks pink with emotion. He rubbed his thumb over her wet skin and leaned over her placing a tender, lingering kiss on her forehead, her wonderful scent filling his lungs again.
He took her small hand in his, guiding her towards his bed, sitting down on it with his face towards her, letting her stand over him and decide what would happen next, looking at her pleasant, girlish figure.
It seemed to him that she had no idea what they were doing, whether it was right – he could see thoughts and doubts running across her face, fears of what would happen if their mother found out.
"Come. Do not fret. Your big brother would never hurt you." He whispered in a voice trembling with emotion – he was hot, his heart pounding like mad in his chest, he felt butterflies in his stomach, a sweet delight of satisfaction spread through his body.
His words emboldened her; she stepped closer to him, standing between his thighs, breathing loudly. He sighed and closed his eyes as she took his face in her soft hands, stroking it for a moment with gentle, slow movements that made his throat dry up; he felt with horror that his cock was completely hard, all swollen and throbbing.
In a gesture of desperation he snuggled into her abdomen, clasping his large hands on her back – he heard her surprised gasp, her hands froze upwards for a moment before they began in a soft, calm motion to stroke his head as if he were a small child.
He closed his eyes, snuggling into her body, the material of her gown pleasantly delicate and soft; he could feel her flesh throbbing from beneath it, her womb that could swell with his inheritance, his dragon seed that could root deep inside her if only she noticed his devotion and love, if only she understood that they had always been destined for each other.
He clenched his fingers tighter on the material of her gown when he felt her lean in, enclosing him in her embrace – his face was locked between her shoulders, her womb and her breasts, enveloping him in her warmth, her hands running down his back with such tenderness and gentleness that he closed his eyes, wanting to focus only on that feeling.
"I am terrified, lēkia." She whispered softly, her breasts trembling in a broken breath – he moved away to look at her, his hand cupped her soft, warm cheek.
"Marry me, issa dōna rūklon (my sweet flower). Marry me and I will protect you. I will caress you, adore you, hold you in my arms, I will give you everything." He said in a quivering, low voice, placing the emphasis on the last word, so final, direct, betraying how desperate he was.
She looked at him for a moment, shocked, her lips twitching in disbelief, in terror and something else that shone in her dark eyes, but which he did not comprehend.
"You don't have to do this. Sacrifice yourself for me." She mumbled with a blush of shame, as if she thought his suggestion stemmed from his logic and tactics, from helping her not to leave her home, rather than from his feelings.
"How much longer do you want to torment me? Shall I fall on my knees before you and beg?" He asked resentfully, pain emerging from his throat with every word he spoke – her eyebrows arched in disbelief, her breasts began to rise and fall rapidly in accelerated, ragged breathing.
Her face expressed that only now did she realise what he meant.
"Marry me, brother. Marry me and never leave me again." She whispered so quietly that he barely heard her – they looked at each other with wide eyes, not believing what had just left their mouths, flushes of shame and doubt burning their cheeks.
He shuddered and drew in a loud breath as she placed her hands on his shoulders and climbed tentatively into his lap, startling him completely – he felt a jolt of heat, his cock so hard that he felt like it was about to explode.
All he felt was a squeeze in his throat and the heavy pounding of his heart when her soft fingers gently grasped his hand, her face blushing with embarrassment, a sigh full of arousal escaped her lips as she pulled her gown up, slipping it slowly between her legs.
They both opened their mouths wide and gasped loudly, surprised apparently at how intimate and shameless this sensation was – he thought in disbelief that she was leaking with desire, her hot opening pulsating restlessly under his fingers, her hand pressing them harder against her quivering flesh, eager to feel him deeper.
"− please − please −" She whimpered, breathing loudly, looking at him pleadingly with her dark eyes full of tears. He stared at her in shock wondering if it was possible that he had made a mistake, that he had misjudged the situation, that contrary to what he thought, she was reciprocating his affection.
His lack of hesitation, his fingertips that dug into her fleshy, hot womanhood surprised her so much that she squealed and hopped up on his lap – he put his free arm around her and held her in place, not letting her escape.
"− easy, little dove − shhhh −" He hushed her, his two fingers sinking into her plump muscles, collecting her moisture that leaked from her thirsty, throbbing core. He stared at her, seeing the expression on her face indicating that this experience had shocked her, sweet, soft moans erupted from her puffy, glistening lips, her hips involuntarily began to move to the rhythm of his hand.
"− that's it − let me take care of you − brothers know what is good for their sisters, don't they? −" He hummed low as if he were speaking to a small child and she only nodded, clearly having trouble concentrating. He sighed in pleasure as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her moist, sweet lips pressed against his in a sticky, loud kiss.
He murmured into her mouth with delight, thinking with awe that indeed her skin felt like the flesh of a fruit, wet and sticky to the touch, his fingertips teasing her bud hidden between her folds. He could feel her bouncing in his lap and trembling all over, quivering in his arms as his fingers roamed around that spot, their breaths raspy and loud, full of desire.
"− y-yes − right here, lēkia − mghmm −" She babbled in between their messy, saliva-wet kisses – he dared to slip his tongue between her plump lips answered by her sweet purr of pleasure, his hand all soaked with her juices, his long, slender fingers digging into her skin in circular, sure strokes.
"− just like that − soaking wet for me − issa dōna hāedar (my sweet little sister) −" He cooed in delight, feeling his swollen length pushing impatiently against his breeches, thinking only of how wonderful it would be to feel her, to watch his fat cock open her wide, her tight folds glistening from her moisture.
"− mhm −" She hummed between passionate, deep, ferocious kisses, a combination of their lips, teeth and tongues licking against each other.
She tilted her head back and moaned loudly as his fingers slowly made their way inside her, exploring her throbbing, swollen core – his thumb rubbed her her pearl, his fingertips searched intensely for the spot he'd read so much about in books, and when he found it her walls began to clench around him in convulsions, a pathetic whimper escaping her lips.
"− o-oh gods, brother, yes, please, please, please −" She mewled desperately, clasping her hands in his long hair, rising and falling on his fingers with a loud click of her moisture – he grasped the nape of her neck with his free hand and pulled her close, forcing her lips, swollen from his caresses, to join his in sticky, hot kiss.
"− come on, little one − I can feel you are close − thaaat's it, there we go −" He gasped out into her throat when a powerful shudder ran through her body, her moans of delight erupting from her mouth again and again as her hot muscles began to clench greedily around his fingers, sucking him inside, his hand all sticky with her fulfilment.
He was panting loudly along with her, cuddling her quivering body, thinking of how wonderfully warm and fleshy her insides were, how perfectly she would squeeze his cock once he could possess her whole, his sweet wife, filling her to the brim with his seed every night.
He intended to perform his marital duty with passionate devotion.
"− such a good girl − you did so well for me, dōna hāedar −" He praised her, wanting to reassure and soothe her, stroking her soft hair, pressing her face to the hollow of his neck, his hand between her thighs cupped over her pulsing, moist womanhood.
The smell of her wetness, of her flesh, of her sex filled his entire lungs, so lewd, ungodly and wonderfully carnal – his mouth placed involuntarily little butterfly kisses on her beautiful face, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted in delight and disbelief, her hands clenched on the material of his chemise.
He grasped her fingers in his and lifted them to his lips, kissing them with tenderness and reverence as his other hand stroked unashamedly her plump bare buttock hidden beneath the material of her gown.
"Now it's my turn."
_____
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The Woes of Betrothals (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)
Part 2 about the wedding is out now! Read it here
Synopsis: Recently betrothed, Prince Aemond is unsure on the virtues befitting that of a good husband. Ser Criston offers some surprisingly useful insight.
Warnings: nothing explicit, just Aemond being emotionally constipated
Word Count: 3k words. this was supposed to be a short one shot 😭
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!
A/N: In a fluff writing mood recently, so expect to see more fluffs coming your way (not just for aemond :)) 💗
lovely dividers once again credited to @firefly-graphics !
Heavy grunts and the clashing sound of steel on steel resonated through the training yard of the Red Keep. Surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, Prince Aemond, his forehead beaded with sweat, moved deftly to dodge a blow struck by Ser Criston Cole’s morningstar.
It was nearly noon, and the Prince and Kingsguard had been training since the break of dawn. Ser Criston had a look of exhaustion on his face, the midday sun clearly taking a toll on him, but Prince Aemond continued sparring with a fierce determination, parrying Criston’s offensives with utmost precision or viciously swinging his sword to land a blow on the knight.
Whilst the prince was fond of training for long hours, Ser Criston was familiar enough with Prince Aemond’s various moods to know that today, while he was there in person, he was not in spirit. Seeing a chance, Criston quickly moved to swing a blow at Prince Aemond, and succeeded in catching him off guard, knocking the sword from the Prince’s hand for the first time this morning.
Criston expected the prince to get angry that he had been bested, but Aemond merely raised a brow and rolled his eye, “I yield. Let us cease training for this morning.” Applause broke out through the training yard, and Criston had to hide a grin. It had been a while since he managed to beat Aemond in training.
As the crowd dispersed, Criston noticed Aemond polishing his sword at a corner, a brooding look on his face. Feeling particularly emboldened this morning at his victory, Criston walked towards the prince, setting down his morningstar as he questioned, “What troubles you, my prince?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you are insinuating, Cole,” came Aemond’s curt response, but Criston was undeterred. “You may pretend all is well, but you have been on edge for a few days now, aye?” Criston commented, observing how the prince’s jaw was clenched. Oddly enough, he noticed doubt shining in the prince’s lone violet eye., catching Criston off guard “You may have been sparring with me this morning, but your heart is elsewhere. Tell me what troubles you, my prince.”
Criston expected the prince to scowl and tell him it was none of his business, but instead, Aemond let out a pensive sigh, before tentatively asking, “Ser Criston, how do you reckon one should please their betrothed?”
Criston’s ears immediately stood up in attention. Gods be good, the One-Eyed Prince was asking him for advice? And about his betrothed no less. As a Kingsguard, Criston had to suppress a laugh at the irony. “Are you referring to the Lady Y/N Y/L/N, my prince?”
“Well, it could hardly be anyone else, could it?” Aemond retorted, though his heart was not in it. Criston watched, amused, as Aemond hummed contemplatively, “As you know, she and I were betrothed less than a moon’s turn ago. I had not crossed paths with her often before that, but…” Aemond swallowed, thinking of how brilliantly she smiled at him every time he had the fortune of being graced with her presence. He had always knew that his marriage would be one of duty and political benefit to his house, but over the course of getting to know the lady over the past few weeks, he found her company pleasant, and her gentle charm and surprisingly humorous wit a welcome change in the usual dreadfully boring courtiers at the Red Keep. And with every passing moment he spent in her presence, he felt a small sliver of affection for her begin to blossom in his heart. “As I got to know her more, I soon began to wish to be the sole cause of her brilliant smiles, her beautiful laughter, and selfishly, the sole receiver of her love and affection.”
Aemond had to resist the urge to bury his face in his hands. He was sounding like a lovesick fool, in front of Cole, of all people. Gods, he was an idiot, an utter idiot. Swords he could swing and books he could read, but when it came to affection, he found himself no better than an ignorant babe. “It sounds as though you harbour a great affection for the lady Y/L/N,” Criston smiled. “Yes,” Aemond said softly, his voice tinged a little with despair. “But I am unsure on how to best express my affections. She is akin to an ethereal maiden, and I’m naught but a crippled prince, who is stumped in my duties as a husband. I cannot seem to muster up the courage to proclaim my love for her, or shower her with praises and compliments.”
‘Gods, what if she is unhappy with my performance of my duties as her husband because I am too much of a coward to even talk to her about my feelings?’ Aemond thought in alarm, mind racing. He did not want to be the reason why those lovely smiles of hers cease to exist. He wanted to make her feel like the most blissful woman in the realm. But he was completely clueless as to how. Words seemed completely inadequate to express the depth of his affection for her, and he had never been the best with his words anyway.
Just then, Aemond felt a hand on his shoulder, grounding him to reality once more “Breathe, my prince,” Criston’s steady voice calmed Aemond down, making his racing thoughts come to a screeching halt. “I do believe you are overthinking things, my prince. Contrary to popular belief, I think that affection need not be expressed in elaborate gestures or through fervent declarations of love all the time.”
Aemond’s eyebrows shot up, “Then how will she know how much I appreciate her? I can barely converse with her without looking like a stuttering fool.” Criston smiled, a sort of fatherly affection filling his eyes as he glanced down at the prince. “Though I am lacking in experience in matters of the heart, I believe that affection isn’t always just about grand gestures. Words are not the only outlet to express your admiration of her, my prince. You can start with the little actions: spending time with her, bringing her flowers, talking more with her about her interests, that sort of thing.” “And you think that that would be sufficient?”Aemond was a little sceptical.
“Of course, that would not suffice in the long run. You are to be married, my prince, you will spend countless years with each other, you will have to do more than that.” Aemond’s face turned crestfallen, causing Criston to pat his shoulder, “However, given your trouble in expressing your feelings, these small gestures are a start. Build up from there, and you’ll find it easier to demonstrate your love for her over time.” Aemond’s gaze was still pensive, but his eye was sparkling a little with hope. “But what if I’m at a loss of words every time I’m with her? Won’t she find my company dreadfully dull then?” Criston couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from him, though Aemond looked faintly offended at that. “Sometimes, your company is good enough, your Grace. Not all your time spent together need be filled with meaningful conversations. Basking in each other’s presence is bliss enough.”
Satisfied with Criston’s response, Aemond stood up with a decisive look. “I am grateful for your advice, Cole. I shall depart to implement your advice at once.” Before leaving, however, Aemond tilted his head and smirked slightly, “You are rather good at giving romantic advice for a knight, Ser Criston. Your wisdom is wasted on being a Kingsguard.”
Criston barked a laugh, thinking of that someone from so long ago. “Mayhaps, your grace. But I think I am rather content imparting my knowledge to you for now.” Aemond said nothing at that, only raising a hand in farewell as he strode off. Criston watched him depart, a slight grin on his face. ‘The Queen would be delighted to hear of this,’ he thought to himself with a degree of satisfaction.
You were sitting in Princess Helaena’s apartments, forehead furrowed in concentration as you delicately weaved a needle through the handkerchief you were embroidering for your betrothed. The midday sun shone through the long windows, casting a light golden glow throughout Helaena’s chambers.
“Here, what do you think of this?” Helaena leaned over to you, eyes shining with anticipation as you held up your work so far. “It’s beautiful,” Helaena complimented, “Is that a raven?” You nodded, tilting your head to inspect your work. “Do you think it is too unusual to embroider on a handkerchief?” Helaena laughed, “You should not be asking me. Given the fact that-” she held up her own embroidery, and you laughed when you caught sight of a large beetle on her handkerchief.
“I have to ask, however, why a raven?” Helaena inquired. You bit your lip softly, remembering your last interaction with your betrothed, Aemond. Knowing your love for birds, Aemond had taken you to Grand Maester Orwyle’s rookery, to see the various birds he had fostered there. You had both taken a liking to the ravens, with their intelligent eyes and strangely silent demeanour, compared to the other noisier birds in the rookery. You thought to yourself that they reminded you much of Aemond, though you did not say it out loud, watching with fond eyes as Aemond fed a raven and stroked its feathers, with a gentleness you did not know he possessed.
“Your brother seems to like them,” you answered, smiling. Helaena beamed, “I’m sure he would be pleased with your gift.” “I do hope so,” your voice trailed off hesitantly, causing Helaena to take your free hand and squeeze it lightly. You had been much enamoured with your betrothed ever since your arrival to King’s Landing several moon turns ago, and you have come to know and appreciate him for his silent, thoughtful aura. However, his comportment did spell some uncertainty in you. While you knew this was a political match, your heart couldn’t help but yearn that your future husband would love you as much as you did him.
But it was nigh impossible to tell what the One-Eyed Prince was thinking whenever we spent time together. He seemed perfectly cordial to you…but you wished you could get a further glimpse into what he felt for you. Did he feel at least a fraction of the adoration you felt for him? Or were you doomed to spend a lifetime in a courteous, yet dispassionate and loveless marriage with a man you long admired?
Your thoughts were cut off by a sudden knock on the door. Startled, you nearly dropped your embroidery, but Helaena caught it deftly just in time. Sheepishly murmuring your thanks, you watched as a serving girl came into the room and curtsied in front of the both of you. “Your Grace, my lady, Prince Aemond is requesting to see you.”
Aemond? Your heart began pounding furiously, delight and anticipation filling you. Was he here to see you? You tried tamping down your excitement, thinking firmly to yourself that he could be equally as likely to be here for Helaena. “Did he say which of the two of us he wanted to see?” “He wished to see Lady Y/N, your Grace.”
Your heart was beating so fast it felt dangerously close to exploding. Your mind was spinning in a dizzying rush of emotions. Helaena dismissed the serving girl, and smiled at you, “Well, I should not keep my brother waiting any longer for his betrothed. Go.”
“Thank you, your Grace. Will I see you at dinner with the Queen tonight?” “Of course. You must tell me everything that happens,” Helaena’s eyes twinkled merrily. “That is a given,” you stood up and curtsied, before exiting the room, clutching the handkerchief you just sewed like it was the last thing grounding you to reality. Your steps were light and airy, and your heart nearly stopped when you saw Aemond standing by a window, his back to you, looking as majestic as ever in his training gear and his long silver hair flowing down his back. Your betrothed.
“My Prince,” a sweet voice broke through Aemond’s thoughts. He turned around, his eye widening as he beheld his fair lady. She was dressed beautifully as always, in a light pink gown with a square neckline and elbow length sleeves. Pearl earrings dangled from her earlobes, serving only to accentuate her lovely complexion. He strode to her as she curtsied, his hand reaching out to her shoulder.
“At ease,” Aemond’s voice was like velvet. “You are my betrothed, there is no need for such formalities.” You nodded shyly, meeting Aemond’s eye, surprised that today, there was actually a flicker of emotion behind it. Noticing how he shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot, your eyes widened slightly as you realised that Aemond Targaryen, the usually composed and unflinching prince, was nervous. And it was because of you.
Aemond cleared his throat, finally revealing what he had been hiding behind his back. Just when you thought the day’s events could not get any stranger than seeing Aemond being anxious, you were caught even more off guard when you spotted an assortment of pink, blue and orange blooms in his hand.
“These are for you, my lady,” he added, eye darting over her face to drink in all her beautiful features and most importantly, her reaction to his attempt at expressing his adoration for her. He was immensely relieved to find nothing but genuine delight on his betrothed’s face.
“Oh, they’re wonderful,” you exclaimed happily, a flush going to your cheeks. “You are too kind, my prince. Thank you, I love them.” Aemond watched tenderly as she took the flowers and held them to her nose. She was simply angelic.
You inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers, feeling your heart flutter at his sudden, but welcome gesture of affection. Perhaps this was a sign he returned your feelings?
Aemond took a deep breath, trying to recall all the advice Criston had told him in the training yard just now. He had stopped by the garden to pick out the prettiest wildflowers he could find, but he found that none could compare to the sheer radiance of his betrothed when she smiled. ‘Focus’, Aemond told himself sternly, trying to collect his thoughts. ‘This was about making her see how much I care for her, not waxing on and on internally about how utterly struck I am by her beauty. I cannot mess this up.’
‘I must make her see how she has come to become the sun in my life.’
But Aemond was cut off by your sudden ‘Oh!’ Aemond nearly jumped out of his skin, afraid that there was something wrong with the flowers. But he was puzzled when you extended a handkerchief to him, smiling brightly. “I embroidered this for you. Take this as a token of gratitude for the flowers.” Aemond turned over the handkerchief delicately, tracing over the raven and various flowers sewed at the corner of the handkerchief, along with his initials, ‘A.T’ He felt his breath catch in his throat, “This…this is…”
You watched him nervously as he stammered before falling into silence. Did he not like it? Perhaps he thought the raven was too much? You gripped the flowers in your hand a little tighter, saying a prayer to the Seven in your mind.
Your worries were immediately allayed when Aemond pressed a shaky kiss onto your forehead. Startled, yet utterly enchanted, you stared up at him, who looked almost as shocked as you were at the kiss. “I…I take it you like your gift then?” you asked softly.
He let out a quiet chuckle, “I think ‘like’ is an understatement, my lady. It is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given to me. I shall cherish it forever. As I will with you.”
Aemond nearly screamed when he realised he blurted out the last part. ‘Why did I say that, why did I say that, why did I say that!’ his mind flooded with panic. However, suddenly emboldened from the adrenaline of the moment, he finally found the courage to express what he had been feeling for his fair lady. “My lady, I would like to confess something, and I think there couldn’t be a more appropriate time than this. I am hopelessly besotted with you.” He watched her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, and he hurried to add, “Tis alright if you do not return those feelings! I understand, believe me. I do not wish to force you to do anything you are uncomfortable with. But it’s just that I loved you for so long, and I had no idea how to tell you, and I fear if I let this moment slip I will never muster up the bravery to tell you again and gods I-” the energy suddenly drained out of him as he found himself once again, at a loss of words. “I just…adore you beyond belief. Beyond what I can fathom. Please ignore my ramblings if you are uncomfortable with them, just take them as the words of a lovesick fool.” He averted her eyes, embarrassment and sadness filling him. How could he hope for someone as good and wonderful as her to love such a beast as him? The Gods should strike him down for his pride.
A warm hand reached for Aemond’s, interlacing her fingers with his. Aemond looked up in disbelief at your next words, “You have no idea how thankful I am to hear those words…because I feel the same.” You smiled shyly at him, “I was hoping you had the same sentiments as I did, and now that you professed your feelings, I could not be happier.”
Aemond reached out to grip her hand with both of his, cradling her soft hand in his hands, staring deep into her eyes, sparkling with so much devotion and adoration. They stood in silence for a while, before Aemond pulled her hand gently to his lips and planted a reverent kiss to her knuckles.
“Would you…perhaps care to take a stroll with me, my lady? I believe we have a lot to discuss.”
“I would love nothing more, your Grace.”
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You see Aemond's eye
English is not my first language, be kind.
Modern!Aemond x fem!Reader
You are in a relationship with modern!Aemond
Warnings: pure smut with a bit of fluff in the end
Aemond groans, as he squeezes her hips with his hands, as she keeps on jumping up and down his cock. He clenches his jaw, throwing back his head at the beautiful feeling of being inside of her once again. Her breasts were jumping up and down in front of his face, still covered by her bra, her hands beside his head, her head thrown back. He looks at her face, contorted in pleasure and a bit of tiredness as she keeps riding him, moaning every time his cock slips back in, rubbing just the right spot inside her.
He moves one of his hands to tug down harshly the cup of her bra, letting one of her breasts out, so he could lean towards it to suck her nipple in his mouth. She moans even loudly and she sits on his cock, swaying her hips back and forth, as she puts one of her hands behind his head, keeping him close to her breast. He grunts and grabs her ass tightly enough to be leaving bruises later, and he starts moving her so she resumes her previous movements, forcing her to take his cock in and out, as he watches how she wonderfully does so, with his mouth half open.
“Yes… Fuck- That’is, baby- Just like that.” He moans as she nods and follows his pace. He let one of his hands away from her ass to bring it to her exposed breast, squeezing it, then twirling her nipple between his fingers.
“Oh- Fuck, A-Aem-Aemond!” She moans loudly and he smirks. He squeezes the skin of her ass even tighter as he stops her movements, fixing the cup of her bra as he puts his hands back on her hips, keeping her still. He plants his feet on the bed and start thrusting his hips up, fucking her from below, his eye glued to where their bodies combined so wonderfully. She moves her hands on his chest to keep her balance and she looks down at him.
“A-Aemond- S-so good..:” she mumbles as he just keeps speeding up, going inhumanly faster. The room was filled with dirty sounds, the sicky sounds of her juices that wetted his crotch, her moans, sobs and whimpers, and his grunts or heavy breathing.
She kept looking at his face, she loved to drink up every expression of his, all the time, in bed, out of bed. She couldn’t stop looking at him, finding every single detail of his face incredibly beautiful. Except for one thing. They’ve talked before, and almost every time, it ended up disappointing for her. His eyepatch. She had asked him on many occasions why he never took it off with her, why she couldn’t see how he was underneath it, and he simply answered that she wasn’t ready, that she would have been disgusted by what she would have seen. Hearing him saying such things about himself always broke her heart, so she would just drop the conversation with a sadden smile.
“I’ll fuck you untill morning, baby- Fuck, if it feels this good it’ll be worth feeling my cock fall off-” He grunts as he grabs the back of her neck and pulls her down on his chest. She hides her face in his neck, trying to cover her moans on his skin, but he slapped her ass, leaving a red print of his hand on it.
“Don’t. Let me hear you. Let everyone hear how good I make you feel.” he growls, as she presses her forehead on his neck as she tries to get a glimpse of the sight of his cock entering her repeatedly, but due to this position she couldn’t, so she just closes her eyes and moans again, clenching her hands on the duvets under them, squeezing them in her hands as she just kept taking whatever he gave her. He takes off his hand from the back of her neck and he slips it between them, searching for her breasts again, so she takes the occasion to sit back up as he keeps pistoning his hips up.
The stamina of this guy was something she just would never understand.
She puts her hands back on his chest, passing her fingers over his nipples, and she looks back at his face. His lips parted, his rapid breathing and his expression of struggle, pleasure and determination. He grunts and throws his head back as he closes his eye, the scar wrinkling the skin around it, the eyepatch moving slightly. He probably didn’t even notice, but she did. She puts her hand on his scarred cheek, caressing it, as he immediately opened his eye to watch her attently. Giving her a few harder thrusts to warn her, that made her sob harder, almost taking her breath away. She fixes his eyepatch over his eye and she leans down to kiss his chest, keeping her hand on his cheek, sitting back up after.
Aemond’s thrusts were getting harder and quicker, a sign that he was about to cum. She looks back at his face and he sees his pained expression as he tried to hold back, feeling her walls starting to squeeze him, knowing that he was just building her orgasm up. She bites her lip as he keeps looking at his face, and even if she knew that what she was about to do was really wrong, she couldn’t refrain herself, so she moved her hand and slipped his eyepatch off. She met blue.
He was… beautiful.
His lost eye has been replaced with a blue sapphire gem, his eyelid a bit wrinkly and red at the edges. But that eye, that gem… Aemond widened his eye, shocked by her action. How could he be insecure of such a sight? God, she was so lucky, she was in heaven, she felt the highest, knowing that she get to be fucked by him, touched, kissed, by him. She was flattered to even be close to him. She kept staring at him, and after finally having revealed to herself what he looked like, all she could do was just cum. She collapsed on top of him as her walls spasmed violently, never having cum this hard in her life, she just felt wonderfully, hugging his neck close to her as she let out the loudest moan.
Aemond clenches his eye close as he moans back just as loud, her walls sucking him so wonderfully that his legs just fail him when he finally lets himself cum. She puts her hands on the sides of his face as she presses her lips on his. He sighs and kisses her back, pushing her away almost immediately. She pulls away and looks at him with her lips pressed together.
“I-I’m so sorry…” She was panting, her whole body was shaking.
“Why did you even do it?” He growls as he puts his eyepatch back on, but she grabs his wrist to stop him.
“No! Please, I’m really sorry I did it like this, but please, Aemond, don’t wear the eyepatch again.” She begs him. He growls and he pulls his wrist away from her.
“What makes you think you have the right to ask this, uh?!” He was angry, he felt betrayed, and he had all the right to be, she knew it.
“Aemond… I know I-I shouldn’t have, but… You’re beautiful.” She ends up whispering her last two words. He looks at her as if she was a madwoman.
“You should be disgusted.” He hisses at her and she furrows her brows.
“Disgusted? Aemond… who told you that? Your eye is nothing to be disgusted by.” She felt her heart break into pieces at his words. He just fixes his eyepatch on his eyes and looks away from her.
“No one.” He answers coldly. She presses her lips together, feeling her eyes filling with tears. She moves off of him and lays beside him. Aemond was stubborn, what he said, he had to do. She felt it was worth it to try again.
“Aemond…” She puts her hand on his cheek, turning his face towards her. She met his glacial gaze, the one he usually reserved for strangers. It sent shivers down her spine, mixed with pure fear. Did she just ruin everything? Only the idea of losing him made her want to cry and beg him on her knees. She takes a deep breath to not burst into tears.”P-Please… You’re perfect… you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen…”
His expression softens as he sees her tears, and he sighs in frustration, pulling her close, making her lean on his chest as he wraps his arm around her.
“Did you cum for my eye?” He asks so shamelessly that she blushed violently, even though it was nothing she could deny. She slowly nodded her head, looking down at her hand resting on his chest. He heard Aemond moving, then his hand came in her view field, holding his eyepatch. He was giving her his eyepatch. Her head snaps up, looking up at him. His cheeks red in embarrassment, as he was looking away from her. His eye uncovered. She smiles softly, wiping away her tears, as she leans on her elbow to look better at him she puts her hand on his cheek again, turning his head to her. He was so pretty, his cheeks flushed, his gaze drifted to the side, as he refused to meet your eyes.
“You’re beautiful.” She repeated, smiling at him. His cheeks only reddened more as he clenched his jaw.
“I don’t get you. How can you enjoy the sight of any of this?” He answers and I rest my chin on top of your chest, admiring your face.
“I just do. Simple as that.”
He finally looks down at her and he caresses her cheek with her thumb.
“I don’t think I would have ever been able to take the eyepatch off in front of you. I guess it was a good thing that you did it for me.” He says as he looks at her, his mind strangely calm. She leans towards his hand as she closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his soft touches.
He grabs her by the back of her neck and she brings her up to his face so he can kiss her. She immediately wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he rolls to get on top of her. He looked at her, smirking. Her reaction to his eye gave him a huge boost of confidence.
“I won't cover my eye again when we are alone, I promise.” She smiles back at him at his words. He smiles devilishly then he adds:
“Especially if it makes you cum that hard.”
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little dragon ; aemond targaryen. (m)
part two ; water dragon.
pairing ; aemond targaryen x tully!f!reader
synopsis ; he was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest.
words ; 5.8k
themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), fantasy, established relationship (married), pregnant au
warnings / includes ; unprotected sex, tiny bit of oral (f recieving), breeding and praise kink, pregnancy/childbirth, vhagar cameo, aegon being a menace, foul language, aemond being a good husband/dad unlike his own father, so sorry if the valyrian grammar isn't completely correct ;-; if anyone gets the bert & ernie tully reference you deserve a million dollars
main masterlist.
It happened in the dead of night. When the winds quietened to but a feathery whisper, when the moon shone white and gold and silver, when the fires in the hearth of your chambers had waned to a soft orange glow.
“Ñuha jorrāelagon,” he whispered against the flushed skin of your neck, traveling downwards to softly kiss along your clavicle. His voice was gravely and rich, soaked with honey and ocean salt. The sapphire within his eye glinted with the dim lighting of the sparse candles scattered around your chambers, and you craned your head to press a kiss upon his scar, your nose slotted against his cheekbone.
My love was what he’d said—you didn’t know much Valyrian, still trying your best to study during your free hours, but your husband called you that often enough for you to recognize the affectionate words.
One of your hands was buried within his silken silver hair, tugging in tandem with his swift, fluid motions. The other clawed down his toned back, leaving angry red trails in its wake. A strained cry fell from your kiss-swollen lips as you rocked your hips against his.
Aemond held your waist in a tight grip, thumbs brushing against the sides of your ribs with every stroke of his throbbing cock within your slick, heated cunt. His lips, his tongue, his teeth—all blistering, scorching, searing with need.
“Sīr sȳz syt nyke, ñuha embar.” So good for me, my sea. He was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest. A guttural groan tapered his voice to a close when you clenched around him, his susurrating praises mumbled against your breast sending jolts of arousal straight to your core. His rapid, desperate string of Valyrian fell upon deaf ears, buzzing with pleasure. Stars colored your vision a blinding white when one of his hands relinquished his hold on you to snake down your abdomen, pressing his long fingers against your clit.
“Aemond!” you just about sobbed, legs curling around his waist to pull him closer. You were insatiable, cracking your eyes open once more, a thin film of tears warbling over your widened gaze. “Oh, please, please—!”
A gasp caught in your throat as he thrust into you with more power than before, but froze once he was completely sheathed within your throbbing cunt. “Please, what? Have I fucked you stupid already, jorrāelagon, hm? Dragon got your tongue?” he hummed in mild amusement, regarding your beautiful, sweaty form with a hungry, lustful expression, eyebrows cocked as he waited for your answer.
Part of you wanted to snarl at him, tell him to keep moving, but the other half of you wanted to cry and plead and beg for his cock.
Knowing your husband, he would’ve been quite pleased with either.
“I want you to finish inside me,” you breathed out, lips brushing the shell of his ear, eyes half-hooded with want. “Fuck me full of your cum, valzȳrys.”
His cock grew impossibly harder within you, throbbing almost painfully—whether it was because of you calling him husband in his native language, or because of your devilish tongue laving upon a sensitive spot on his neck, he couldn’t quite tell. Expression hardening, he grabbed at your hips and yanked himself out of you, before flipping you onto your stomach and swiftly breaching your entrance in no less than three seconds, earning him a shriek of surprise which winded into a litany of breathless moans and blubbering pleas.
And yet, he remained still, cock stretching you out so deliciously well—but he wasn’t moving. You sobbed with frustration, burying your face into the feather-pillow in front of you, muffling your desperate cries. Aemond’s growl thundered through his throat, and he slid his hand into your hair and tugged you up flush against his chest, so he could hear your obscene noises loud and clear. His free hand creeped down between your trembling thighs, where his middle finger only barely grazed over your clit, despite your fruitless attempts to buck your hips up to meet his touch.
“Ask me again nicely, ñuha embar,” he whispered, placing a loving kiss to the side of your temple. “In my mother tongue—you remember all those lessons I gave you, no?”
You wanted to curse at him. Your Valyrian lessons with him were the very last thing on your mind at the moment. Thoughts hazy, you murmured out a bit shakily, “Kostilus, qogralbar nyke, Aemond. Ta… Tatagon iemnȳ, kostilus.”
Please, fuck me, Aemond. Finish inside, please.
He hummed in satisfaction as he pressed sweet kisses along the curve of your shoulder. He gently pulled out and began to roughly thrust back up into you as soon as you moaned out, “Nyke jorrāelagon ao!”
I need you!
A broken sigh tumbled from your throat when he finally began to fuck you just the way you wanted, knowing that your climax was drawing near. You had no chance of lasting when he began to circle the pads of his fingers against your clit.
“Iksā sīr sȳz. Sīr, sīr sȳz, ñuha embar,” he said, chest rumbling with each word. You feel so good. So, so good, my sea. “Avy jorrāelan, avy jorrāelan, dōna ābrazȳrys.” I love you, I love you, sweet wife.
You preened with his praise, arching your spine and pushing your hips back to match his quick pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin, of your arousal rang loud and true throughout your chambers, bouncing off the stone walls and ricocheting back to you, heat spidering over your skin upon hearing your own lust.
“Tatagon syt nyke,” he growled, motions growing erratic and hurried. Cum for me.
With one final moan, you collapsed against him, cunt spasming tightly around his dick as you toppled down from the edge, pushing Aemond over the brink as well, spurts of warm cum painting your cunt. Despite the both of you already coming down from your highs, Aemond rocked into you a couple more times, kissing your sweaty hairline over and over again as he showered you with muted praise. The sticky substance dripped down the insides of your legs once he gingerly pulled out of you with a low sigh. He reached down to collect it and abruptly stuffed his cum-slickened fingers back into your cunt, wrangling a sharp intake of breath from you.
He chuckled lightly, pulling his hand back out and dragging his tongue over his finger to taste the filthy mix of your essence with his seed, before winding his arm around you to allow you to do the same. You whimpered around his fingers, sucking on the digits slowly—Aemond could feel his cock growing hard again.
With a pleased hum, he languidly set you back down on the bed so he could lay beside you, pulling his hand away from your mouth with a lewdly wet pop.
“I love you,” you croaked, throat parched and voice hoarse from all your moaning, an utterly blissful grin stretching your swollen lips.
Aemond cupped your face within his palms and pressed a chaste kiss to your damp forehead. “And I you, my dear sea.”
MOON ONE.
“It’s been a moon since you’ve bled, my lady,” your handmaiden, Lailena, commented, a knowing excitement to her gaze. “Could that mean…?”
In truth, you haven't told anyone about your pregnancy just yet. Nobody knew except you and the maester, who’d sworn himself to secrecy with a kind, understanding smile. It’d been a couple days since you found out, and you were still trying to find a way to tell your beloved husband. In the meantime, you were enjoying the peaceful privacy of knowing that it was only you who knew of the babe growing within you. No doubt when the news would inevitably break out, Alicent and Aemond would be hovering over you like overprotective hawks.
Not being able to contain your smile, you grasped your handmaiden’s hands within yours. “You’re not to tell a soul, Lailena. I still have yet to inform the prince.”
Your handmaiden mimicked locking her lips shut, a beautiful smile etching across her features. “I am so happy for you, my lady. If you need anything—anything at all, please do not hesitate to let me know.”
“Oh, you’re too kind, my dear,” you hummed, patting her cheek affectionately. You had a soft spot for your young handmaiden—having stopped her from being sold into a whorehouse against her will at the ripe age of ten-and-two. “Will you please draw me a bath? I’d like to wash the day’s labor off of me.”
Not ten minutes later, you were sighing in relief as you sank into a tub of warm water, the heat a relief for your tense muscles. You let your eyelids slide shut, lolling your head against the bath’s edge.
A familiar pair of hands settled upon your bare shoulders, and you didn’t have to look to know that it was your husband coming to check in on you.
“Rytsas, ñuha jorrāelagon,” he hummed, kneeling by the gilded tub’s edge and pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. Hello, my love.
“Aemond.” You shifted so you could face him, the water sloshing about with your movements. Nervousness was eating away at your insides, and you thought that no time would be better than now, where nobody else would bother you. “My darling husband, I have something to tell you.”
For a brief moment, worry flashed across Aemond’s expression, afraid something was wrong. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing bad,” you reassured him, a soft smile hanging onto the corner of your lips when he leaned forward to rest his forehead over yours. “At least, I hope it’s not.”
He remained mute, wordlessly urging you to continue.
“I am with child.”
There were exactly three seconds of silence, presumably Aemond taking time to fully comprehend what you’d just told him. And then, a rare, beautiful smile overtook his usually impartial expression, his heart skipping over several beats with the realization that he was going to be a father.
“You’re not jesting, embar?” he whispered, nose nudging yours. “Because this would surely be a cruel joke.”
Mirroring his growing elation, you let yourself beam brightly, craning your neck to kiss him properly. “I’m not jesting, Aemond,” you murmured, trailing your lips up to freckle kisses over the marred skin of his scar, and around his eyepatch, which you itched to yank off.
“My love,” he said, struggling to find words for how he was feeling. Overjoyed? Shocked? Scared? “This is… you’re so… wonderful. This is wonderful. Avy jorrāelan. I love you, more than anything—and our little dragon.”
You scoffed, pulling away from him with raised brows. “Dragon? You forget I am a Tully, dear husband—they will be half my blood.”
With an affectionate roll of his eye, Aemond lifted his hand to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Alright, alright. Half-dragon, half-trout, then.”
“Fire and water.” You nodded in satisfaction at the compromise, your jubilated smile stolen away with a kiss from your sweet husband.
MOON TWO.
Aemond felt the bed shift as you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and swinging your legs over the edge of the mattress. A small noise of discontent rumbled in his throat as he propped himself onto his elbow, vision still adjusting to the darkness.
“Where are you going?” he whispered, voice still gravely with slumber, twinged with confusion. “The hour is still early, my love. The sun has yet to rise.”
You hummed, leaning down to kiss his cheek, before rising onto your feet, shrugging on a silken green robe. “I have a sudden craving for honey cakes. I’m going down to the kitchens to see if they have any left from yesterday’s supper.”
“Now?” queried your husband, seeming partially miffed, and partially amused. He roused from the bed himself, sliding on a loose tunic so his chest wasn’t bare, and followed you out of your shared chambers and into the hall. “What brings about such a queer craving? You’ve never been particularly fond of honey cakes before.”
Subconsciously, you rested a hand on your stomach. “It must be the babe. I’ve been having the strangest cravings the past few days. Around a fortnight ago, I wanted to have nothing but apple fritters—those ones with cinnamon glaze, you know? For a while, everything else made me feel sick.”
A ghost of a smile graced Aemond’s lips. “I remember—mother said you were looking rather green at the mess table.”
You scowled at the memory, which spurred Aemond to huff out a laugh and tug you closer into his side.
“My little dragon is a picky one,” he murmured, glancing down to where your hand hovered over your belly, still having yet to show physical signs of the pregnancy. “This is a good thing, ñuha dōna embar. They must already know their worth.”
Once in the kitchens, a part of the castle neither of you had ever ventured in before, Aemond scoured around for the blasted honey cakes you craved for so badly, and found them in a small container on the highest shelf. He pulled them down and handed one to you, grinning ever so softly when you didn’t even give yourself time to properly thank him before shoving one into your mouth and moaning around the pastry.
Aemond kissed your temple and took a bite of his own piece of honey cake to appease your pleading urges for him to try it, even though it was far too sweet for his taste.
MOON THREE.
You were beginning to show, and Aemond couldn’t be happier.
“Our dragon is growing,” he’d say every morning without fail, a prideful gleam to his eyes. “And you have never been more beautiful, dōna ābrazȳrys.” Sweet wife.
That afternoon, he brought you down to the dragonpit where Vhagar was nesting with her brand new clutch of eggs, wanting to introduce his little dragon to his much larger one. You watched with wide eyes as her bronze, spiny tail curled around four scaled eggs, each a different shade of copper. It was a miracle that a dragon of her old age laid a clutch of eggs at all, much less four of them.
“Do not be afraid, embar,” he whispered, noticing your stiff movements and your hesitant steps, despite the brave facade you tried to hold on. “Vhagar will not hurt you.”
At the sound of her name, the dragon lifted her head, bright green eyes shifting to her master, then to you. She huffed out a small plume of warm smoke in greeting.
“Lykirī, Vhagar,” commanded Aemond, placing a hand on her snout and gently urging you to come closer. “It’s alright, love. She can sense the dragon inside you.”
Still a bit tentative, you shakily lifted a hand and laid it beside Aemond’s, stroking the warm scales of her large nose. Emerald eyes shining, Vhagar’s chest rumbled, and she dipped forward ever so slightly, slotting her hot muzzle against your belly, as if acknowledging the babe inside you.
Aemond smiled, his one eye creasing at the corners. “She likes you.”
“Though I have never been more petrified in my life…” you began softly, patting Vhagar’s snout and grinning widely, “I like her, too.”
“What do you say we pick an egg for our little dragon, hm?” asked your husband, commanding Vhagar to stay as Aemond led you to the beautiful quartet of shiny eggs.
MOON FOUR.
You leaned against the intricate stone railing of the balcony attached to your chambers, breathing in the fresh morning air. You had woken up early—much earlier than you usually did, unable to fall back asleep because of the baby constantly moving inside you.
Not too long after, your husband stepped out onto the balcony as well, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. Neither of you said anything, perfectly content on basking in each other’s comfortable silence.
His hand laid upon your slightly rounded stomach, rubbing gentle circles over the thin fabric of your sleeping shift. The first birds of the day chirped as the sun rose, spilling golden light over the two of you.
You leaned back into him with a pleased sigh. “Helaena has asked me to come watch the twins today. I’m rather excited for them to meet the babe.”
Humming, Aemond nuzzled his nose into your cheek. “I’m excited to meet my little dragon, as well.”
MOON FIVE.
Since you’d been having trouble sleeping as of late, Aemond found that fucking you to exhaustion was one of the few ways to get you to sleep soundly throughout the night. It was either that, or he could read philosophical books to you in Valyrian.
And though he quite enjoyed reading to you, the prince much preferred the former option.
“Ñuha gevie ābrazȳrys,” he hummed deeply, bordering on a growl, thrusting back into your sensitive, slick cunt. My beautiful wife. “I’ve fucked you full hundreds of times and yet you always want more. I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you everything, sweet embar.”
A low moan slipped from your throat and you desperately pulled his face to you, your lips meeting in a feverish manner. He grunted into your mouth when you clenched around his lengthy girth, nails raking angry red lines down his shoulders to the middle of his back.
“Aemond!” you cried, bucking your hips up to meet his, lips parting in a tantalizing manner.
Your eyes slipped shut with the overwhelming pleasure, but Aemond grasped your chin, softly grunting out, “Keep them open, love. I want to see you when you come all over my cock.”
The intense eye contact made your body flush with a certain heat, hurtling you ever so close to your climax. Your husband snuck a hand between you to draw slow circles on your aching clit, and you were abruptly slammed into your third orgasm, the first two stolen from Aemond’s silver tongue and long fingers, respectively.
Utterly spent, you trailed kisses over Aemond’s cheek, up to his scarred eye. He had slowed down to a gentle rock, cock still stiff and aching within you. “You can move, Aem,” you whispered, placing a tender kiss to the very tip of his nose. “I want you to cum inside—I want my cunt to be dripping with your seed.”
And he groaned at your lewd words, dipping back down to meet your lips once more, all teeth and tongue. His breath hitched as he began moving once more, your soaked core feeling like absolute heaven.
“Mmh, fuck!” he growled, emptying inside you, catching himself with his elbow when he collapsed, thankfully before he could crush you or the babe. “So good for me, dōna embar.”
A low whine emitted from your lungs when he slowly pulled out, holding your legs apart to observe his spend leaking out of your fluttering cunt.
Much to your simultaneous dismay and pleasure, Aemond just couldn’t resist, swiftly moving down to drag his tongue from your cunt up to your clit, grumbling an expletive at your taste.
“Aemond!” you yelped, flinching away with overstimulation, lightly swatting at his shoulders with a laugh. “Gods, you’re going to be the death of me,” you said, grinning when he moved back up with an apologetic smile, dark sapphire glinting with the flickering candles lit about your chambers.
“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. You taste heavenly.” Finally, he settled back onto the bed behind you, pulling you flush against his chest. “Get some rest, Y/N. I plan on tasting you on the morrow. Perhaps you can ride my face again.”
“Sounds wonderful,” you murmured in response, not having listened to anything he’d said, already drifting halfway into sleep.
You slipped into a deep slumber with Aemond’s arm protectively slung over your baby bump.
MOON SIX.
You were grateful that you no longer grew sick at the sight of a regular supper. You weren’t quite sure how long you would’ve lasted on honey cakes and apple slices alone.
Dinner that night was a warm, peppered vegetable stew with loaves of steaming bread to mop it up with. There were other courses, such as honey-glazed venison, and slow-roasted pork belly—the latter of which Aemond avoided entirely despite Lucerys’ hushed giggling from across the table. Initially, he’d wanted to stride across the room and strangle the smug expression off the younger boy’s face, but one look at your stern, disapproving countenance made him hesitate, before begrudgingly digging back into his food.
He was to be a father soon. What example would he set for his child if he were to go about beating his nephews every other minute?
Lucerys was not the only one who stirred trouble at the table that evening.
Rhaenyra and Helaena were pleasant for the most part, querying about your pregnancy and giving their own advice from their previous experiences. Baela and Rhaena were also kind to you, eagerly asking if you had any names picked out for the babe. You told them that you haven’t yet thought about it, sheepishly smiling. “If you have any ideas, I’m more than willing to listen,” you told the younger girls, which made them beam brightly with excitement. You didn’t know the two nearly as much as you wished to, but you were willing to try and build bridges between the steadily distancing sides—bridges that Aemond, as much as you loved your husband, was keen on burning.
Alicent was silent for most of the time, only pitching in every so often to make passive-aggressive remarks to Rhaenyra, and occasionally trying to compliment you with a strained smile. As Aemond was her most beloved child, she’d always wanted to be closer to his dear wife, but found it troublesome to bond with you when you were so very fond of Rhaenyra.
The men at the table, on the other hand, were an entirely different story. Jacaerys and Daemon quietly spoke to one another, but were rudely interrupted by Aegon spilling wine all over Jace’s lap. He drunkenly proclaimed it to be a slip of his hand, a mere accident—but everyone at the table knew he’d done it on purpose. Jacaerys was visibly stiff, but held his tongue, fist clenching and unclenching around a silver fork.
“I pity your betrothed, I really do,” simpered Aegon to his nephew, hiccupping as he downed some more wine. The rest of the chatter at the table halted to watch the drunken Prince blubber on further. “How will you please her in bed if you haven’t the faintest clue where to put your cock?”
“Aegon!” Alicent admonished sharply, eyes wide and jaw set.
The eldest Prince waved his mother away, standing up abruptly, brandishing another chalice full to the brim with alcohol. You briefly wondered where all these cups were coming from. Then, Aegon rounded his gaze on you and Aemond at the other end of the table. “See, my dearest brother has figured out how to do it! Look, his wife is all round with his first child—perhaps the next could be mine. It matters not which Targaryen fucks you, it’s not like you can tell the difference when the babe comes out. Your Tully whore of a wife probably wouldn’t even mind, brother! I’d bet all my coin every guard in this room has sullied her already!”
In a blink of an eye, Aemond was on his feet, lips curled into a snarl. Alicent also stood up, glancing between her two boys worriedly, afraid a fight would break out.
You were the last one to rise, placing a hand on Aemond’s arm. He seemed to soften beneath your touch, glancing back to look at you briefly, nonverbally making sure that you were alright.
You shook your head, glaring harshly at Aegon, before turning on your heel and marching out of the mess hall, leaving a portion of your dinner largely untouched.
It took everything within Aemond not to clamber onto the table and throw his fist into his older brother’s arrogant, drunken face. He longed to resort to physical violence—after all, Aemond was taller and stronger and quicker than him, and would easily best his brother in a fight. But his urge to be by your side was far greater, so he settled with scathing words and a lingering threat.
“You are a foul excuse of a brother, Aegon. If you ever dare to insult my wife again, I will carve out your tongue myself and feed it to my dragon.”
With that, Aemond stormed out of the hall, strides quickening so he could catch up with you. On his way out, he faintly heard his mother trying her best to patch up the situation, rambling in a panicked fashion, “Aemond doesn’t mean it, Aegon. Sit down and finish your supper, will you?”
Aemond rolled his one eye. He’d meant every last word of what he said.
When he finally caught up to you, you were already in your chambers, gently wiping the dampness of your frustrated tears from your cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, tugging you into his chest and stroking the back of your head. “My brother is a drunken fool. Do not take his crude words to heart. He is not worth your tears.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, Aemond,” you murmured into the fabric of his tunic, blowing out a calming sigh. “You didn’t have to follow me, though… you didn’t get to finish your supper.”
He blew out a mildly amused huff. “Neither did you, dōna embar.” Sweet sea. How you adored the affectionate nickname he called you. “I love you. And I would follow you to the ends of this world if I had to—even if it meant missing a bit of supper.”
It felt as if your heart was melting through the confines of your ribs, and you could only lean forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You are everything to me, my darling Aemond. I love you, too.”
MOON SEVEN.
The baby was kicking again. Nonstop, for the past three hours.
You glared down at your swollen belly, before uncomfortably shifting on the bed until you were sitting upright. The babe kicked once more, as if sensing your annoyance. You couldn’t help but huff out a small laugh.
From beside you, Aemond looked away from the thick history tome he was reading and tilted his head. He’d thought you were already asleep. “The hour grows late, ñuha jorrāelagon. What troubles you so?”
With an exhausted sigh, you laid your head upon his shoulder, and Aemond immediately shut the book and placed it off to the side.
“The babe,” you said, threading your hand with one of his and tracing shapes along the back of his palm. “They haven’t stopped kicking since I got out of my bath and I can hardly sleep more than a few winks. Though, I can’t say I can complain—Lailena says the ones who kick more will grow to be strong warriors.”
A small, satisfied smirk flitted over your husband’s sharp features. “Of course they’re kicking around—they’re a dragon after all.”
“Trout-dragon,” you reminded him, a soft smile to your lips.
Aemond barked out a laugh. “Dragon-trout.” His free hand came around to place it on the center of your belly, and he sucked in an astonished breath when he felt the baby moving around beneath his palm. He met your eyes, shining with pride and adoration—for both you and the babe within you. “They’re a true Targaryen. We’ve never been too keen on sitting still.”
“So this is your fault,” you bit out, drawing yourself away from his shoulder to narrow your tired eyes at your husband. “I just want to sleep!”
His purple iris glinted salaciously. The hand on your belly began inching further down between your legs. “Maybe I just need to tire you out, hm?”
“No, I’m already so very tired,” you murmured, melting beneath his touch. Immediately, Aemond retracted his fingers, cupping your face and pressing sweet kisses over your heavy eyelids.
“I’m sorry, love. What can I do?”
With a grateful slant of your lips, you settled yourself into his side once again. “Read to me, please. You have a very beautiful voice—it’s especially soothing in Valyrian.”
Humming, Aemond reached over to grab the history tome once more, flicking it open to where he’d left off.
The Prince began reading the tale of Aegon’s Conquest out loud for you, his Valyrian effortlessly smooth, like pure honey to your ears. Not even three pages deep, you had already given into the alluring promise of sleep, cheek smushed against his shoulder. Aemond kept reading anyway, placing a hand on your belly, certain that his child could hear his low voice.
“One day you and I will be in one of these books,” he told the babe, a wistful smile on his face. “And our great, great, grandchildren will be reading about us and the many adventures we’ll go on.”
MOON EIGHT.
The fire crackled hungrily as Aemond kindled the greedy flames with a fresh wedge of wood.
“What do you think of Jacaelar?” your husband asked. “It’s a fine name for a son.”
You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t know—their nickname would be Jace, and you’re not particularly fond of the Jace we already know. What about a Tully name? How does Bert sound for a boy?”
“No.”
“Ooh, what about Ernie?”
Aemond grimaced. With a laugh, you playfully rolled your eyes. “Alright, alright. We’ll stick to Valyrian names.”
After a moment’s silence, Aemond suggested, “Vaeron?”
“Yes, I rather like that one.” You grinned. “Do you like Daera for a girl?”
Your husband sat down on the plush chaise beside you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s a good name—though my younger brother Daeron might think we named our child after him, and I’d really rather not inflate his ego. I like the name Visera. There’s also Rhaelor, Jahaela, Haerys, Saelyra—”
“Oh, it’s just too many to choose from!” you exclaimed, cutting his extensive list off and sinking further into your seat. “We can just call the babe Aemond the Second and be done with it.”
With a chortle of laughter, Aemond shook his head, fine silver strands of hair tickling your cheek when he drew you close into his side. “And what if our little dragon is a girl?”
“Then we call her Aemonda. I don’t know,” you harrumphed, crossing your arms. Aemond lightly pinched your thigh. After another second, you gently proposed, “... Syraena sounds lovely. Don’t you think so?”
Humming, Aemond bowed his head. “Syraena. It is a lovely name.”
You rubbed your hands over your distended stomach. “Do you know if you’d rather have a son or a daughter?”
He took a moment to consider your question before quietly replying, “I care naught for the babe’s sex—they will be my blood, regardless. My little dragon.” Before you could correct him, he hastily added, “Trout. Dragon-trout.”
The two of you began cracking up with silent laughter, and you turned to watch the fire burn away, small golden embers floating up from the hearth.
You heard your husband murmur Syraena beneath his breath once more, clearly content with the name. A glowing beam graced your expression.
NINE MOONS.
The birthing was the most painful experience you’d ever gone through. There were tears streaming down your face, and your hair was damp with sweat. Aemond was by your side, loyal as ever, clutching your hand and murmuring sweet words of encouragement, uncaring of the impropriety of a man in the birthing room. He’d gone so far as to threaten the guards when they first told him that he should be waiting outside, enjoying the celebration being held in your and the babe’s name.
“Try to keep me from my wife and I will decorate the floor with your guts,” he growled, his single eye burning with a thirsty flame.
The guards didn’t bother him after that.
“Oh, it hurts! Aemond, Aemond, please, it hurts,” you sobbed, another wave of pain washing over your body. “I need the baby out! Come out, come out, come out!” you screamed, skin burning hotly as more sweltering tears meandered down your perspiring face.
“It’ll be over soon, embar, you’re doing so well,” assured your husband, even though he looked every bit as terrified as you did, perhaps even more so. Gods forbid such a thing to happen, but if Aemond were to lose you to the perilous task of childbirth, he didn’t think he could ever live with himself afterwards.
The midwives began telling you to push, and you happily obliged, eager to get the labor over and done with.
It was said that your screams shook the very ground, but that might’ve just been Aemond exaggerating the truth out of proportion.
“Congratulations, my Prince,” said one of the midwives once you’d pushed and pushed and pushed until you nearly passed out from the strain, the babe finally coming out of you with a shrill cry. Aemond could feel his heart lurch at the sound. “You have a beautiful, healthy girl.”
“Do not congratulate me, it is Y/N that did all the work,” muttered your husband, kissing the back of your clammy hand and sweeping the hair sticking to your face aside. “You were wonderful, jorrāelagon.” His face bore nothing but radiant pride, a rare beam stretching his lips wide.
He stood up, turning to the midwife to look upon his small, screaming daughter, who was quickly bound in a red woolen blanket. She handed him the babe, and Aemond gently situated her into his arms.
“You have the lungs of a dragon, little one,” he crooned, expression bearing little else than raw love and adoration for the tiny thing. With fluid movements, he kneeled down beside the birthing bed once more, easing the baby into your awaiting arms.
An exhausted smile made its way onto your face when you took the baby, cooing, “Oh, so you’re the one always kicking around during the night. It’s nice to meet you… Syraena.”
The baby—your daughter—sported thin wisps of silvery hair, much like her father and her grandsire. Targaryen blood ran thick, after all.
You turned to grin at Aemond. “She has your nose,” you murmured, voice thick with emotion and love.
Little Syraena’s wailing began to wane away as you bounced her, and she cracked open her tiny eyes for a brief moment, blinking up at the two of you with a wide gaze.
“And she shares the color of your beautiful eyes, embar. Rytsas, Syraena,” greeted Aemond, expression soft and ever so tender. One of his fingers reached out to gently stroke her soft, chubby cheek. For several moons, he’d read to her when she was still in the womb, and he wondered if she could recognize the sound of his voice.
“My little dragon…” Aemond murmured. “My sea dragon.”
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Heya! Would it be possible to request a short story with Aemond and a painfully shy lady? Like where he thinks that she hates him or that she doesn't care about him just because she cannot bring herself to speak to him and it kinda turns him on when he realizes that she has a huge crush on him? Thank you very much, you are the best ( ˘ ³˘)♥
Run From Me ~ Aemond x Reader
word count: 1.8k
warnings: sensual themes
note: love this request! was fun to write, and I needed some softness!
Aemond had always known he was not destined to be the prince the poets wrote songs about. Since the taking of his eye, he was cursed with the knowledge that he would always feared, always shied away from by the women of the court.
He knew it was true, he watched how Helaena’s ladies drew away from him, quickening their pace when passing him the halls. Averted their eyes from his face. Even though he had taken it upon himself to hide his ruined eye beneath a patch, they still seemed fearful of the dragon prince.
If they shall treat me like a monster, a monster I shall become.
You were the shyest of them all, visibly shaking in his presence. Helaena’s favorite lady, nearly attached at her hip always. Aemond would make polite conversation with his dear sister and you would cling to her skirts, drifting behind her like a silent shadow, cheeks flushed, eyes downcast.
Aemond did not know what to make of you. The disgust you must feel for him was too painful to imagine.
Though after a particularly frustrating moment with you, Aemond decided to seek comfort from his sister.
“She ran from me,” he told her, sitting in front of the fireplace.
Helaena stopped her needlepoint; she had been working diligently on finishing the jade-colored scorpion per Jaehaera’s request. Her lovely brow knits together at her brother’s words.
“Whatever are you talking about?” she asks.
“Your lady,” Aemond tells her, rubbing the scarred tissue below his eyepatch.
The incident Aemond refers to happened earlier in the day. He had nearly walked into you as you hurried in from the stables.
Aemond fervently apologized, earning a small squeak from you as you hastily turned on your heel and fled in the opposite direction.
“I do not understand what else I must do,” Aemond says, closing his eye.
Helaena purses her lips together tightly, a smile threatening to overtake her. Aemond opens his eye, looking at her. He frowns.
“What?” he asks.
“Oh Aemond,” she says, laughing slightly.
“What is it?” he asks again, confused about what is laughable about this torment.
“I should not be telling you this,” Helaena admits, “I have been sworn to secrecy.”
“But you shall tell me anyway because you are my sister,” Aemond says.
“I cannot.”
“I am your blood,” Aemond insists.
“Oh hush you dramatic fool,” she teases, causing Aemond to flush slightly at his elder sister’s scolding.
“Please, Hel,” Aemond begs, “I cannot stand it. This fear, this hatred-”
“She does not hate you, brother,” Helaena interrupts.
Aemond closes his mouth, then opens it again, his confusion is evident on his face.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“She is rather fond of you,” Helaena admits, “She thinks you are roguishly handsome.”
Aemond is at a loss for words. Never in his life did he think a lady, especially one so beautiful as yourself, would think him handsome.
“You jest,” Aemond says, brushing off her words.
Helaena raises an eyebrow.
“Shall I go on?” Helaena asks.
Aemond waves a hand, encouraging her to continue, but attempting to remain composed. He can feel his heart beating wildly against his ribs. You think he is handsome.
“She told me she cannot bear to look at you,” Helaena admits.
For a moment, Aemond’s heart sinks, he feels his worst fears have come true. You are afraid. You are disgusted.
“She finds your mouth too enticing,” Helaena continues, “Every time you speak of your studies she cannot focus on the words that you speak.”
Aemond feels a blush blooming on his cheeks.
“The rest I shall not tell you - do not look at me like that! It is a discussion only ladies may have in the safety of one another,” Helaena insists.
“About my mouth?” he asks.
“About things, a sister should not be partial in hearing about her younger brother,” Helaena says, shivering slightly, “Though I do adore her so much, I allow her to voice her lustful thoughts.”
“Lustful?” Aemond asks, and Helaena slams her mouth shut, “Surely we are not talking about the same lady.”
How could you be lustful of him? Of anything? You appeared so painfully shy Aemond doubted you wished for marriage or love at all.
“Women hold many secrets within them,” Helaena says, being careful with her words, “You must understand, women have desires as men do. We are just taught to hide them. To not indulge in them beyond the privacy of our chambers.”
“And what does your lady indulge in, exactly?” Aemond asks, desperate to know.
Helaena purses her lips.
“She is fond of literature,” she admits, “Literature that should not be read outside of one’s quarters.”
Aemond stares back at Helaena. She sighs dramatically.
“Men,” she murmurs, shaking her head, “Stories, Aemond, erotic stories.”
“May the Maiden protect my lovely granddaughter’s virtue, along with all the sweet doves that reside within the walls of the Red Keep and those beyond,” Alicent finishes her prayer, and you feel your cheeks flush.
You wonder how virtuous Queen Alicent would think you were, had she known what you were up to. You hadn’t meant to read it, you’d told yourself you were done indulging in such filth, but as you were scouring the library the previous afternoon, the title caught your eye.
A Cautionary Tale for Young Girls.
Surely, it was a book you should be reading. A tale of caution, and you were a young girl. Innocent enough, perhaps? So you brought the book to your chambers and began reading when you returned from supping with the royal family.
You had stayed awake, eyes wide, until all the candles in your room had melted to small nubs. Even then, you brought yourself to the window, squinting at the pages in the moonlight. Reading all about Lady Coryanne Wylde and her debauchery. The text was intriguing and left a dull ache between your legs that even sleep could not calm. Only when your hands drifted below your silk nightgown, stroking the wet patch on your small clothes did you find any semblance of relief.
Your palms were sweaty as you were dismissed from the Sept. You needed to return the book before it was found in your chambers. As you returned you plucked the text from its hiding place below your bed, sneaking toward the library.
The great room appeared to be empty as you crept towards the shelves that lay toward the back of the room. Pushing past scrolls, you found the empty slot where the book had been taken by you. Another title caught your eye as you held the book in the air. Sins of the Flesh. Blush blooms on your cheeks as you contemplate repeating your own sin from the previous night.
“What are you reading?” Aemond says, plucking the book with the effort of yanking a flower from its stem.
Panic surges through you. A small whimper escapes your lips as you trail behind him.
“Aemond please give it back,” you beg, following him through the stacks.
It is the first time you’ve spoken to him, the first time he’s heard his name drip like honey from your lips. Aemond closes his eye at the sound of your small voice. He stops walking and you nearly collide with his back, before he turns to face you.
You reach your hand up but he holds the book above his head, out of reach. Even standing on the tips of your toes does no good.
“A young lady such as yourself should not be reading such debauchery,” Aemond chastises, clicking his tongue in disapproval.
Your cheeks burn, humiliation wrapping a fist around your throat as you desperately try to retrieve the book from his grasp. The hot feeling of shame curls in your stomach, and tears begin to form in your eyes, clouding your vision.
“I was only looking,” you tell him, though the lie does not sound convincing.
Aemond raises a brow at you. You’re shaking like a leaf, and you cast your eyes away from him.
“It is alright, my lady,” he says, surprising you, “I myself am fond of literature.”
Your eyes flicker to his face. Aemond opens the book, picking a page.
“Ah yes, here it is,” he says as if he’s found the page he wanted, “The tale of Coryanne Wylde should be read with caution, as it is known once a woman indulges in sin it is nearly impossible to recover.”
You stare at him, cheeks flushed, breathing ragged. Aemond glances up at you.
“Tell me, my lady, have you indulged in sinful behavior?” he asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
It is hard to breathe, your voice feels caught in your throat as it often does when you are in his presence.
“M-m-my prince?” you manage, while averting your gaze.
You choose to focus on a spot on the floor in front of you, heart thumping like a rabbit’s foot. You’re sure you’re shaking by now, and force yourself to clasp your hands behind your back. You wet your lips, as Aemond brings his hand to your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“Have you indulged yourself?” he asks, voice a rough murmur.
The way he looks at you makes your stomach flip, it’s almost too much to bear being under his eye this way. All his attention focused on you, those beautiful lips you’ve dreamt of, imagined doing such sinful acts to you. It’s too much.
“I do not understand,” you whimper, as he caresses your cheek.
“Allow me to enlighten you, then,” Aemond purrs, before bringing his lips to yours in a searing kiss.
Though you’re trembling against him he manages to wrap his hand around your waist, guiding you back against the bookshelves, deepening the kiss. You’re too nervous to move, you don’t want to ruin it, don’t want him to stop. Gods don’t let him stop. You’re holding your hands up in shock still, curled into fists near your head as he continues to kiss you.
“Touch me,” he murmurs against your mouth, as his hand paws at your waist.
You slowly lower your forearms to rest against his shoulders before succumbing to the desire to wrap your arms around his neck; fingers tangling in his silky, silver locks. His tongue darts through your lips, slipping into your mouth pulling forth a breathy moan.
Aemond moves his lips away then, letting them dance along the line of your jaw, down to your neck. Kissing, nipping the tender flesh of your throat until you’re whimpering against him.
“Tell me,” he purrs, “Tell me what you want.”
Fire. There is fire coursing through your veins. Fire licking its way over your skin, flames consuming you whole. That’s what it feels like, what he feels like.
“Just you,” you sigh, as he connects your lips again.
“Always you.”
#aemond targaryen#aemond fic#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond x fem!reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x fem!reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond fluff#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond x velaryon!reader#aemond x strong!reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#hotd aemond#house of the dragon#hotd
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Confection Invention
prompt: what is a legacy other than what we're remembered for after we die? names are lost, stories altered, family names obsolete, but recipes are forever because cuisine transcends time.
or how Sansa Stark's favorite dessert, lemon cakes, came to be after discovering your husband's never had a nameday cake.
pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader
fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon
word count: 3.5k+
warnings: none? none. seems suspicious.
Sansa Stark, newly crowned Queen in the North, was once a child too small, too scared, too sheltered from the harsh brutality of life's reality. Before she left Winterfell that fateful day, it was well known in the castle that the young girl adored the tasty sweet treat, lemon cakes. A confection of dense cake with lemon shreds mixed in the batter, a lemon glaze poured over, and garnished with a bright and tart lemon slice.
King's Landing was equipped to make the dessert and the young redhead still found pleasure in them, sure, but then shit got real when the Lannisters, you know, murdered her father. Sansa "grew up" and didn't bother with sweet treats after that. They just never tasted the same, and she began to admonish herself whenever she had a hankering; figuring with so much bad in the Realm, her want for cake was inappropriate and misplaced.
After years of turmoil, of losing any and everyone she ever cared for, the night the North declared her Queen of their newly-independent realm, Sansa Stark indulged herself and asked the kitchen staff to send lemon cakes to her room with supper. When her private meal was served, so was her dessert, and Sansa had to ask the servant serving her before they could disappear, "Excuse me?"
"Yes, Your Grace?" The serving maid bowed her head, facing Sansa with clasped hands locked stoically in front of her. Sansa almost cringed when she heard her new title, but refrained from reacting - it would simply just take getting used to.
"Might I ask, how are these made?"
"How what are made, Your Grace?"
"These lemon cakes."
"Oh, uh, I do not know the recipe, but I can ask the kitchens - "
"Well, it's odd, isn't it?"
"What is, Your Grace?"
"I've been all over the Realm," she spoke with an even tone, ever the emotionally-stunted diplomat, "and I've sampled many of these cakes in my lifetime, yet fail to find any real distinction. It's almost as if everyone is following the same recipe."
"Oh, well, I do know that they are, Your Grace."
"They are? All of the kingdoms?"
"Yes, Your Grace, i-it's a rare thing, but yes, the Seven Kingdoms use the same recipe."
"How can that be possible? How do they all get the same recipe?"
The maid glanced at the door nervously, "Uh, I-I do not know, Your Grace."
"You may speak freely, you are in no danger here," Sansa encouraged, gesturing to the only other empty chair at her table. "Please, come sit, indulge me in this tale. I am only curious."
"Well," she turned to shut the chamber door, speaking quietly as if what she was about to say was a secret, "it would depend if you know anything about the Targaryen dynasty, Your Grace."
"Only what was generically taught."
She nodded, taking the seat Sansa offered. "Some 2 centuries ago, there was a great scandal and a great war - one you may know as the Dance of Dragons." Sansa nodded and the maid explained anyway, "You see, it started because King Jaehaerys lost his heirs and was forced to choose between eligible familial candidates. Viserys Targaryen, the King's grandson, and his granddaughter, Viserys' cousin, Rhaenys Targaryen."
"Right, I remember the names somewhat."
"The King chose Viserys because, well, he was a man and Rhaenys was only a woman - though, married to a Velaryon, another ancient House hailing from Valyria." Sansa nodded along. "Anyways, uh, King Viserys' first wife was a Targaryen woman who gave him a daughter and then died birthing a son. He remarried a Hightower girl after that and had four other white-haired children; three sons and a daughter."
Sansa nodded slowly as she ate. Nothing like dinner and an entertaining story.
"The second son was Prince Aemond Targaryen, and he had this wife, you see, who was something akin to a saint on soil."
"Nobody's that nice," Sansa snarled in refusal, eyes almost rolling.
"You forget, Your Grace, some 200 years ago, the people never considered rebelling against the Targaryens. Only an arrogant fool would charge a horse at a dragon and think they'd win, so, at the time of this tale, there was no thought to protest the monarchy. Anyways, it wasn't just her kindness that made Aemond Targaryen's wife saint-like. It was all she was, and her most notable work was helping establish, build, organize, and operate orphanages in King's Landing, and then, around the Realm."
"Hmm."
"Well, she worked with those kids and apparently, had an affinity for baking. And because she worked with orphans, when she would take them around to other regions for adoption or placement, she'd leave each kid their own copy of the recipe."
Sansa considered the tale for a moment, then asked, "So, why lemon cakes? Where did they come from?"
The maid smiled.
Aemond Targaryen flinched when he heard something shatter, walking up the hallway alone and only a few strides from his bedchamber. When he opened his door, the One Eyed Prince actually laughed at the sight, "Oh, Gods, are you all right, my love?"
You pouted up at Aemond from the floor, "It was an accident."
"I can tell."
"I really didn't mean to."
He leaned on the doorframe, crossing his arms across his chest, "No, no, I can tell by the way only the vase my mother gifted us for our wedding is broken. Never mind you telling me over the weeks how you despise it."
"It was an accident! I really didn't mean to," you sighed, glancing at the shattered vase around you.
"How'd it happen?" Aemond asked softly, moving forward after pushing off the doorframe and shutting the door. "Hmm? C'mere, little love," he bent at the waist to pick you up from the floor, hoist you in his arms, then carry you to the bed. "You all right? You hurt?"
"No...?"
"Show me."
You frowned and showed the shallow cut on the underside of your forearm, informing, "It was an accident, I swear t'the Seven, Aemond. I just tripped on the chair," you pointed to where the sitting furniture was overturned, "and fell into the table. I was replacing the flowers in the vase."
He nodded, "Your cut isn't bad, here, just hold this to it." Your husband pressed a spare cloth to your wound before straightening his spine. "Sit here a moment, I'll clean."
"No, let me - "
"No, no, love, just wait," he chuckled. In the time it took a maid to bring in a broom and dustpan, Aemond had successfully distracted you enough with casual conversation. It was there you discovered a secret you deemed unacceptable. "No, I am not lying, sweet girl," Aemond chuckled, "I've truly never had a cake for my nameday. The idea just seems silly, doesn't it? To celebrate such a common event?"
You scoffed, "We'll come back to your cynicism later. Surely, in your youth, your mother made you cake?"
"Being the second son, you often got overlooked," Aemond shrugged as if it didn't bother him. "I am not missing much, it's just cake."
"'Just cake'!? You say that because you do not know," you pouted. "What kind of a wife am I that I did not know this?"
Aemond laughed, "We've been married all of 3 months."
"It should've come up," your eyes rolled, "or at least in the lifetime of friendship before our betrothal."
"Consider this a learning opportunity between spouses. It isn't a bad thing," Aemond defended, the shattered and scattered ceramic being swept away. "So what, I've not had cake? I am missing nothing."
"It makes me sad."
Aemond laughed as he eyed you for a moment, nodding like he understood something. "You mean to remedy this, don't you?" He asked, showing the maid out of your chambers.
"Of course I do!"
He chuckled, "You know I am not fond of sweets."
"Doesn't matter, I'll find something you like. We can start with the basics, uh... Um... Well, I guess, do you like dense cakes? Fluffier, lighter ones?"
He paused to think, offering, "I like the gooseberry pies served at banquets?"
"Those are dense."
"Hmm, then dense is fine. They're in smaller quantities because they're so heavy."
You nodded, "Any flavors?"
"I am unsure on that front."
"Fruits? C'mon, fruits are usually really good with pastries and cakes."
"You know what I like," Aemond sighed, uncomfortable with the idea of attention for his nameday. "Trust me, love, I cannot make this decision - I just don't know. I am terribly green when it comes to sweets. Even when offered at formal events, you know I'm not interested."
"Well, how about a sampling? I can make you different treats and you tell me which you like."
Aemond chuckled, knowing you wouldn't let this go and agreed, "All right, sure."
And boy, did you keep to your word. The kitchen staff was already used to seeing you on a decently regular basis, but suddenly, you were spending all day in the kitchen, trying out different recipes. You made cakes, cookies, brownies, pastries, all kinds of desserts! You even went a step further, trying out newly invented ideas until narrowing down several options. You were determined to give Aemond something, wanting him to feel your love and effort in the confections because his nameday was the one day you had to pamper and spoil him without complaint.
(Though, trust me, he still complained and deflected attention.)
You loved Aemond's nameday because he had no choice but to be at the forefront of your attention and affection; something his family found amusing after their years of neglect towards him. Every other day of the year, he was stubborn and impossible and made everything about you; but not his nameday!
Even though he truly wasn't a fan of desserts, Aemond still met you on a balcony at the end of the week because not only did he adore making you happy, but he hardly ever said no to you. You had an array of treats made and displayed, and slowly, he sampled what you presented; speaking simply for your mental notes. However, he came upon something new - something he's not seen before.
"What's this?"
"Um, well... See, my younger siblings sometimes like citrus in their desserts, so, I thought this might be good? Or it could be tart - one or the other."
"This is lemon?"
"Yes, and that is made with limes from Volantis," you pointed to another platter, "that one's orange, that one's cherry, and that one has coconut."
"Where did you get coconuts and cherries?"
"That's not important. Which one is your favorite? It's what you're getting for your nameday, so do not lie."
"Pardon my pun, but the lemon cake takes the cake, sweet girl."
Aemond's heart soared in his chest when your grin of pride was hardly contained; looking pleased that you had invented something to his liking - making it all the more special, being something Aemond never has to share with others.
Sansa thought it was a lovely tale, clarifying, "So, when you say she established King's Landing's orphanages, did she use the Crown's money or the tax payer's?"
The maid smiled, "No, Your Grace, she used royal funds. King Viserys commissioned her bakery, and after a bit, the people actually started donating to her cause because the King offered tax exemption for those who donated."
"And she would take the kids around the Seven Kingdoms for placement? By herself? Why? Why not bake full time? She was obviously good at it."
"She was passionate, and the kids couldn't all fit in King's Landing anymore, so, she had to help relocate them for a better quality of life. She also gave each child the recipe so they could have a little taste of 'home' when they wanted."
Sansa nodded slowly. "How did word spread if she only made it for her husband on his nameday?"
"A moment, please," you interrupted your in-laws departure from the dinner table. When Alicent looked you in the eye, you smiled, "I've something for you all to try in honor of Prince Aemond's nameday."
"Oh, love, no," Aemond whispered in embarrassment, "not tonight."
"Would you mind, Mykal?" You asked the kind servant, who nodded once and exited the dining room.
"What's this about?" Otto questioned.
"Well, I thought we just might celebrate for just a moment together," you eased. "What with tensions so high lately, I just figured we deserved something... Sweet."
Alicent's lips twitched, always knowing in her heart that you were too good for Aemond - too good for this wreck of a family. When Mykal returned, he carried a decorated platter of lemon cakes and set it in the middle of the cleared-away table. You stood.
"What are they?" Aegon asked with an unsure curled lip.
"Lemon cakes," you smiled, "a confection of my own invention made especially for my husband, hmm?" You served a small, personal cake to each family member using saucer platters. "Please, just try it - tell me what you think."
You placed the final cake in front of your husband, grinning and taking your seat again. You knew he hated the spotlight, it gave him anxiety; so, you tried to do your best by acknowledging his nameday without needing to fuss over him. He always liked that you two celebrated privately, but being a "special event", the family had dinner together that night and you thought it a great time for the tart dessert to debut. You dwelled in anticipation as your in-laws all tried their cakes, Aemond feeding you every other bite from his fork as there came a chorus of satisfying hums and groans of approval.
"Holy Mother," Otto chuckled, instantly forking another bite in his mouth. "Mh, mh, mh, wow," he smacked his lips, nodding in impression. "You invented this?" He asked, watching you nod. "You invented a new cake..."
"For Aemond's nameday, yes," you confirmed, tone a little sharper than usual in an effort to make your point.
"I gotta admit, Y/N," Aegon spoke with a full mouth, a few crumbs flying, "this is bloody delicious."
"It really is," Alicent agreed, offering her husband a bite. "Viserys? Love? It's a lemon cake, here, try a bite."
"A what?" Viserys wheezed in confusion. "N-Never heard of l-lemon cake."
"They're new," she explained, "Y/N made them for Aemond's nameday. Isn't that special? Try a bite, love, there you go."
Viserys accepted the bit of cake on Alicent's fork, wincing gently at the tart taste before, too, humming. "'S good," he whispered, looking drained of energy.
"Gotta make these more often," Aegon pointed his fork at the cake crumbles left. He continued, "Like, bring these to every banquet we host and this will be the star." You chuckled and put another cake on his plate, it being instantly torn into.
You smiled at Aemond, "Guess they're a hit."
He leaned down to affectionately press his lips to your forehead for a long moment, mumbling, "Knew they would be."
"So, does this mean I can bake you cakes now? Every nameday? You won't complain?" You asked, tangling his hand with yours and relishing in the way he squeezed.
"Oh, he'll still complain," Helaena giggled, licking icing from her finger, "no matter what."
Aemond smirked at his sister, offering a subtly jab at his family, "I would never complain about being loved. Besides," he offered you a fond, softening look, "she does it so well, wouldn't you say?"
The family hummed in agreement, not truly paying attention to his words - all enraptured with scraping their saucer platters clean. You smiled up at him, letting his lips find yours in a brief show of emotion.
Otto mused, "You know, I've heard it said, 'the love of a good woman will echo through lifetimes'. I think food is a surefire way to ensure that legacy of love, respect, consideration..."
For the next few weeks, you spent more and more time in the kitchens; whipping out batches of lemon cakes to offer the Keep's staff after rumors spread of your cakey goodness. You gifted guards, trainers, tutors, members of court, maids, the castle's servants the newly invented confection. It quickly became the most talked about topic in King's Landing; the citizens being obsessed with your cake and demanding a taste of their own.
In fact, Viserys was so pleased by the turn of events that on one of his rare good days, he consulted Otto. "A bakery for Y/N - would it be worth the purchase? Do you think the Crown should fund the purchase?"
Otto considered, "Well, since her cakes are the hottest commodity currently, I'd say, yes, Your Grace, it'd be worth exploring as a new revenue for the Crown."
"No, no, not for the Crown t'collect from - leave it for Aemond and Y/N to share. This is not to be a business we collect the profits from - but rather, something they might enjoy." Viserys tried to smile, deciding, "Make it happen, Otto, my friend."
"Your Grace?"
"I want - I want her to have a bakery. Where she might sell her baked goods as she sees fit, not as an extension of the Crown, she deserves it. All her hard work," the King wheezed, coughing violently.
"Of course, Your Grace."
Yet when you were informed about your new business venture and shown the building that was to be your bakery, you told Otto that you didn't bake for money and having your own business would be terribly redundant. Yet Otto insisted that you made your own rules and if you wanted to charge, you could, but Viserys wanted you to have a designated safe space to create in.
Upon the grand opening, you were a SMASH hit. The line in your bakery was nonstop and extended out the door; the Gold Dragons overflowing enough for you to restock your ingredients tenfold AND have leftovers to funnel back into the orphanages. People talked, they spread word and rumor, and most patrons had heard through the "grape vine" that your bakery was well worth any wait. Being so popular, you required extra hours baking and only opened about three days a week because you still had your other job.
Speaking of, you obviously still worked with the orphans; in fact, some of them even came to hang out in the bakery! No, they didn't help bake unless they asked to specifically mix the icing or something, because you didn't believe in exploiting child labor. Anyways, on certain days, you closed the bakery and brought all the cakes to the orphanage to distribute, always having a warm heart when the kids giggled while eating the little sweet treat. It inspired you to write down the recipe you invented and every trip you took to help kids find their placement, you brought them recipe cards.
"Here," you handed the card over to the guardian agreeing to care for the kids, "this is just a recipe for a cake and I promise it's really simple to follow. It'll be a familiar taste to them when living here, somewhere unfamiliar for now." You sniffled, offering a watery smile, "Just wanted them to have a piece of home."
The volunteer guardians were usually grateful, knowing baking these cakes could be a form of bonding between them and the kids. It was difficult trying to get these types of kids to open up after all they endured on the streets before your orphanage took them in. Maybe a little cake would help mend those wounds and assure them, while here, they were safe.
You never expected to live out through history, but while names are lost, stories altered, and family names become obsolete, cuisine is a universally shared experience that transcends time.
Sansa sat for a moment, stewing in the story. Never had she imagined such a history lesson surrounding her favorite dessert; she would've thought some old granny would've been messing around in the kitchens to invent such a treat. Not a Princess of the Realm, especially one belonging to the most fearsome and longest reigning monarchy in Westerosi history.
For a brief moment, she was jealous by the description of your relationship to Prince Aemond; hearing how loving your husband was, how supportive and kind to you. She wondered if she'd ever experience something like that - and if she'd ever meet someone who would take her nameday as seriously as you took your husband's.
"What happened after?" She asked quietly, taking a long sip of her wine. "To the Prince and Princess, I mean?"
The maid shrugged meekly, "Not too long after, the Dance of Dragons started and there was no time or reason to bake anymore. They both perished in the flames of war, unfortunately, becoming victims of the Princess Rhaenyra - Aemond's older half-sister."
"Mh," Sansa nodded, "I've heard of her. Maegor with Tits, they called her."
The maid nodded, finishing, "But, you see, Your Grace, the recipe was already spread around the Realm and to this day, is still being used."
The room was silent for a long moment.
"All that," she stabbed her lemon cake with her fork and lifted the bite to her eye for examination, "just because she loved a man and wanted to give him what he's never had before."
"Perhaps, Your Grace, that is why nameday cakes are now tradition. They say the love of a good woman will echo through lifetimes, Your Grace."
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#aemond targaryen#prince aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen one shot#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond targaryen x f!reader#aemond targaryen x female!reader#aemond targaryen x fem!reader#house of the dragon#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#hotd#prince aemond#aemond x fem!reader#aemond#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond x reader#aemond x oc#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen fanfiction#house of the dragon hbo#hbo house of the dragon#hbo hotd#aemond fluff
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How woud Aemond react to his wife cheating... in chess?
Every time he looks away, she steals a piece off of the board and just smiles when he looks back at her. Like she isn't even trying to win she's just doing this to mess with him a little
Oh wow, I found another drunk drabble prompt! Thank you Anon, this is a hilarious follow up to the message I answered "How would Aemond react to his wife cheating" haha
Aemond x wife!reader | tipsy reader | cheating at chess | Aemond indulging his lady, teasing ensues
"It's your turn, Y/N."
You continued sipping on your wine, your mind already fuzzy from the drink, swirling the bitter liquid around in your mouth as you studied the chessboard in consternation.
Aemond sat back in his chair, his lips pressed together as he watched you with a mixture of impatience and amusement.
He opened his mouth to say something else, but you held up a hand to shush him. "I'm thinking."
"A demanding endeavor, it seems."
"I'm not losing to you again, Aemond."
"Perhaps more wine would help." He smirked, catching your eye as you shot him a withering look, taking another deliberate swig from your goblet.
"Fine." You moved your rook forward several spaces.
You winced as Aemond immediately took your piece with his knight. "Fuck."
"Check."
You groaned, holding the rim of your cool glass against your aching temple.
A servant bearing more drink arrived, drawing away your husband's attention for a few crucial moments. You reached forward, surreptitiously removing Aemond's own rook from the board and stowing it in the cushions beside you. "Ah, thank you." You beamed at the servant as he refilled your cup.
Aemond was studying his board with a raised brow, his violet eye flicked up to your studiously neutral expression. "Your move, Y/N."
"Oh yes, of course."
This went on several more minutes; you losing your pieces to Aemond's keen strategizing and him losing his own pieces whenever he was sufficiently distracted enough for you to steal them.
As Aemond turned his head to observe a group of guards moving across the hall, you tried to take away his queen without him taking notice. Long fingers caught your wrist as Aemond turned swiftly back to you, aware the whole time of your ruse. He pulled you toward him, unseating you and causing you to tumble onto his lap, scattering the remaining pieces across the board.
"You tried to take my queen?" He rolled his eye, snorting a short laugh. "You do know cheating at chess is nigh impossible."
"I'm the only queen you need, my king." You giggled, feeling his dexterous fingers begin probing at the ticklish part of your sides.
Your face was flushed from the wine and the sudden proximity of the Targaryen prince you called husband.
Aemond sighed, hoisting you so you were more securely seated against him. "I've always thought it interesting the queen is the one with the most power over the board." You watched him with soft adoration as he continued his musing. "She is the one with the most power to protect the king."
"I'd protect you with my life too." You nuzzled into the crook of his neck, feeling the low vibration of his chuckling, his grip on you tightening slightly.
"My ember." Aemond said affectionately into your hair before placing a gentle kiss to your crown.
The warmth of his arms encircling you combined with the heady heat of the wine caused your eyes to droop with sleepy contentment. "Take me to bed, Aemond." You murmured, your lips brushing the soft skin of his neck.
"As my lady commands." He rose with you in his arms, your arms coming to grip around his shoulders as he strode toward your chambers. "Remind me to not play chess with you while you're drinking."
"You're just a sore loser." You smiled, kissing his temple. "My strategizing prowess is clearly too much for you to handle."
"Hmm." Was your terse answer, Aemond shaking his head in fond bemusement as he carried you to bed.
#aemond fluff#aemond drunk drabble#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond fanfic#aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond imagine#aemond drabble#aemond one eye#prince aemond x reader#hotd aemond x reader#hotd x reader#hotd drabble#house of the dragon aemond#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond stannies#pro aemond targaryen
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A Refined Taste
Modern AU (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) series — COMPLETED
But if you send for me, you know I'll come
And if you call for me, you know I'll run
- Old Money by Lana del Rey
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader
Rating: Explicit/18+
Summary: Your older sister's been dating Helaena Targaryen for almost three years now and this summer you both get invited to the generations old Targaryen mansion, finally having the chance to see the famous seaside vineyard the family owns. You're excited to get reacquainted with Helaena's family, remembering the lasting impression Aegon made on you, in consequence leaving you quite infatuated with him. What you weren't expecting was the other brother, Aemond, capturing your attention this time.
Old money. Sunsets by the sea. Reading, swimming, horseback riding. And, of course, exquisite wine. What else does one need in a place like this? Well, maybe some romance to make the stay even more memorable.
Part 1: Old Money
Part 2: Sunset and Vine
Part 3: White Sunshine
Part 4: High by the Beach
Part 5: Cashmere Cologne
Part 6: Atonement
Part 7: Chemtrails Over the Country Club
Part 8: You're My Religion, I Need Your Love
Part 9: Summertime Sadness
Part 10: Endless Summer
Part 11: Honeymoon
Part 12 (Epilogue): Swan Song
Main Masterlist
AO3
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Feel free to let me know if you’d like to be included in this specific series tag or a general Aemond tag ♡
#my fics#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#aemond fluff#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond fanfiction#aemond fanfic#aemond fic#aemond targaryen fic#modern!aemond#modern!aemond targaryen#modern!aemond x you#modern!aemond x reader#modern!aemond targaryen x you#modern!aemond targaryen x reader#modern aemond#modern aemond x reader#modern aemond x you#aemond imagine#aemond targaryen imagine#modern aemond targaryen#modern aemond targaryen x you#modern aemond targaryen x reader#fic: a refined taste
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gwen, i need ur thought on dilf/older!aemond !!
MEAN!DILF AEMOND — NSFW, MINORS DNI.
♡. ── pics credit. ; ( aemond targaryen masterlist. )
pairing: dilf!aemond targaryen x fem!reader
content warnings: 18+, explicit content, aemond is in his late 30s, reader is in her early 20s, dubcon, somnophilia, mean!dilf aemond, marking/biting, edging, possessive!aemond, dacryphilia, degradation, praising, aftercare.
note: sorry it took me so long! if there are any mistakes i apologize but english is not my first language. reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated!
aemond targaryen and you met after you answered his anonymous ad looking for a babysitter. you were struggling with college and paying rent, so it was something you really needed. and so aemond needed it too.
aemond emailed you an address for your first meeting and you almost fell off the chair when you googled the place; a very fancy restaurant in the upper side of town.
you dressed in your best clothes, a decent dress you knew would help you make a good impression, and made your way to the restaurant, so anxious you had to stop at the entrance and take a deep breath.
when the host led you to the table, you were met with the last person you were expecting. there, on a table for three, was sitting aemond targaryen—the ceo of one of the biggest corporations in westeros and member of one of the most renowned families—next to a silver haired girl clinging to his arm.
after you got over your initial shock and learned that he was actually really kind and easy going under that ‘dark’ facade he always showed to everyone—not that you really knew him, it was all based on the countless interviews on magazines—you were able to relax and answer all his questions.
you were also able to ask him anything and clear all doubt you had. you even talked to the little girl, vaella, who was no older than four years old.
your first weeks you didn’t see aemond. he told he was closing a very big deal and that you would need go stay at home to take care of his little girl. and you had no problem, everywhere was better than living with your very annoying roommate.
but once that job was finished. you started seeing him at home more often which only made you more nervous and uncomfortable. because every time you turned around, he was there leaning against the door watching you play with vaella, or simply looking at you from behind the newspaper while you feed vaella her breakfast.
the intensity in his gaze made your skin burn. every time you caught him checking you out, a shiver would roll down your neck as a warmth pooled in your lower belly at the thought of him finding you attractive. it made you feel good.
aemond made the first move one night after vaella fell asleep and found you next to her, asleep too.
aemond took you in his arms, wanting to leave you on the guest room and retreat to his own to rest, when he heard you mumble his name in your sleep. “what was that, kid?” he asked you, fingers caressing your cheek, aware you were dreaming. “oh fuck—aemond,” you moaned, and he couldn’t help the smirk that made its way onto his face.
it didn’t matter to him that you were sleeping. after all it was of him you were dreaming of and he would not let that slide.
you thought you were having a very vivid dream, his hands on your body felt a little too realistic but you were enjoying it; you knew it was wrong and fucked up even in your subconscious but it feel too good to made yourself wake up. if you couldn’t make those fantasies come true, you will have him in your dreams.
aemond squeezed your breast, hand slipping past the waistband of your pants and cupping your cunt. you moaned, eyes slowly fluttering open. it didn’t scare you seeing him so close, eyes so dark you couldn’t see his irises anymore. “was it a good dream?” he teased you, lips attaching to your left breast. it feel even better than your dream.
aemond wasn’t gentle that night.
but you like when he manhandles you and uses you for his own pleasure. if you’re a good girl and take everything he gives you, he lets you cum.
aemond likes to tease you. even more so when you are at one of the events he’s hosting at his house. you are always around because he likes to keep his daughter around. and he’s not going to lie, he likes seeing you all flustered when you caught him looking at you from across the room.
he would introduce you as his daughter’s babysitter, a hand on your lower back, thumb caressing your bare skin as he keeps a straight face as if he didn’t made you cum until your legs were trembling just a few minutes ago, hiding from everyone behind a bookshelf.
aemond would see you trying to hide the bite marks he left on your neck with a smirk on his face. he has to bite his lips to stop himself from chuckling when he sees people eyes darting to the place where the marks are more dark and visible, your face heating up at noticing it too.
he’s not an idiot, he sees how some of the men look at you, even asking him very inappropriate questions about you. aemond tries his best to hide his anger, clenching his jaw and excusing himself.
you end up bent over his desk on his studio after one particular men tried to flirt with you. “parading yourself like a slut. can’t even leave you alone for one minute.” he grunts, pulling down his pants.
when you’re watching a movie with vaella, aemond likes to have his hand on your thighs, squeezing and caressing just inches away from when you need him. you look at him, pleading, but he doesn’t even look in your direction, pretending to pay attention to the movie playing in the background.
and when he notices that you’re not able to keep still, parting your legs and bucking your hips up, trying to make him touch you, he slaps your thigh, nails digging onto the soft flesh making you whimper. “pathetic slut, you have no respect for my daughter.” he laughs at you, removing his hand.
aemond punishes you for being so greedy, edging you all night until you’re a crying mess and can’t think straight.
you sob, hot salty tears streaming down your face. “please, please!” you don’t even know what you are begging for. aemond feels bad for a second until he feels you tighten around his fingers, a dark laugh falling off his lips. “you like this, stop being a fucking baby and take it.”
and when he finally slides in, it’s too much. you’ve been at it for hours, and you’re too sensitive so you try to push him away but he pins your hips to the bed, frowning down at you and forcing you to take him to the hilt.
aemond has to put a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. “you need to keep it down, sweetheart. don’t want to wake vaella up, do we?”
aemond likes praising you, especially when you’ve been such a good girl for him, allowing him to do whatever he wanted with you.
“doing s’good for me, sweetheart.” he says, brushing a strand of hair out of your sweaty forehead and hips thrusting into you.
when he finally lets you cum, it’s devastating. it leaves you trembling, muscles going limp.
aemond always asks you where you want him to cum and your answer is always inside. he likes to hear you say it, he cums hard every time, painting your walls white.
after you both come down from your high, he does not hesitate to wrap you in his arms and kiss your temple, whispering soft words in your ear.
aemond cleans you up, gives you water, runs a bath for you and even gives you a massage. he lets you rest on his bed while he makes something to eat and checks on his daughter. he spoils you.
“you were such a good girl, it’s the least i can do.” he says, softly kissing your lips, after you try to get up and help him. “you need to rest, sweetheart.”
and the next morning when he sees you having trouble to walk straight or even sit, he needs to hide his smile behind his hand. seeing you that way only helps to feed his ego.
#📮 ⌇ my works ˖⋆࿐#modern!aemond#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond targaryen scenarios#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond fic#hotd x reader#hotd imagine#hotd fanfic#prince aemond x reader
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