#aemond targaryen x wife!reader
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bewitched.
AEMOND TARGARYEN X FEM!READER
summary: more word has arrived to you regarding your husbands infidelity. as he returns to you, you present him with a choice.
word count: 2k
warnings: drinking. strong language. angst. adultery. pain.
a/n: see end of the piece for author’s note
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
choose your own ending...
— ending 1.
— ending 2.
— ending 3.
— ending 4.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
“My lady,” Your chambermaid spoke from the doorway, returning with a fresh pitcher of wine as you had requested, “Should I see the children to bed?”
“Please do,” Your voice was soft, the words fragile in your solemn state.
“It might be best for you to rest, rather than await the return of Prince Aemond.”
Her words were gentle, simply advising you to take care of yourself. But the fires of hurt and betrayal were already lit.
“What makes you believe that I am awaiting my husband?” With words more venomous than you intended, you bid her leave.
At the sound of the door shutting, you stood and moved toward the pitcher and chalice left idly by the fireplace. You poured the deep red liquid and lifted the cup to your lips, taking a generous gulp. The dull burn allowed some relief to your heightened senses. But you also knew that the alcohol only added fuel to your fire.
Rain began to pour over King’s Landing, softly thudding against the windows and stone of the castle walls. Usually, the rain would lull you to sleep, but it seemed the thunder of the skies only spurred you to continue drowning away the ache in your heart. Your eyes flickered over the second chalice that had been placed on the silver tray with your pitcher. It seemed that the servants expected Aemond to return to the Keep tonight. You were not sure if you wish for him to return or for him to drown in the heavy rains that poured from the sky.
As if the fool perfectly timed you, you glanced out the window to see the silhouette of Vhagar descending toward the Dragon Pits. In a drunken frenzy, you pulled the curtain to cover it, instead, the velvet fabric came down at your harsh tug.
The frustration would nearly boil over, but you did not allow the simple issues to push you over the threshold. As the Queen had often advised you, it was important that a lady bite her tongue and keep her composure even when she is by her lonesome. If someone saw the illusion of a proper lady shatter, it would be nearly impossible to recover from. She even revealed to you how she had come by this knowledge, sharing with you the events that occurred the night Aemond became the one-eyed prince.
Swiftly, you moved back toward the fireplace, picking up the parcel that a raven had delivered directly to you just this morning. It appeared blank to the simple eye, but when you hovered the note over the fire, the message revealed itself. The contents of it were simple, but completely shattered something inside of you:
She is with child.
Though the news had shocked you, the existence of the other woman did not. When Aemond and Daeron laid siege to Harrenhal and the Riverlands, word had traveled through the courts regarding the princes bedding other women. At the time, you had bit your tongue, excusing your husband’s infidelity as you convinced yourself it was just something he used to relieve his stress from battlefields.
But even after the marches through the Riverlands were claimed to be successful and at an end, Aemond would sometimes fly off to Harrenhal. He would say that he was just ensuring the hold that the Greens had on the region, yet you never believed his lies.
It was said that Harrenhal was cursed, blood mixed into the stone that built it. You believed the stories true after the great fire took the lives of Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin when you were a child yourself. But now a curse had attached itself to your husband and kept him crawling back to the towers of Harrenhal.
The door cracked open, the hinges creaking as he entered, exhaustion painted over his face. Aemond was completely drenched, his hair now scrunched into waves rather than falling perfectly straight. Most of his leather overlayer had been discarded for the servants to see to, leaving him in a black tunic and pants with his riding boots.
It took him a few moments, but Aemond quickly came to realize that you were resting by the fire rather than fast asleep in your shared bed.
“Should you not be sleeping, dear wife?” Aemond called out to you while readying himself to turn into bed.
“Sleep has… escaped me recently,” You replied, eyes remaining on the fire. Only at his words did the nerves begin to spur inside you. How would he react when you told him? What would tomorrow bring? None of it really mattered, you supposed, as long as you didn’t allow your nerves to get the best of you.
Now in his proper bedclothes, Aemond began to approach the fireplace. He noticed the half-empty pitcher of wine, slightly shocked that you were partaking this late at night. Usually, you would reserve yourself to only enjoying wine at dinners or feasts, not in your marriage chambers. His eye flickered to the second chalice that sat empty on the silver platter. His slender fingers reached to grasp it, “Would this cup be for me?”
You turned your head, looking between the pitcher and chalice but never into his eye, “The maid brought it with her, probably as a formality. No one expected you back tonight.”
Aemond’s brow furrowed at the tone you spoke with, and it caught the prince off guard when you returned your gaze to the fire rather than continuing to speak with him. He poured his own chalice with wine and allowed himself to enjoy it. He stayed in place, unwavering from his position as he looked down on you.
The air went still… the taste of the wine began to sour in his mouth. He sensed something to be out of place, yet he could not pinpoint it. Usually, you would be elated to see him, but recently you were far more reserved from your husband. Aemond was not sure if he should be upset or concerned, but did not ponder on the thought too much as he allowed himself to attend to his duties rather than his wife.
With a sigh and a light cough to clear his throat, the prince finally spoke once more, “Come to bed…”
The pause settled again before your soft chuckle hung in the air. Quickly, you stood from your seated position and drowned the remainder of your chalice in one swig. You moved to the table and refilled your cup till the pitcher ran dry. Instead of crossing to your bed, you remained standing, only turned away from the man. This behavior caused Aemond to clench his jaw, subduing his urge to correct such disobedience.
“Will you not come to bed with me?” Aemond summoned you again.
Once more you chuckled at him, not sparing him any sort of look from you. Just the cruel chuckle of your acknowledgment.
“Your husband demands—”
“My husband demands me of nothing,” You interrupted him, “And he would do well to find another bed to sleep in or find himself in tonight.”
At your words, Aemond crossed toward you, attempting to snatch the half-drunk chalice of wine from your hands, “It seems you have overindulged yourself. It would do you well to sleep before—”
“Before what? Before I continue to act out of turn?” With a fierce determination, your fingers clutched down onto the chalice so that Aemond could not separate it from you. Your words dripped with poison, “Or before you return to Harrenhal and bed the whore witch?”
At the mention of Alys, both you and Aemond let go of the goblet at the same time and simply watched it fall to the ground, red liquid covering the tile floors.
“It would do you well not to speak of things you do not know or understand.”
“I understand it quite plainly that my husband is now an adulterer, just like his eldest brother and his damned uncle. It seems that disloyalty to marriage is quite a common trait among Targaryen men.”
Quickly, Aemond’s hand came to your throat, gripping the flesh to show how serious he was being, yet not hard enough to asphyxiate you, “Did you not understand my words before, my stupid little wife? It would do you well not to speak of things you do not know…”
“Oh? But I do know…” Your hands grabbed at his forearms, nails sinking into the flesh so that he would release you, “And it would do you well to learn just how smart your wife is…”
“I have known… I have known about Alys since your first rampage through the Riverlands. For moons, I remained confined to the Red Keep from your orders, and when they came to deliver news of you and your victories, I cheered. I still cheered when the maids told me the rumors between you and Alys, because I was grateful to the Seven that you were alive. Because I was still foolish enough to love you far more than you deserve.”
Tears threatened to spill over, but you swallowed them back. You would not allow Aemond the pleasure of your tears, only the fire of your anger.
“She promised me security for my life and the lives of my men,” Aemond attempted to justify himself, “I could not risk it—”
“You could have offered her gold, offered her a title, or anything else besides your body! Instead, you break your vows. And you did not stop there, because you continue to fly back to Harrenhal whenever you desire the witch’s cunt to the point where your son and daughter could not even recognize you if they ever saw you!” You huffed out, scanning his face for any sign of emotion, anything at all.
“You have allowed your lust to overcome you, disappointing your wife, your mother, and the Seven. Worst of all, you shall now have your own bastard. At least this bastard will not be raised of the Street of Silk as your brother’s bastards have.”
“How did you know?” Aemond’s voice cracked while he asked the question, “How do you know she is pregnant?”
A smirk played on your lips at the question, “It seems that the Master of Whispers is a very devoted friend of the Queen, and with the Queen being your mother, she deemed it important enough to share the news with me, your faithful wife.”
His face went pale at the realization of how many people were aware of his infidelity. While Aemond remained silent, you twisted the knife deeper into his chest. You had been tortured with this knowledge for so long that you now enjoyed the pained expression on his face.
“I have always been good to you, devoted to you. Where others cowered from you, I loved you. Despite the warnings of your blood lust and deformity, I loved you and gave you two perfect children who study just as diligently as you once did. So while you found yourself in the arms of another woman, I tried not to curse your name and assure our children that all was well, even if their father would not be present for them. But now, I look at you like a curse upon my life. You have allowed yourself to be corrupted outside our marriage, and I can no longer offer you salvation for your selfishness…”
“What would you have me do?”
You laughed mockingly at his question. Instead of providing a proper answer, you only glared further into his good eye.
“Please,” Aemond gritted his teeth, hating that he allowed himself to beg an answer from you, “Just tell me what I should do!”
“I can not simply tell you what to do. That would be to easy - what lesson would you have learned?” You shook your head and a shuddering breath escaped you.
“You have to make a choice, Aemond,” Your hand gripped his wrist, forcing him to remain attentive to your words, “Either you atone for the sin your committed and the hurt you’ve caused or you reside in Harrenhal for the rest of your days…”
“This is a choice only you can make — a wife or a witch?”
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
a/n: I am considering making a follow-up to this one-shot, a blurb about the outcome of the options that Aemond has... maybe...
#mattie writes#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen x reader#hotd#hotd x reader#prince aemond targaryen#aemond x fem!reader#aemond targaryen imagine#hotd angst#alys rivers#aemond targaryen x wife!reader#aemond targaryen x alys#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon aemond#Aegon II Targaryen#hotd fanfic#aemond targaryen one shot
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Sapphire
part of the universe of "the queen and her husbands"
reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated, it really motivates me to keep writing 💖💖
My inbox is open so I'm always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions.
Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.
In the first months of Aemond's return to King's Landing, he never removes the patch around his children. He is afraid of their reaction to seeing his scar and that he lacks an eye. He is sure that Aemon and Baelon will be afraid if they see him and he could not bear his children to be afraid of him again. He does not want to return to the first days of his return where they cried every time he tried to raise them. So he always has the patch. It doesn't matter how many times you insist on your husband who took it out when you four are alone and you assure you that nothing bad will happen, he doesn't want to risk it.
Until a warm day, Aemond can no longer bear the patch and decides to remove it for a moment just because Aemon is asleep in his lap and plans to put it back before his son wakes up. Aemond is so absorbed in his reading that he does not realize that Aemon is awake until he feels a small hand touching his face. The prince looks at him expectantly, ready to listen to a cry or a scream but that doesn't happen.
And when you enter the chambers and you find one of your children standing in your husband's lap trying to remove the sapphire from his eye you cannot help laughing. You are not surprised after all, your children seem obsessed with playing and playing with the sapphire of your necklace.
Later when Baelon returns from spending the afternoon with his grandmother and Aemond has his patch again. You and your husband are sitting on the floor playing with the twins when Aemon proudly shows his twin his new discovery, raising the Aemond patch and exposing the sapphire. You notice how your husband is tense fearing that maybe Baelon reacted badly and smiled at him waiting to give him a little confidence.
Then Baelon shouts excitedly and now it is both twins who try to remove their dad's sapphire.
You laugh while you get up and rise to Baelon moving away from Aemond.
"I told you that you had nothing to worry about," you say smiling and dodging Baelon's little kicks.
To the consternation of Aemon, your husband also gets out on the floor. He looks at him for a moment before playing with his other toys.
"Do you want me to tell you that this time you were right?" says Aemond, taking Baelon away from you, he would rather suffer from a kick than you end up hurt.
"I'm always right"
"No, you don't."
Before you can complain Aemond kisses you making you forget about any thoughts.
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#the queen and her husbands#I missed writing them and this universe#aemond headcanons#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x wife!reader#hotd x reader#hotd x y/n#hotd x you#aemond fluff#dad aemond#dad!aemond#hotd fluff#oc: baelon targaryen#oc: aemon targaryen
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You got me losing control
You looked at him again, anxious, watching him approach cautiously until he shortened the distance between your bodies. “I want you tonight... if you want me...”
pairing: aemond targaryen x wife!reader
warnings: smut, p in v sex, english is not my first language. 3,240 words
aemond targaryen masterlist
Your marriage to Prince Aemond of House Targaryen was a blessing to your family. No matter how noble a birth or reputation was before Westeros, the union with a representative of royalty is the summit of relevance, respect and sophistication that a house can achieve — and that's exactly how you and your family came to be seen and treated in Kingslanding.
After the announcement of the engagement, certain rumors about the behavior and appearance of your betrothed stirred some concerns about your future and safety. Prince Aemond was a robust, polite, healthy young man and a prodigy in the art of swords; he was also a lover of books, history, philosophy and very reserved, especially after the incident. On the other hand, he was also described as easily irritable, intimidating, serious, silent, ruthless and deformed.
None of you were presented properly before the engagement, which made the following weeks strange, tense and reluctant, even if the effort to alleviate such a situation was mutual — shy and slow as well. You had not yet decided if he didn’t approve of your choice as his future lady wife or if that (contained, cordial and impatient) was just his way. Courtesy was not a problem until it became excessive as a barrier and you begged the Mother for unhappiness to cross your path. You were a lady more than suitable for a wedding, you considered yourself beautiful, polite and affable within your own limits, any Lord would be more than graced to have you by his side, according to your lady mother, and so you expected your new husband to find it.
Everything seemed to go well in the following weeks after the wedding. Even reserved and mysterious, Aemond was kind, attentive and worried about spending some moments of the day with you beyond duty, the construction of intimacy and trust was still slow, but quite satisfactory — in addition, your dresses and jewelry were more beautiful and extravagant than those of the other ladies. However, there was something that terrified you and your husband from the tip of your toes to the last hair: bedtime.
It was infinitely the strangest and most tense situation that your relationship with the prince experienced. You learned that even in moments where his were nervous and not knowing how to act he would still try to maintain the imposing and ruthless posture, but with easy-to-read nuances that revealed that he hadn’t idea what was happening. The consummation of the marriage was the worst physical pain ever felt in your life, although fast, it was extremely uncomfortable and unpleasant. The second night he bed you was even shorter, as a knock outside the shared room in the service of the queen hindered the hardness of his sword. Already the third time his own virility failed and served to create worrying thoughts about your lord husband's lack of interest in you. What if your appearance didn't please he? Or your inexperience? He was also inexperienced, it couldn't be that.
Everything got worse when your moon blood came and the realization of not being able to generate a fruit with his seed left you highly distressed. What if everything got worse after that? Rumors would certainly circulate about the prince's unfit wife and your fertility would be put in check. Such moods were enough to keep you disturbed, sad and ashamed by the previous and present days of your moon blood, until things suddenly changed when the week passed and the way your husband looked so tempting during the sparing session with Sir Criston Cole made an avid heat bloom all over your body. It wasn't even that warm in Kingslanding but he has never been more handsome and virile before, with his silver hair flying through the courtyard and his clothes leaving his delicious defined body even more manly.
What was going on with you?
You knew that the only thing in your mind was that you couldn't wait to have him alone later.
And that's what you did when you left dinner earlier and have a bold and daring bed linen along with loose hair for your husband. The cream-colored dress was made of the finest silk of lys and fell slightly through your body with long sleeves that didn’t close in your arms and left them exposed when moving. You were with your back to the bed and facing the door, anxiously waiting for the arrival of your prince.
You felt a restlessness composed of warmth and desire to go through your body and focus on your femininity in the eagerness for his touch, from the hands exploring your body, your breasts, for the intimate and carnal connection to be consummated. The reason for that was strange to you, since the other times you were together were nothing short of uncomfortable, but who were you to define the plans of fate?
Therefore, when the door opened and Aemond came across his beautiful wife in exquisite and suggestive clothes, his good eye widened more than usual. He closed the door and remained still, impeccable posture and half-open mouth. Your gaze faltered and faced the floor in the following moments, keeping the room silent for long seconds until the courage inflated your lungs and a request for low approach escaped from your lips.
"Can you come here, husband?" You looked at him again, anxious, watching him approach cautiously until he shortened the distance between your bodies. “I want you tonight... if you want me...”
An intense look and a stronger pull of air were the prince's physical response, remaining almost static in front of him. Would it be reluctance or surprise? You didn't want to be pessimistic.
In fact, for a moment Aemond forgot how to pronounce any kind of words and form sentences, totally surprised by your newly discovered boldness. It was a fact that the least developed pillar of your union was the moment of bed, but he thought that time and reading on the subject would enrich the occasion. But not that way, not with his little lady wife looking so tempting in her soft clothes.
The prince was oblivious to what he considered depravity. His only experience with a lady wasn’t planned and appreciated by him and the option to protect himself for his future lady wife was chosen. Unfortunately, the negative side of keeping inequity out of his life was to arrive at the moment of bed without knowing how to give pleasure to his lady correctly. He hated to see the discomfort stamped on your beautiful face every time he pushed his member on your walls, especially in the first copulation. But here he was and there you were willingly giving yourself.
Your steps were smooth and decided in his direction — although there was fear of being renegade — stopping when your hands landed on the chest covered by the black layers of his tunic. "If you don't want to, I'll understand," no, you wouldn't, you would freak out, but it was your duty as a lady and wife to comply with your husband.
Meanwhile, breathing seemed more difficult every second when he noticed the intensity in the way you watched him, a warm and lustful intensity that no other lady ever directed him. He was being cooked inside his own clothes in an almost maddening fire.
"I want this, lady wife," his voice was a few octaves more serious than usual, his good eye so attentive to your gaze that it seemed to pierce your soul.
Only that confirmation made nectar leak from your flower in anticipation. You didn't want to waste any more time, leaning against him, one hand remained on his chest while the other went up the uninjured side of his face, not wanting him to feel cornered.
“May I kiss you, husband?” You asked in a lascivious voice.
“Yes,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around your waist and holding the left side of your face.
The meeting between your lips was calm (inicially), firm and intimate. There was no previous shyness whenever a kiss happened, no, it was incisive, dominant and became increasingly ravishing and warm. There was urgency in the physical search for each other, making the kiss last longer than any other ever exchanged. It was everything you ever wanted it to be, as natural and ardent as a real dream. But it wasn't enough to satisfy your desire for him.
Moving away from your husband's silky and pink lips, you were quick to announce your next wish: "take off my dress, please, I want to do it the right way today."
The usual blue iris was nothing but a memory dominated by the darkness of his pupil. Aemond's large hands landed on your shoulders to slide both straps of the dress to the sides, removing the fabric accumulated at your waist to the floor, exposing your body in full vision to him.
You were burning, longing so eagerly to be touched that you didn’t want to wait for the prince's excessive chivalry and anticipated unbuttoning his tunic without noticing the approach of his hands on your breasts, making you sigh pleasantly in the massage received. It took a lot of effort to keep undressing your husband and not succumbing to his touch on your soft flesh, almost tearing off the piece and throwing it on the floor.
It was not appropriate for a lady to be desperate for such an activity, so even though you wanted to give the same fate to the pants that hid the modesty of your husband, you restrained yourself by analyzing and strumming his delicious abdomen and chest, touching his sculpted shoulders and long arms. His appearence was ridiculously ethereal and perfect.
“Take me Aemond, I need you,” you begged before capturing his lips again, moaning softly when he growled at your mouth and squeezed your ass with one hand and held the part of your head with another, feeling a growing hardness pressing against his stomach.
“I need to prepare you first, my lady,” he whispered hoarsely, now holding on both sides of your hips and looking away shamelessly to your femininity.
Maybe if it weren't for your rush you would have enjoyed a different pleasure that night, with your husband's lips pressed on their petals, but you still didn't know that. However, what he referred to earlier was already understandable to a lady like you.
"No need, I'm ready," you took his hand and guided him to feel your sticky folds, rubbing your juices gently on his thin fingers. After that you didn't spare time to get on the bed and wait for him, who was very quick to discard his shoes and pants to reach you with ferocity. Gods, what was your misdemeaning behavior doing to him?
The prince breathed heavily as he reached your body only to be rotated on the bed so that you would assume him as a mount. “I would like to try otherwise,” you said it with even heavier eyes, putting your hands on his chest to settle above his groin, his virile and thick masculinity rubbing against your mound, making both moan and hands fly at your waist when you rubbed your folds on him.
You have never seemed more tempting than now, with your beautiful body to total contemplation and disposition and so needed by the union of a man and a woman. It was said by Grand Maester Orwyle that ladies usually behave differently after moon blood and can become demanding about their husbands. Aemond properly interpreted the connotation used by the older man, but did not imagine that it would be such a drastic and needy requirement.
And then, deciding to end your suffering, you sat on the bulbous and reddish tip of your prince's sword, ignoring the initial pain and closing your eyes as you felt him stretch your walls so well in an overwhelming and indescribable feeling. "Oh, Aemond!" A breathless moan escaped when it reached his groin after long seconds. The extraordinary pain recurrent at other times was nothing more than an old ghost when you slid easily on its axis, moving up and down in an experimental and tasty constancy.
Aemond tried to keep his usual stoic feature but it was absolutely difficult when your velvety walls made him feel so good. With his mouth ajar and a heavy look, Aemond squeezed his waist in his clamor for him, taking a deep breath with the sloppy and needy rhythm that you established next.
You didn't know if you were doing it the right way, but you really appreciated the feeling of his thick and soft sword brushing against delicious places in your soft flower. It was good enough to make you moan continuously and scratch the milky skin on his chest.
Hoarse and strangled sounds were released by him during the shock of your hips, closing the good eye to focus on not ending early. He was still stunned by the walk of things since his arrival at the shared cameras — positively stunned. He never imagined that fornication could be so delicious for both of you.
Your eyes opened when your body signaled fatigue from the exercise in question, causing you to reduce your jumps and lean against his abs, almost lying on Aemond when purring so that he would take a position above you. You are not sure if it was the fluidity of the movement or the pressure on your thighs that persuaded your senses to the speed with which he took control and stayed on top, face closer to yours than before, almost making your lips brush. Before he could think about moving away, your arms wrapped around his neck and maintained the proximity between your faces. You wanted to kiss him, or rather, you wanted him to kiss you passionately.
“Kiss me, my dragon.”
The restraint that imprisoned Aemond's wild nature broke with the nickname he received and made him capture your lips in a dominant and fierce kiss, the kiss you've wanted so much since you woke up that day. His hips began to move against yours in a much more fluid way than the other times, fucking you with deliciously intense impulses, without roughness or softness.
He started another wet and sloppy kiss, sucking your lips before sinking his face into your neck and growling against his skin, then planting kisses. “Are you enjoying it, my lady?”
“Y-yes, my prince, yes, go faster!” You moaned and supported your legs on his waist, letting out an almost small scream when the speed of your impulses increased, numbing your senses. The nervousness of bringing pleasure to his wife was dissipated when all he could feel was the constant friction and the way you squeezed him so well.
Flying in wet and pleasurable clouds, you gently held the back of his neck and sneaked to smell his soft and well-groomed silver hair, purring with the addictive and extremely refreshing musk. His heart warmed timidly with your intimate gesture, caving your beautiful face with one hand and touching his foreheads to make love to you in such a unique and vehement way that it made your toes curl and a feeling bloom inside, developing with each push of his hips.
"Beautiful," he uttered contemplating his face kneaded with pleasure, "you're fucking beautiful, my lady wife."
“Really?” You knew it was, but you wanted him to affirm it from his own belief.
“Yes, a lot,” He was fucking lucky to have you. He should say that.
The tingling inside increased with his confession, building something you hadn't felt yet. Was it your dreamed apex germinating? The feeling that your friends elected as the best of all Westeros? He captured your mouth again in a firm but sloppy kiss at the same time, swallowing your lascivious moans and whining intensifies with each roll of hips.
His pleasure also became difficult to ignore, although he was proud that the act was being more profitable and lasting than the other times. Profitable? No, I was delusional.
The connection between you became steamy every second, causing your future supplication: "continue husband, please don't stop."
There was a certain affected region that made your fingers squirm and gasps of pleasure fill your chambers (and maybe even out of them). The recurrence with which Aemond brushed against that point amplified your pleasure and anticipated the hot euphoria that took over your body, making your sight clear and legs cage him when your high came devastatingly good and strong, causing tremor in your limbs and an absolute squeeze in your cunt around his masculinity.
It was the best thing that has ever hit your body in fact, and that caused the release of his seed on your core in erratic movements and an erotic grunt. The nature of the sensation seemed primitive, it was primitive, as a need that needed to be satiated more often. Your bodies were sweaty when he fell to your side with his eyes closed from recent pleasure, bubbling in deep flames like the Old Valyria.
A more than satisfied smile adorned your face with how indescribably good you felt. Not only physically, but your husband's performance softened part of your fear, only one part, the other unfortunately ascended in equity and sowed doubts in your heart. What if the sweetness in his words was only in the heat of the moment? What if he doesn't think you're pretty?
After a moment of comfortable silence you decided to risk it in a low, almost weak voice "... did you really mean those things? About my beauty?" Gods, you didn't want to look pathetic.
And he didn't want to be an absent husband. "Yes," he confessed in a hoarse and soporific voice, almost ashamed of his attitude. "I'm sorry I don't say that as often as you deserve to hear. You're breathtaking, ma'am." His good eye filtered all the reactions from your face carefully. “I'm very lucky to have you by my side.
And nothing was more radiant than your smile when he heard such loving and beautiful statements, daring to snuggle against his chest even though he had a thin layer of sweat. "Your words are nothing more than kind, my prince, I am very grateful to hear them," you began, "you are also a very handsome man," you smoothed the bruised side of his face with the palm of your hand, not getting close to the scar to scare him. "Almost ethereal if I may say," your face was close to his, looking tenderly before leaning against his lips in a chaste and soft kiss.
Compliments directed at appearance were never true to Aemond. Not that he received them too much after the incident, but all the rare times were false, regrettable and uncomfortable. His abilities made him a man safe enough not to care mostly about his deformity, however, in his interior of steel and fire there was a fraction that longed for genuine kindness.
"You are very kind, my lady," he said softly, his voice almost breaking, "did you like what happened?" The thought was almost all verbalized at once, taking not only you but also him by surprise.
“A lot. I liked it a lot, Aemond," you purred against him, feeling your interior warm and vibrate again. "If it's not inappropriate, I wish we could do it again."
That would be a long night...
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taglists:
general: @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @kravitzwhore @partypoison00
ewanverse: @aemonds-fire @partypoison00 @schniiipsel @fan-goddess
aemond: @aemondsblog
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond x reader#prince aemond targaryen#aemond one eyed#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x you#aemond smut#aemond targaryen x wife!reader#aemond x wife reader#wife reader#smut
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But you came over me like some holy rite.
Summary: Your husband seeks you out.
Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader
Word Count: 2160
Warnings: Just some smut. Marital infidelity, mentions of Targcest, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, edging, Aemond being petty.
Author's Note: Thank you @sylasthegrim for beta reading! 💜
This is the alternative ending to Only if for a night. that nobody asked for. Enjoy!
Banners & dividers by @cafekitsune
You could not help how you glowed from the secret you now kept tucked behind your ribs and cradled against your heart. It was something precious, something intimate that you clung to until it felt as if it was rattling your bones beneath.
This is how it had been since your night spent with the king, and you were quick to learn that Aegon was insatiable. He would slip into your quarters through passageways you had not known existed. He would ravish you until the blood streak of the rising sun peaked from the bay, spilling into your room, until your linen was soaked from the mixture of your perspiration and from the multiple peaks he craftily drew from you; you were spent with your blood rising to the surface, leaving you crimson and boneless, but with a blissful smile played on your kiss swollen lips.
“This is our secret,” he would murmur into the crook of your neck, withdrawing his fingers from your pulsing warmth. His digits glistened with your release which he rubbed onto his swollen cockhead before shifting between your thighs and pressing against your entrance.
You moaned from the overstimulation, from the stretch as he sheathed within you, your body pliant and melding against his, your hips cant and rocking in tandem with his own. “It is our secret,” he rasped again, his lips moving to suckle your skin and leaving blooms of red in their wake.
Your handmaidens politely ignored them; they never mentioned these love bites that now littered your body, nor the post-coital scent that hung heavy on your sheets despite your husband being away on whatever errand commanded by his king brother. Your changed disposition could not help but be noticed by the courts with the rose flush to your features from your smile and the soft glimmer in your eyes.
Aegon was bold with his coy tactics whenever you were within arm’s reach, silently relishing in your reactions; his childish teasing, catching your fingers and bringing them to his mouth for a kiss. The touch would jolt through you, the softness of his lips rekindling a warmth in your core and spilling the red onto your features.
Your scarlet hues would push him further–as Aegon was known to do–and he would place his wide palm on your lower back, leaning until his lips tickled your ear with his whispered compliments for you to hear alone.
And you bloomed in response with every word spoken, every touch from the king. It slowly chipped away from the bitter memory of what had brought you two together, of how you caught your husband between the thighs of the queen.
This bitter thought returned was soothed away by the hands of your handmaidens this night; they plaited your still damp hair to allow your curls to set overnight, then helped you dress in a silk nightgown and robe. You dismissed them, returning to your quarters, your slippered feet padding quick and quiet against the cobblestone with hurried steps to escape the night’s cool air flowing through the corridors of the Keep.
You half expected to find your room empty, half hoping that perhaps the king would be awaiting you with his roguish, wine-stained grin, but instead you found your husband.
Aemond was seated in one of the plush velvet chairs that faced the fireplace, its amber color casting shadows across his sharp features and pursed lips. His one arm was bent, his fingers pressed to the jut of his chin in contemplation while his other hand held onto a goblet that was filled with the Dornish wine your handmaidens would leave for your nightcap.
“Good evening, ābrazȳrys.”
Wife. He did not look at you when he said his term of endearment, and you were aware of the acidity to his low timbre. “Lord husband,” and you forced yourself into the room, closing the door behind you. “I…was unaware that you had returned. I had not expected you tonight.”
Aemond only hummed in response, peering down into the gilded cup before setting it on the end table. His every movement was fluid, precise, from how his long fingers wrapped around the armrests to push himself to stand upright, and turning on his heel to face you.
Your breath hitched when you noticed that he was not wearing his eyepatch. You wished to fall back a step, away from his heady, bicolored gaze, but instead your arms knotted beneath your chest, pulling your robe tight over your curves and squaring off towards him.
His expression was almost unreadable, perhaps amused or agitated, something that was precariously balancing on the edge of a blade. “I returned this evening. I thought it best to come and fulfill what is expected of us,” his low voice continued, his brow raised. “Ābrazȳrys.”
Oh.
As man and wife, of course it would be expected that you two would continue to couple until the fruition of a silver haired babe. Aegon, however, had seen Aemond to be sent away, to serve as a diplomat for a neighboring kingdom which allowed you to be swept away with your royal dalliance. But you also assumed that when Aemond inevitably returned, that he would go back to Helaena’s embrace just as you found him on that fateful night.
And with that the bitter thought returned with its muted vengeance, the vision of the glistening exertion across Aemond’s back and shoulders as he purposefully kneeled between the thighs of the queen–his sister–
You bit the inside of your cheek, a stilted shuddered response, your own thighs clenching as a warmth washed over you from his gaze, but your eyes dropped and you obediently moved towards the bed. The robe was discarded and fluttered to the ground, the mattress sinking with your weight as you climbed to lay back in your clean chemise and nothing more. You took a deep breath and then rucked the silk up around your hips.
Your husband, if anything, had always shown consideration until completion since your wedding night. You had been informed of your fortune that his touch was never abrasive, but almost cautious, that he was mindful of your every small sound and how he would dutifully respond. It was enjoyable enough, a godsend in comparison to the hushed horrors shared amongst the ladies of the court… but this was before you learned of the passion that could be shared between the sheets.
The blood rose to your features as you recalled that fateful night again and in detail, of what you had seen and what Aegon then showed you. You remembered the flutter of passion that trilled your spine watching your husband and how it emboldened you to dare kiss the king, that moment stemming from the torrid passion Helaena clearly felt, her voice echoing in your head…
“Aemond, Aemond, Aemond…”
And now you laid, compliant and waiting for your husband to take his pleasure. There was a pregnant pause and your fingers played with the silk hem before your chin tilted to your chest to see Aemond at the end of the bed, his slender fingers quick to shed his upper layers.
Your husband was handsome, it was undeniable, with the sinewy frame of muscle on his long and lithe form, the silver scars that decorated his alabaster skin that took a golden hue from the lighting of your room. His slacks hung low on his lips with lines that cut and disappeared beneath the waistline, where you could see the strain of his length outlined against the fabric.
His hum brought your attention back to his steady gaze and you blushed while his satisfaction spilled into his perpetual smirk that always played on the curves of his lips. Aemond then reached forward until his large hands–even larger than his brother’s–wrapped around your ankles and he dragged you closer towards the edge of where he still stood.
The movement jarred you and you could not help your startled noise, his name caught on your tongue, “Aem–” and you were burning from where his hands held you, from the fire in his veins.
You were closer now, with your legs bent and knees up, your feet pressing to anchor you from falling over the edge. The air was cool against your cunt shown and Aemond tilted his head to take in the sight, another appreciative hum at your lewd display. His hand moved to one of your knees, and he leaned over with the spill of silver that curtained both sides of his face, his eye careful to watch your reaction as his other hand moved between your thighs.
His touch elicits a soft noise from you, his gentle touch at your entrance where your wetness pooled allowing him to glide upwards towards the bundle of nerves that bloomed above. You bit your lip to muffle yourself, but Aemond was still peering at you, his lips curling upwards with how your body was responding.
“W-what are you doing?” You are breathless with your question.
There is a glint, an emotion that plays across his face, something fleeting that comes and goes with your heart beat, its rapid pace growing with his ministrations. “I am only fulfilling my marital duties,” his low timbre answered you.
Your blood now boils in your veins, the rising reds to your skin showing, though your features are frozen from his deliberate choice of words. Your heart is now bruising against your ribcage as you recalled the exchange you had with the king, his pitying tone when he asked you:
“Is your husband not fulfilling his marital duties?”
You had said nothing then, and you are quiet now until another gasp steals your breath as Aemond’s fingers map between before his lips follow. You press up to your elbows for the sight, the blanket of silver that shimmers with his motion as his hot mouth consumes you. You fall back again, fistfuls of linen, and your pleasure building at the base of your spine, the sparks that flutter to and from your nerve endings, and your thighs begin to tremble as it pushes against your seams.
There is a pressure as his slender finger curls within, another that follows in tandem with the come hither curl pushing against that sweet spot and stars burst before your vision. You are breathless, tears pearling and spilling at the corners of your eyes with each crest of pleasure and you only wish to cry out, a sobbed release.
And he stops, still knuckle deep in your warmth, your cunt clenching in desperation for your release. “Not yet, ābrazȳrys,” and his exhale against the wetness causes you to shudder.
You whimper at the dull ache left as he withdraws his digits, his hand pushing to stand and freeing his member over the loosened waistband. Your eyes widen at the sight, its heavy sway as he moves to climb and his simultaneous, languid pumps from his hand that glistens with your arousal.
The bed dips. “Please, Aemond–” you beg, you gasp again with his weight on top of you, slotting himself between your legs, and you can feel him pressed against the inside of your thigh.
His elbow presses by your head, his hand covering your mouth to shush you while the other moves between to line himself with your entrance. Your gasp is muffled against his palm, your nails biting into his shoulders as his hips rock to sheath fully into your wet cunt.
Your walls still pulse from your deprived release and his head dips into the curve of your neck, a low groan against your skin. Your impatience spills, lifting your legs to knit around his slender waist and pulling him closer; he responds, rutting against you, a solid pace that pounds into you, until his hip bones begin to bruise against your skin.
You writhe beneath him, his thrusts stoking your passion anew and your blood rushing to intimately stain your body. You feel the pleasure pulling at your core, unbridled, and your velvet walls flutter again…
And Aemond pulls away, snapping back with such force to break the hold of your legs around, his hand coming to pump his length until ropes of pearly spend spill onto your stomach, your thighs, your silk still bunched around your upper body.
You choke on your frustration, your vision blurred as you push to your elbows once again, chest heaving. “Aemond,” your exasperation pours from you, choked on the tears that brim.
Aemond is wordless as he tucks himself away and grabs for his shirt and tunic; his slender fingers are just as quick to dress again, albeit a bit disheveled with the muss of his silver hair spilling over his shoulders.
He then looks at you, his jaw clenches and then relaxes as his perpetual smirk returns. “Perhaps you should ask our devoted king to sate your appetite, ābrazȳrys.”
And then he leaves you, bare and alone.
arcie's masterlist
Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @aemondx @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1 @hb8301 @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9 @namelesslosers
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x you#hotd fanfic#hotd fanfiction#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x wife!reader#aemond aemond aemond#but you came over me like some holy rite
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Daybreak
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader
Warnings: none
Summary: You've tried to help your husband. Yet, you are forced to watch the wrong person getting crowned...
Wordcount: 1.9k
A/N: So, maybe many of you cannot relate to this. The idea came to me while I listened to the song 'Daybreak' by Dimash Qudaibergen. But I just had to write this because as someone who has to fight with very intense emotions, I can relate to this so unbelievably well. My heart broke for both Aemond and Aegon during the crowning scene. Aemond may be the villain of House of the Dragon, but it wasn't really his choice. No one gets born this malicious, one is made this way. And even when it actually is a deliberate choice at some point, growing up in a family like the Targaryen's only means that this attitude is forced upon you without a real chance to escape it.
English isn't my first language, please forgive any mistakes!
Stiffly, you stood together with your family-in-law on the podium in the Sept. Thousands of citizens were gathered in the hall, squeezing each other in order to get in to be able to see the crowning of Aegon II Targaryen. Your facial expression was completely blank and shock cursed through your body, causing to numb every emotion and dull every sense, and coldness slowly seeped into your bones. It's been three years now since you got married to Aegon's younger brother Aemond Targaryen. The both of you hadn't had a great start. Mean words and accusations had been thrown in both directions and you had actually hit him one or two times. He was the only person in this world that could get you riled up this much. And he also was the only person that you loved more than your own life.
You hadn't been able to avoid to fall in love with him. The both of you had partially been forced to spend time together and over the course of months, you had come to know Aemond better. You knew of his favorite things, of the things he hated, of his doubts and dreams. Especially his dreams. They were ones you shared. Having spent three years in his family, you knew as much as Aemond that he was a better man than his brother. He should be the one to be crowned today. Instead, he stood next to you, as stiffly as you yourself, his eye looking over the crowd with no emotion. Your fingers were intertwined with his and you could feel the warmth of his hand on your palm. Normally, it was reassuring and calming. But today, it did nothing to you.
You felt completely numb as you watched the kingsguard enter the Sept and build a corridor in the crowd for Aegon to go through. The tips of your fingers became cold and your breath slightly hitched in your throat, barely audible. One second later, you could feel the gaze of your husband on you, almost burning the right side of your face with its intensity. Of course he had heard you – he would always hear you, no matter where you were or how far away. It was your special bond that you both shared with each other after your Valyrian marriage; a bond that had developed with hate and rage, pain and tears, and that had turned into care and happiness, passion and love over time. The surroundings receded into the background, only noticeable at the edge of your field of vision as your empty eyes followed Aegon walking through the crowd. Somewhere distant in your mind, you registered that he seemed as unhappy and desperate as you felt right now deep down.
The events passed you by in a blur. You vaguely heard the Septon speak from far away, not able to follow the words that were spoken; you saw Aegon accepting his fate, the crown on his head, and you barely managed to hold yourself together as the searing pain that you had buried deep within you for today began to rise to the surface. But you held on. Because you knew that right now was not the time to lose it. You knew the pain Aemond held within himself that he never allowed to be seen. You knew of his childhood and youth, full of the bullying from his siblings and nephews, the lost of his eye, the expectations especially his mother had with him which he hadn't been able to meet, and his burning wish to follow his father on the throne after Viserys' death, to prove himself. Your hand that still held Aemond's became completely cold, even his warmth couldn't prevent it as you saw your meticulously detailed plan going down the drain right in front of your eyes. You knew that Aegon didn't want to be king, as much as Aemond and you didn't want him to be.
You couldn't explain when it all had started to go down the hill. Everything had been perfect. A few days before this important day, you had spoken to Aegon after having gone through everything with Aemond beforehand, how you wanted to do it. You had explained it in detail to Aegon and he had not hesitated to give his approval. One of the preparations had been to bribe the right people who you knew would support you to make Aegon disappear. They had agreed to help you because they had been able to see in Aegon's face and attitude that he did not want to be king. After everything was prepared, everything had gone smoothly today, almost as if everyone around you just wanted to play into your cards. Aegon had disappeared to hide above the dragonpit where no one would suspect him and would just have waited for an opportunity to board a ship to leave Westeros. Even when Aemond had come to you to tell you that his mother had sent out Ser Criston in order to search for Aegon, you had known that this wouldn't change anything.
And yet, here you stood, helplessly watching how the wrong man got crowned.
You could feel tears bubbling up in your throat and swallowed hard to keep them at bay. Still not the right time. You were thankful that Rhaenys Velaryon freed her dragon and disturbed the crowning ceremony, causing utter chaos and pain as her dragon hurt and killed people. You barely registered Aemond pushing himself in front of you to protect you, his hand on the right side of your hips to reassure himself that you were in fact behind him. You saw Rhaenys escape with her dragon as they tried to close the doors to prevent both her and the people from fleeing. But what happened next, you didn't know. You had a few flashing pictures of the kingsguard escorting you through the Red Keep to your chambers, which you shared with Aemond. The door was quietly closed behind you, but you didn't react at first. You still felt eerily numb, though the ripping pain was lurking beneath the surface, and you couldn't quite comprehend what had just happened during the last hour in your life.
Your gaze wandered out of the window at an extremely slow pace while your heartbeat started to quicken as your brain tediously began to catch up with what had happened. You knew that your emotions would nearly kill you the moment they would start to devour you. You tried to hold it back, to give yourself more time to maybe prepare a little bit for what was about to come. But you couldn't. The first sob escaped your throat mere seconds after you felt the barrier that you had built around your feelings begin to crumble down. The quite rustling of clothes somewhere beside you drew your attention and you saw Aemond standing a few feet away from you as your gaze flickered over to him, looking completely desperate, pained, and defeated.
It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair that the man you loved with every fiber of your existence had to suffer this much.
Something finally snapped somewhere in your mind. Burning pain ripped through you, hatred for Queen Alicent and her father melted your intestines and rage flowed through your veins like liquid fire. The first chalice crashed against the wall with a loud noise, accompanied by your furious scream. Everything had been perfectly planned, even Aegon had agreed to your plan and had supported you. And now, here you were, damned to see your soulmate suffer. The next chalices, glasses, and plates were thrown through the room, clattering to the ground and crashing against the walls, splintering into a thousand pieces just like your soul did at the sight of Aemond. You weren't able to hold yourself back; blankets, pillows, cups, plates, chairs, and books were thrown through the room by you while you simultaneously screamed your throat raw. For you, it was the only way to handle this all-surrounding pain, rage, and hatred within you that chewed venomously at you and devoured you whole. Tears were streaming down your face and your silver-blonde hair was an absolute mess, the long strands completely tangled, but you couldn't care any less.
Nothing was anymore where it had been before. Even the table had got toppled over by you in your rage. You didn't even really notice that you grabbed the glass vase that stood on the windowsill with pretty flowers in it – a gift from Aemond's mother yesterday. Now it seemed to mock you. Before you could do something more, your knees finally gave way due to exhaustion, but that didn't stop you. As soon as you were sitting on the ground, you slammed the vase onto the stone with your hand still attached. The physical pain that shot through your hand as a big piece of glass cut deeply into your palm, was what brought you finally back a little bit. Your voice went quiet and soundless sobs shook your whole body, big tears still streaming down your cheeks and dropping to the ground and on your dress. You could see the dark color of a pair of breeches as Aemond knelt on the ground next to you, carefully taking your injured hand into his own.
“Please,” you sobbed. Your throat was sore and hurt, your voice hoarse and raspy, cracking at the end and almost swallowing the next words you choked out, “Please, Aemond, make it stop. It hurts so bad.”
Another wave of tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him. New pain tore your heart to shreds the moment you saw the wet shimmer staining his beautiful face. “I know,” he whispered, his own voice breaking and thus barely audible. He looked down at your hand again, turning it around and inhaling sharply when he saw the large shard of glass that stuck in your hand, drawing blood that already started to drop to the ground, accompanying the new tears that streamed down your cheeks.
“It hurts,” you breathed. There was no need for you to explain to Aemond that you didn't mean your hand. Your other hand came up and the tips of your fingers grazed his hairline and the upper part of his forehead, lovingly and soothing. “I am sorry,” you whispered, causing his head to snap up again to look at you. “I have failed you, my love.”
You could see the pain in his eye as you said these words. “No,” he contradicted you and shook his head. “No, you didn't fail me, Y/N. You gave everything I could have asked for, and even more.”
“Avy jorrāelan, ñuhyz zaldrīzes,” you said weakly and finally started to calm down, exhaustion slowly settling in. “So much that it hurts.” (I love you, my dragon.)
“I know,” was all Aemond said to this. “I can feel it.” He grabbed the shard of glass carefully and started to pull it out, causing you to contort your face in pain. “We will fix this, byka mēre, I promise you.” (little one.)
“Okay,” you sniffed and wiped the tears from his cheek. All that you wanted was to see him happy, truly happy. It had become the center of your life the moment you realized that you loved this man that was still a broken little child deep down. You knew that sitting on the Iron Throne with that crown upon his head was what would make him truly happy.
And you would give everything to get him on that throne. In the end, even your own life.
Maybe one day, I'll write another part, but I just had to get that off my chest.
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen x wife!reader#aemond x wife!reader#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you#house of the dragon#hotd
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Loving Care
Note ~ So I was sick with hay fever or a flu or allergy something. My nose is blocked, got a headache and practically on fire and with the heat (I live in Australia and it’s hot from December-February) and I thought of this. Enjoy! Also reader is female as it’s easier for me to write females TBH. I’ll try and venture into the gender neutral and male readers perspectives in the future but for now my sickfic.
Your head aches as if someone’s kicked it during the night. The notion of looking at the sunlight gleaming in irritates you. You wince and hide your eyes and face under your hand, little did you know your wince woke your husband, Aemond.
When you and Aemond had gotten married, people were talking about the poor girl marrying the one-eyed dragon with a short temper, but Aemond proved those tales wrong but getting to know the woman he was marrying. He was pleased to know you preferred reading as opposed to doing what other ladies did. They worried about what dress to wear, you worried about what book you could read next. The minute you were pronounced man and wife, he resisted the urge to take you in front of the High Septon and all the wedding guests. Thank gods his father agreed to no bedding ceremony,
Aemond was an attentive husband. He made sure you felt pleasure before preparing you for the main event of the bedding ceremony, he even believed you thought his scarred eye and eyepatch repulsive, only to feel warm when you instead stroked the scar and expressed that you swore that you’d love him, and that included the scarred eye and eyepatch. It was at that moment, Aemond decided to say those three magical words.
“I love you.”
Now, it’s 3 weeks after your wedding, and you’ve unknowingly awoken your beloved husband from his rest. He had been reading up on all politics, although he would inherit in the event of his older sister Rhaenyra, her sons by Harwin Strong and Daemon, Aegon and his twins little Jaehaerys and Jaehaera would all meet with a tragic end that would place Aemond on the Iron Throne.
As he loved Jaehaerys and Jaehaera as they were his niece and nephew by his sweet yet strange sister Helaena, he hoped they’d live long lives, as much as he hated Aegon, it was better than Rhaenyra, who had whored herself to Harwin Strong, cucking her husband, Ser Laenor Velaryon, and having three sons obviously not of Velaryon descent, as well as having children with her uncle Daemon who had lost his own wife Laena around the same time your Prince lost his eye.
Aemond opened his eye to see you, his precious woman, shielding yourself from the light. He pecked your cheek, alerting you to his presence
“Good morning, my love.” He spoke softly, brushing his fingers in your chest-length hair. It was one of many of Aemond’s touches that you loved and he knew it.
You replied quietly “Hi. Did I wake you?”
He nodded sideways, feeling your forehead “My love, you’re burning up. I’ll summon the maester!”
And he did. The maester decided you simply had a fever and needed rest. Aemond, being the sweetest husband he could be for you, he asked the maester how best he can take care of you and practically mothered over you.
Blankets, coldest drinks, the best meals and even the the finest medicine was all given to you, his precious wife.
“Honey, you need to save some things for everyone else. I can’t use it all!” You giggled and sniffled.
Aemond shook his head “Yes I do. You are my wife, I made a vow before the gods, the people and my family to love and take care of you. I will not shirk my husbandly duty. You are the love of my life, my light in darkness, my world.”
Aemond picked up your hand and kissed the knuckles. You blushed, Aemond climbed into bed and held you against his chest. He grabbed a book from the side table and began to read a few pages aloud when you fell asleep. Soon he kissed you on your head as you both fell asleep.
As soon as you got better, Aemond got sick, and you thought it fair to help him recover the same way he helped you. Alicent applauded your dedication to nurse your husband back to help, and as soon as you were both back to good health, Aemond showed you how much he loved you.
Note ~ Sorry if this sucks.
#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x wife!reader#aemond targaryen x wife!reader
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Aemond x reader masterlist
Taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9
The games we play
The philosopher (part i)
Seasons of my love (Aemond x male!reader)
The Dornish Lady (older!Dornish!witch)
The Dornish Princess (aemond x fake princess!reader)
The Dornish Princess (part ii)
The Bedding (nsfwish)
Choke (aemond x niece!reader)
Dad!Aemond
Kepa (Aemon(oc son) says his second word)
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Part 15 of Finding Common Cause is out ❤️
#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond x oc#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond fanfiction#aemond smut#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x original character#aemond targaryen x fem!oc#aemond targaryen x reader#hotd oc#hotd original character#Aemond targaryen x wife!reader#aemond targaryen smut#fyeahhotdocs
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Lykirī
PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader
WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob, we ride him bitches, dom/sub tones if you squint
WORD COUNT: 8.9k
Author's note: an early Christmas gift for those who celebrate!! For those who don't, just a regular smutty piece. This was based on a request where wife!reader rides Aemond. Merry Aemondmas :)
MASTERLIST
taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee
"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."
Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.
Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.
"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”
The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.
The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.
You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.
Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."
Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"
The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.
Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.
"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."
"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."
Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”
"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"
He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.
You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.
“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.
“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”
“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?
It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.
“Lay on the bed.”
With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?
“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.
Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.
As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”
Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”
Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.
Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.
Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.
“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.
You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”
He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.
One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”
It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.
“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.
“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.
Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.
He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.
Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.
The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.
"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"
"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.
"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."
"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."
"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."
At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.
The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.
The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.
The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.
The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.
It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.
That was indeed the good part.
“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.
It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.
“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”
His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.
“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”
The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.
“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”
“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”
"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."
"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."
His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.
He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.
And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.
He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.
It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.
She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.
“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kostā pāsagon zirȳla.”
You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”
You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”
Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”
You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.
“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.
He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.
“Aemond, I don’t think—”
“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.
Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.
Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.
He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.
“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”
She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.
She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”
There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.
“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”
You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.
“Above them. Above the Gods.”
“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”
He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”
“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”
He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”
“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”
You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”
The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.
A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.
Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.
“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”
Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.
He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.
Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.
You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.
It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.
And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.
And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.
“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.
You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.
You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."
Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.
But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.
You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.
“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“
But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.
Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”
“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.
“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”
He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.
Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."
“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.
“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.
“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”
You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.
You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”
He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”
Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.
He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.
He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.
And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.
“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”
Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can’t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.
“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.
It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.
"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.
Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.
You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.
"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."
"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.
You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"
He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."
"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."
He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.
You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.
“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.
“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.
But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”
You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.
When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.
"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"
You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."
"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"
You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."
"Neither does you."
"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."
"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.
You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.
You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.
"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."
You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.
Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."
"What?"
She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."
"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.
"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."
You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.
"It is too soon to talk about love."
"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."
You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.
But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.
"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."
"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."
You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."
Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."
"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."
Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"
A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.
"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"
"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.
"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."
That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.
You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.
"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"
"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.
You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."
He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.
"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.
"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"
"I was in the library."
"For four hours?"
"It was a tough read—"
He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos."
Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.
"Aemond, what's going on?"
"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."
You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."
You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."
"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.
He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."
There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."
He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.
The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.
“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”
“Yes.”
"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"
"I wish to conquer, not claim."
He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.
"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."
He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.
You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.
You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...
"Can I take it off?"
There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.
"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."
"It is not pleasant."
"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."
He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.
A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.
You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."
His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.
And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.
"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.
"Lykirī."
His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."
He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."
“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.
“You don’t have to—“
“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”
He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.
But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.
He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.
He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.
He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.
“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”
But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.
“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.
“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.
“My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.
You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.
Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”
You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.
“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.
Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.
Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.
His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.
You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.
He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”
It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.
You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.
He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.
“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.
“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”
“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.
“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”
“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.
“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”
You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."
Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.
You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.
“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”
But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.
“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"
You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.
"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.
He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.
And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror.
Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞
#likiri#liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen#ewan mitchell#aemond x wife reader#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x wife reader#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x you#aemond x fem!reader#aemond targaryen x fem!reader#aemond fic#aemond smut#hotd fic
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Nūmioītsos
19/12: Future & Face Sitting - Aemond Targaryen
Word Count: 1.5k~ | Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, oral (f receiving), prince regent aemond
A/N: This is in the Pearl of The Realm Universe!
12 Days of Smuff Masterlist
It's something he'd dreamt of, but never really envisioned. Perhaps he'd never allowed himself to. With Aegon severely wounded by dragonfire, the conqueror's crown would no longer sit atop his head with ease, so now it sat on his.
It was lighter than he imagined it would be. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He was not King. But it was the closest he'd ever be to it.
The aura was strange at the Dragonpit, very much akin to Aegon's in that sense.
He remembered standing beside Helena as she'd pressed her lips together and curtseyed before her brother-husband, who had become her king and made her his queen. Remembered how she had that distant, forlorn look in her pale violet eyes. Like she knew hardships were coming.
And as Aemond turned to his little pearl to see what expression she wore, he felt his heart ache for her like he had done for his sister.
She was visibly nervous. Clasping her hands at her front, and squeezing for dear life. Her eyes were trained on the space before her, away from anyone else's. He could not blame her. She married a second son. Who would inherit nothing but a name.
She never expected this responsibility, and in a way, above the power that the crown gave him, he felt awful that he could not give his wife, who deserved the world, the peaceful, calm life she always expected.
Not a word was spoken between them, until they reached their chambers, and the doors shut with a heavy thud, like he wanted to shut out that feeling.
“I am sorry…” she whispered suddenly, standing in the middle of the room.
He was transported in his memory back to their wedding night, when she'd apologised, for maybe not being as pretty as he wanted her to be.
She had come a long way, but she still always apologised too much.
He saw her throat bob before she continued, “I could not find the right moment to tell you…”
“What is it, my love”, he replied softly, moving a waved strand of hair from her face with all the sincerity of a husband so irrevocably in love.
Her eyes lifted to meet his gaze, leaning slightly into his hand before she took his one hand in her two small ones, leading it flat to her stomach.
And then he understands.
Her nerves. Her silence.
She was terrified.
And with child.
His face softened instantly despite the incessant weight of the conqueror’s crown on his temples, his violet eye searched her nervous face, as if trying to see what she was thinking.
“I am frightened, Aemond…” she uttered quietly, her cheeks pink and lips pressed together, trying outwardly to stop herself from falling apart and becoming hysterical.
His hand almost entirely covered her belly and he sighed as he rubbed it lovingly, his child inside her made him feel all hazy on love.
“Afraid of what, wife?”
She swallowed thickly before she raised her head, “Afraid of…what this all means for us now,” she replied, her eyebrows arched in worry, “for our child.”
He understood entirely what she meant. And he saw her eyes close contently as his palm rested against her cheek, brushing her hair away, “Oh, my little pearl. I will not let anything happen to you, or our babe.”
When their gazes met, she knew she had nothing but her belief in him. She had to believe him. Though her eyes were moist, with tears rimmed in them with fear of their future, she gave him a gentle smile, choosing to put her faith in her husband entirely.
“I will not have you go to sleep crying”, he whispered, softly running the backs of his fingers over her cheek, seeing her nod weakly.
“Unless you are crying my name”.
She gave a watery laugh, a pleasant smile stretching on her delicate features. And when she met eyes with him again, the smile faded into a blush, finding that her husband was in no mood for shallow promises as his hand drifted from her stomach to that sensitive spot between her legs, even above her thick skirts, she felt herself become warm.
“I-I thought…lords did not lay with their wives if they were…”
Aemond smirked, quite forgetting the crown placed atop his head when he leaned down to lay open-mouthed kisses to her neck, making her shiver.
“It is fortunate that I am no lord then, little pearl”.
His words made a warmth sink between her thighs, clutching onto his doublet tightly like he might disappear in a moment.
She sighed, eyes slipping shut as Aemond kissed and marked at her neck, not noticing that Aemond’s deft hands were undoing the laces of her dress and prying each section apart. It was only when his warm hands chased the curves of her hips and back that she lifted her eyes to him again.
“Aemond-”
“Hush - do you not wish to please your King?”
The words make her mouth go dry, a chill settling on the little baby hairs on her arms as he tugs the heavy dress off her, like he was desperate to see what was underneath. As if he had not seen her bare since the day they were wed.
He tugged her close to him as he sat on their bed, his face level with her breasts which he mouthed over lovingly, taking one of her nipples between his lips and suckling gently, both his hands tight on her hips.
“Aemond…”
He still loved that, the way she said his name so breathily and needy like that.
He fought the urge to grin, teasing the stiffened bud with his warm tongue before trailing it to the other.
“Hm - Oh, little pearl, I can hardly wait to see you fat with child - and these so full…”
She gasped in pleasure, a warm feeling sinking to the apex of her thighs.
And Aemond did grin widely when she squeaked with surprise as her husband laid back on the bed, pulling her on top of him, with her legs either side of his waist.
Being on top was not something she'd done before. And being entirely naked on top of her entirely clothed husband, makes her head spin dramatically.
“Aemond, I…I don't know-”
She shivered as his warm hands traced the outline of her body, “I have not seen that lost, blushing expression in so long, dear wife. Are you nervous?”
She nodded softly, her eyes looking away, wanting to cover herself but knowing that if she tried, it would only inspire him to tear her hands away from herself.
“My sweet, innocent wife…I only wish to taste you.”
Her eyes widen, “Aemond, I do not want to hurt y-”
“You will not hurt me. I want your cunt on my lips, now.”
She could feel her stomach flipping with nerves as Aemond guided her higher, her cheeks aflame with the idea that all this was arousing her in the most forbidden way.
“Relax..”
She could do about anything but relax as Aemond tugged her hips down, a high pitched moan slipping out when she felt his warm tongue part her slick folders and dive in, his moan vibrating through her core as he moved his lips with passion.
He hummed into her womanhood, his fingers sinking into her flesh to keep her flush down to his mouth as he feasted on her. He is sure he could spend forever between her plush thighs, almost forgetting the weight of the crown slipping from his moonlit head as he tasted his queen.
The crown almost slipped all the way off as he hand grasped his hair, her hips moving atop his tongue in micro-movements, “Gods - Aemond-”
With his one eye looking up at her body, he squeezed her thighs tighter, increasing his movements and shifting his tongue up to suckle at her bud, enjoying the way she moaned breathily and tipped her head back.
He happily sucked every bit of release that came from her as he felt her trembling atop him, her fingers tightening in his hair almost painfully as she rode out her high by fucking herself against his needy mouth, prolonging her sweet rapture by sliding his wet muscle through her quivering walls.
She jolted when he placed open-mouthed kisses to her sensitive cunt, his hands soothing where he'd been gripping at her.
Equally, she whined when he pulled his lips from her, looking down at him with flushed cheeks and dreamy, misty eyes. Her husband grinned up at her, as if in victory, the conqueror's crown laid upside down on the bed above his head from the effort of his lust.
She briefly worried she'd upset him by nudging the crown from his head.
And her heart thudded with excitement, as did his, when she leaned down, to place it back atop his head.
Aemond was sure, he had never been more hard in his life at that moment.
And he smirked with mischief as he leaned up, making her sit astride him, still trembling from her release, and unlaced his breeches.
It may take all night, but gods, he'd make her feel like a queen by the end of it.
Like his queen.
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Unfair
Summary: After an incident between Baelon and Aelor you ask Aemond to talk to Baelon.
I'm glad I finally finished writing this and sharing it with all of you. I hope you like it 🥰🥰
comments, reblogs, likes are always greatly appreciated 💖💖
This is part of the "The Queen and Her Husbands" universe, if you haven't read it before I'm going to make a couple of clarifications: Reader is married to Aemond and Aegon; Baelon and Aemon are the twin sons of Reader and Aemond; Aelor is Aemond's bastard son with Alys Rivers; Daeron is the son of Reader and Aegon; Jaehaera is still alive just like the dragons; people refer to Aegon (Rhaenyra's son) as Egg.
Disclaimer: English is not my mother tongue so I apologize for any mistakes.
It was not normal to see the Hand of the King running through the halls unless he was following his children or playing with them. Aemond was running for his children again, but this time because one of them had gotten hurt. One of the servants told him that there was a fight in the courtyard between the children. Aemond didn't even bother to finish listening to the woman when he ran out.
He hurried into your shared chambers. Aelor sat while the maester daubed his cheek with ointment. You found yourself holding your son's hand looking at him with pure concern while your other hand was on your stomach. Aegon was behind you, his hands caressing your back trying to bring you comfort.
"I'm fine. It doesn't hurt" Aelor said trying to reassure everyone but every time the maester touched the wound he made a face and couldn't help but squeeze your hand.
"What happened?" Aemond asked going to his son's side. He couldn't see the wound because it was covered by the ointment but from the way the ointment was on he could tell it wasn't a small cut.
"He didn't need stitches. The maester says there's a chance he doesn't have a scar" you announced making your first husband frown because you weren't telling him what he wanted to know. He was still relieved to learn that the wound wasn't bad enough to need stitches. He still remembered the pain he had to endure while the maester stitched him up after losing his eye. He didn't want his son to suffer the same pain.
"My prince, try not to get your face dirty or touch your wound these days," said the master once he finished smearing the ointment and began to pick up his medicines from the table "Tomorrow I'll put more on it" he warned as he got up.
"Thank you for your services, maester," you said and the old man nodded before leaving the room.
"What happened?" the one-eyed prince asked again, caressing the brown curls of his son. Aelor shrank back in his chair. Not because he was uncomfortable or disgusted by his father's show of affection but because he was too embarrassed to tell him what happened in the courtyard.
"Ser Fell made Aelor and Baelon fight. They were having a good fight" Aegon said, the truth was that the fight wasn't long and it was evident that Baelon had more experience but knowing that Aelor was embarrassed and always wanted to impress Aemond he decided to lie for his nephew. "Until Baelon brought him down"
"And Aelor surrendered" you continued the story. The boy looked at his feet without daring to see his father's reaction. He was a Targaryen, he should have stood up and fought but he gave up fast. "Even so, Baelon continued to attack him" Your voice was calm but your anger didn't go unnoticed by any of your husbands.
"It was an accident. He didn't listen to me" Aelor lied, always loyal to his brothers and not wanting them to get in trouble because of him. He had angered Baelon by stealing Shrykos from him.
"It wasn't an accident," both you and Aegon said determinedly. It was impossible not to have heard Aelor's screams saying that he was giving up. You will never forget the terror in your son's eyes. Worst of all, the cause of that fear was your other son. If it weren't for Aegon acting fast and holding Baelon from behind, you were sure Aelor's injuries would be worse. For a moment you panicked, imagining Aelor without one eye. What would you do? What would Aemond do? You would have to impose justice. Could you punish Baelon? You never wanted to be in that situation with any of your children.
You rubbed your stomach nervously. If this pregnancy ended well, you wanted more than anything that by the time the baby was born all her siblings would get along.
"Aemond, you must talk to Baelon" you request feeling overwhelmed by the situation. This pregnancy already had you worried. Not only that, but you also had to keep an eye on the lords and solve any problem they had in addition to raising your children.
It wasn't the first time that there was a problem with Baelon, you had already reprimanded him on more than one occasion for his deal with Aelor but he didn't seem to listen. You hoped that Aemond could do something. You had the feeling that Baelon's attitude was due to jealousy for not having a dragon. Aemond would understand him better than you, and he would know what to say to him to come to his senses.
"Of course, I'll go look for him in a minute," your husband assured, continuing to caress the boy's curls. "Are you sure you're okay?" She asked, looking at him carefully for any other injuries.
"Yes, Kepa. I am strong, this is nothing" declared Aelor, wanting to show courage in front of him.
Aemond smiled at him and kissed his forehead. "Good. Why don't you and your uncle go to the kitchens for raspberry pies?"
Aelor's eyes sparkled with excitement as she heard her favorite candy "Can I have two?"
"Well you earned it"
"Thank you Kepa!" the boy said before quickly dragging his uncle out in case his father suddenly changed her mind.
You and Aemond both smiled at Aelor's excitement. You two always wanted to see their son happy. They both missed how carefree he was before learning of his origin. Ever since Aelor found out he was a bastard now he seemed more withdrawn. He didn't like to attract attention.
"How are you?" your husband asked, approaching you and looking at you with concern. The last thing he wanted was for you to be stressed in your state. He was afraid that you would have another loss. The memory of your last pregnancy still haunted him. He didn't want to see you go through that pain again.
You took Aemond's hand and placed it on your stomach so he could feel the baby kick "The baby is fine but I'll be fine when you talk to Baelon."
"I will, I just wanted to make sure first that Aelor and you are okay," he said as he caressed your stomach feeling a little calmer when he felt the baby.
"Aemond, this can't happen again" You started to get frustrated because he didn't seem to be losing his mind like you.
"It won't happen" your husband promised but still you weren't calm. You couldn't let something like Driftmark happen. If Aemond couldn't bring Baelon to his senses then no one else in the castle could.
"I can write to Cregan Stark, I'm sure he will have no problem accepting Baelon as a pupil"
You instantly noticed how happiness disappeared from your husband's face and how he became tense. You hated being the cause of his unhappiness but you knew it was the right choice. The North would make a good man out of Baelon. You trusted that Cregan Stark wouldn't treat him differently for being a prince and he would take care not to spoil him. Baelon in the North couldn't do what he wanted, he would have to learn to respect his customs and follow his rules. Cregan could teach him that dragons weren't the only important thing in this life.
“It was just an idea to keep in mind. Please, don't be mad at me” you said caressing his face.
•••••
Baelon watched out the window as Aemon and Jaehaera flew on their dragons when he heard the door open. He turned and instantly straightened when he saw his father walk in.
He didn't expect it, he thought that his father would be comforting Aelor and it would be you who would come to scold him. A part of him was relieved to see that he was wrong. He hated to disappoint you two but his father's look didn't have the same effect as yours. He could never bear to look into your eyes for long when you scolded him because the disappointment in your eyes always made him uncomfortable.
Baelon moved, leaving more space for his father to sit next to him, but he didn't say anything. His attention returned to the dragons as he saw his twin dragon pass by, closer to the window. Daeron, his younger brother, waved at them with one hand while the other clung to Aemon's waist. If Baelon had had something within arm's reach he would have thrown it at him. It was not fair. Daeron had a dragon but he still flew as his family's companion instead of flying himself because their parents say he was still too young to have his first flight. Daeron didn't deserve a dragon. If Baelon had a dragon, he wouldn't mind their parents' prohibition, he'd still get on and fly. He would show how brave he is and he would be the best rider. They could never bring it down from the skies.
"And? Would you tell me what happened?" Asked his father making him come back to reality.
"You know what happened" Baelon grumbled looking at him with annoyance. It seemed silly to him that his father asked him to tell her about his outburst in the courtyard when it was obvious that he had already found out from his mother. He preferred that they punish him once and for all and leave him alone.
"But I want to hear it from you," Aemond said, hugging his son by the shoulders. "I want to understand what made you act like that. I know you know what you did was wrong."
His father's words only made the boy more angry.
“I didn't do anything wrong!” He instantly denied it and angrily pulled his father's arm away from him not wanting his touch. "I only made Aelor pay for stealing Shrykos from me!" he balled his hands into fists and stared at the floor.
Aemond really shouldn't be surprised that the reason for his son's attitude had to do with dragons. But he couldn't help but be disappointed at Baelon's words. It was impossible for him not to be reminded of Baela's and Rhaena's accusations that he stole Vhagar. A dragon could not be stolen. Everyone knew that the dragon chose its rider from him. He understood the pain of his son in the absence of a dragon. He understood the yearning for wanting to have his connection. He understood it better than anyone.
"Baelon, you know that a dragon chooses its rider"
The boy knew that his father was right. He wasn't stupid, he had paid attention to his lessons but he was so angry because he wasn't fair. It was the second time a dragon had rejected him. Dreamfyre seemed ready to unleash her flames until suddenly his uncle's Egg stood in front of him as he desperately shouted commands in Valyrian and pushed him to the side. Baelon burst into tears thinking his uncle would burn to death because of him, but Dreamfyre didn't do him any harm. Baelon was relieved that his uncle was still alive but another part of him wanted to scream at the injustice of him getting a dragon when everyone knew he loathed them. He tried to justify rejecting Dreamfyre by telling himself that his personality was too overwhelming for that dragon, his previous rider had been his Aunt Helaena and people said that she was too calm, and his Uncle Egg's personality was more in line with Dreamfyre.
Dreamfyre's rejection hurt him but Shrykos's was worse. Aelor was a bastard. He shouldn't have a dragon. Why would Shrykos choose Aelor over him? He has true Valyrian blood. It didn't make sense…Unless there was something wrong with him.
“Shrykos should be mine, I have the pure blood of Valyria. Aelor is a bastard and I hate him!” he declared with a red face.
"Baelon!" Aemond grabbed his shoulder and turned to face him. It wasn't the first time Baelon had heard his father so furious but he had never been the recipient of his fury. “I don't want to hear you call Aelor that way again. He is your brother, he is your family." His father's hand wasn't squeezing him but Baelon had never felt it so heavy. “We are family and as a family, we defend each other. We didn't attack each other,” he reminded him, and Baelon nodded, a lump in his throat.
"I don't hate Aelor" he admitted in a muttered voice cracking "But it's not fair that he has Shrykos, he didn't even want to go claim it! Uncle Egg didn't want a dragon either and Dreamfyre still chose him! Why can they have a dragon and I can't? What's wrong with me?" Baelon started to cry and Aemond didn't take long to hug him, feeling how his heart ached when he heard the anguish of his son.
“Baelon, there is nothing wrong with you. The only reason you don't have a dragon yet is because the one destined for you hasn't been born yet. They say your mother's dragon will soon have another litter of eggs.” Aemond declared, wiping away the boy's tears. “You'll have a dragon one day, I promise. I understand better than anyone that waiting is hard, but you have to be patient and you don't have to get mad at your siblings just for having what you want. It's not their fault that you don't have a dragon yet."
"I know," Baelon muttered, embarrassed by his attitude. "I'll go apologize to Aelor," he announced, getting down from the window ledge.
"Good. Your brother could still be in the kitchens with your uncle Aegon."
Aemond watched as his son left the room and prayed that Baelon's good attitude would last, that his son had truly reconsidered because he feared that if Baelon purposely hurt another of his brothers again you would not hesitate to send him to the North.
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Golden and Silver, my new colors | Final
He doesn't know where the impulse of his next actions came from, but he felt he needed it. Maybe was the moment, maybe was the time, or maybe he wanted do that. He needed to break down the last and definitive barrier to be entirely yours.
∴pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife!reader
∴warnings and a note: fluffy and comfort, english is not my first language. See the note in the end.💙
Golden and Silver Masterlist
"How are you?" He asked quietly.
“I'm scared,” your confession was even lower. "Very aware of what is going to happen, or what can happen." You took a break before continuing. "This should be the most important moment of my life, from which I hear that it’s the destiny of all women, but I feel minimally prepared for it. What if I'm not a good mother? What if I can't love the baby? What if I die? What if I fail? Because everything will refer to my failure with duty," your voice trembled, "and I don't want that, I don't want to fail and I don't want to be unhappy either."
Over the months was it difficult not to deal with the subject in question. Your body was more different than ever, your back and feet hurt and your belly weighed like the seven hells. Although the development of the affective bond with Aemond has undermined part of the insecurity of pregnancy, the other part remained solid and constantly active. It was a real torture, mainly because you didn’t want to reveal to anyone what you were feeling, nor your mother, or the Queen (whose relationship with both of them had gotten back on track, but not as before) or your friends. But with him it was different, you learned that, you felt it. He needed to know and you wanted to say.
"Because I know what people will tell me to do, but that's not what I want to hear. I don't want to hear that childbirth is a woman's battlefield or that I must resign myself by fulfilling the only duty that was imposed on me. I don't want to hear this because I grew up knowing this, I grew up knowing that there was nothing else to expect, that this is all a woman can have, that my mission is to give birth to a son and it corrodes me all the time," you kept looking at the ceiling as you let the words escape. "And I transfer it to him, or her, to what's in my belly. I transfer such dissatisfaction to him, as if he were to blame, but I know he is not. I transferred my anger about you when we were fighting, and I transfer my frustration and fear about the future at this very moment. It's wrong, I know, but I'm terrified and angry and it seems impossible to individualize these feelings and forget them. Sometimes I didn't want to be pregnant."
“Sometimes I also wish you weren't pregnant,” he confessed. "Because I know what I should do, but I don't know how. I don't know what it's like to be a father, I don't know how to do it, and I don't like to fail, I don't want to fail with you, but I have no idea how to do this and I'm too proud to seek instructions, besides, who would I turn to? My father? No, he was Rhaenyra's father, not mine, never mine. What should I do?"
“I'm sorry about that, for everything you've been through,” you said as you held his hand on the bed, looking at him for the first time since the subject started.
"I'm also sorry for you, for everything you feel, for all righteousness, silence and lack of freedom," he didn't look at you when he confessed: "I'm scared too."
"I know." You purposely smoothed the injured part of his face, very close to the scar, leaving him tense and gaining a surprised and fearful look. “I know. Thank you for listening to me."
“Don't thank me for that,” he stared at you.
According to the Maesters, there were only a few weeks left for the baby in your belly to come into the world, maybe days, maybe weeks, and as it couldn’t be different, your lord father, the King and Hand were already talking excitedly to each other about the son that was to come. Fuck them all, you thought, and during the dinner with the family earlier you were very happy to oppose:
“A girl would make me happier,” you said calmly while drinking the sweet wine. It wasn’t a lie, although your greatest desire at that moment was to contradict them.
“It’s always expected that the first fruit of a young couple will be a healthy son, my lady,” Otto Hightower said in his stoic and falsely sympathetic feature.
"I know, but I mean my desire," you countered, not being intimidated by the negative look of most of the people who were at the table.
“My darling, don't say those things,” your mother tried to alleviate the situation with a nervous smile. "What will your husband find?"
Fortunately, Aemond and you were better than ever.
"It's my wife's wish, the fact doesn't bother me," was what he said before the matter was finalized.
Secretly, Queen Alicent and your lady mother whispered that at least you were in sync. And yes, you were very well.
That night, just like the others, you were lying side by side. It was difficult to find a position in which he could hug you, especially when he wanted so much to feel your body close, your sweet smell and the softness of your skin. He was living in your orbit in recent months, and he has never looked so good before. It was a little scary for Aemond to allow himself to love, to be loved, to be seen, to be touched and to be understood. He was used to the harshness of a job to be done, but emotional recognition made him restless and fragile.
"I hate having a weak point, a disadvantage or sensitivity that can be used against me. That's why it was difficult to lower the guard for you, I thought that if I bordered your image as inferior, as someone normal and not special it would be easier to keep me away, it was stupid, but effective, because it is almost agonizing to give in to the temptation to be loved. I know I've said this before, but I'm sorry for everything that happened before. I want to be a good father and a good husband to you."
“I know. I know,” you held his hand over yours and pulled her for a kiss on her palm. "Be by my side when the time comes."
"I didn't intend to be far away," he put his other hand on your belly and turned to face you. His beautiful wife. So beautiful, serene and scared. He hated not being able to heal your fear, but he wouldn't leave you again. "I promise."
“...Let me see you,” your voice was uncertain and anxious. What were you- "if it's not a problem."
Oh no.
The air was momentarily missed by Aemond and made you apprehensive, although still determined. You didn't want to see that, no, you didn't want to, how could you?
"You don't want to see that."
"I want to."
"No, you don’t."
"I want to, but only if you want to show it."
“You don't,” he said even more incisively.
“I want to, but only if you want to show it,” you said even softer.
"It's ugly," he breathed, "deformed," a frown formed quickly when he looked away.
"I don't care."
"You'll call when you see it, and I don't need it. I don't need you to feel disgusted or sorry for me."
You sighed and remained silent as you moved to be more seated than lying down, it was annoying that any movement was so tiring, even as simple as possible. But that was not enough to undermine your determination and when you held his chin, forcing him in the kindest way to look at you.
"I know you won't believe it, but I don't care, you're a very handsome man, Aemond, very charming and dashing, nothing in your appearance displeases me," you said, "in fact, I care that you can't see this, it bothers me actually, but I understand. What I ask is that you don’t transfer your insecurity to me, don’t think in advance that I will be afraid or disgusted by you."
“Everyone does. Even without having seen it and especially because they have seen it, everyone feels the same," was all he said.
Did you think he was handsome and dashing? It was a lie, wasn't it? It had to be. Almost no lady spent her time sighing for him, and yet... "do you really see beauty in me?"
"Of course I see it, and not just because you're my husband. Don't be suspicious of me."
"I just... I don't want to see the look on your face when you see myself completely," his voice was low and weak, contrasting with the previous determination in his tone.
You sighed again. "I'm sorry, we won't talk about it anymore."
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank you,” you held his hand again. "I love you, Aemond... you know that."
He sat on the bed and cradled your face with his other hand. “I know. I love you too."
It was the first time you said to each other, but not the last.
═════════════════════
When the call of the Grand Maester Orwyle reached the ears of the one-eyed Prince, a silvery shadow moved faster than ever through the corridors of the Palace. He was nervous like the seven hells and a burning tormented his skin from the inside out. It was an attitude that contradicted the advice of his grandfather and some sighted men of the King's court, but incredibly served to make his mother and father agree with the option he took to be by his side at the moment.
"Are you sure, my prince?" Orwyle inquired again when they both approached the room where it was about to happen. “You don't ne-“
"I do."
And then, he opened the door to meet you in the center of the bed with the hand-keepers around taking care of you. A greeting was briefly made to him as you stretched out your hand seeking support from your husband.
"How are you?" He asked.
“The worst hasn't started yet, but I'm nervous,” was quite evident in your voice.
“Everything will be fine, I'm here by your side."
"I know, but I'm scared."
“You don't have to be afraid, my lady, everything will be fine and a healthy baby will be born,” one of the servants said to reassure.
But it didn't work much, since an unmizable pain dominated your body in the next few moments. It was terribly painful and you cursed Aemond internally for condemning you to such a fate. You wouldn't do that again! Not "that", but this here! Fuck anyone who says the opposite. When the pain intensified, all you wanted was to scream for the seven hells and all the existing profanity but you were afraid of attracting a bad fate into your life.
"Strength, my lady, it's almost there, I need you to push more!"
Screw the superstitions.
“FUCKIN' HELLS!” You crushed his hand in a brutal squeeze, making him squeeze his jaw.
The feeling of being torn was agonizing, terrifying and unbearable, almost too much to deal with, until a sudden relief along with fatigue took over your body and a loud cry echoed through the room. Finally.
"It's a girl, my prince," Orwyle said, taking her to her father.
You took a deep breath and felt a sudden desire to have her in your arms. They could reject her for being a girl, but you would never do that. She was exactly what you wanted. “I want to hold her,” you said, hating having done the horrible job of giving birth so that Aemond would be the first to see your baby's face. The baby of you two, actually, but you still wanted to have her.
Your call was heard clearly, but the feeling of holding his daughter for the first time was indiscriminate to the one-eyed prince, keeping him motionless for long seconds. The small and scandalous thing fit perfectly into the clumsy lap shape that Aemond molded in his two arms, admiring her fixedly. What would he do now? How should I act? Will he be a decent father? He doesn't want to fail with you.
“Aemond,” you called him. You just wanted to see her.
Your little girl, your daughter. Heavens, that was terrifying and so pleasant at the same time, especially when you took her on your arms. You would raise her differently from the other girls, yes, you would do that, she would not wear a veil of righteousness and walls that force her to be unhappy. She can fly wherever she wants, after all her little girl has dragon blood.
"Have you ever thought of a name?"
Time seemed to stop when you had her in your arms, your little Naerys. "Yes, we already have a name."
You and your daughter were bathed and fed by the maids, then you were transported to your chambers to rest and be pampered by a proud and enchanted Aemond. He just wanted to have the little thing in his arms again, even if clumsy and afraid to hurt her. Your diet began to be accompanied by the Maesters since certain foods could affect the baby, you obviously consented and spent most of the day lying down while the Queen, the King and their parents pampered your little granddaughter. Honestly, you just wanted to sleep and have her by your side and Aemond's, and that's what you did throughout the day, but with a small part of your mind lit on an important point.
"Does it bother you that I gave you a daughter instead of a son?" It was disturbing to keep such a question to yourself and it was necessary to release it quickly.
Maybe Aemond didn't wait for the question or just didn't know what to answer, since his face closed a little and a stillness remained until he found words he deemed appropriate. "A child is a blessing, regardless of which genital he has."
It wasn't enough. "That's not what I asked."
"Why would it bother me?" He knew exactly why, but at that moment all he would like to get into was a fight, which was contradictory since a clear answer could solve your doubts.
"Because it disappoints all men and most women not having a sob in their first pregnancy, and I know you know that. So I'll ask once again, does that bother you, Aemond?" You didn't look at him as you asked, restricting yourself to paying attention to the soft sheet that covered your body.
"No, it doesn't bother. What about you?"
“Not at all. I wanted, in fact, a little girl. I hope we can create her well, teach her the things I have not been taught, instruct her in the right way, choose beautiful dresses together...”
"I had plans if I was a boy. I would instruct him to study, to train with me and I would not neglect him. A girl doesn't limit me to two of these things and doesn't make me less happy," he said.
“Queen Visenya was an excellent warrior, I wouldn't mind Naerys choosing this path if she wanted and had the opportunity,” you countered.
“A point outside the curve within our story,” he stressed as he flipped through another page of the book.
"It's still possible. If my memory does not fail me, Princess Alyssa, your grandmother, was also comfortable with the chain mail and swords, even much better than Prince Vaegon."
"Where do you want to go?"
"I want our daughter to be what she wants without the pressure of tradition undermining her life."
“It's not easy to fight against tradition,” he looked at you.
"Especially when one of the parties does not want to give in," your gaze also found his, more serious than before, "It is easy for you to be like this, you have always had the option to do everything you wanted just like Aegon, without the worry of having your name disgraced or put to a buzz. It's your privilege, one I've never had. You can go wherever you want and whenever you want, we don't, we don't have this option of choice besides being a bargaining chip and a belly to bear a child."
"Is that how you feel about me? An exchange currency?"
"I love you, Aemond, I love what we have, but I hate the lack of freedom I've had my whole life, I've always hated it. I don't want her to feel that."
"What if she wants to get married and have children? Won't it be her choice, but of tradition?" He questioned him.
"Then it will be her choice, not an imposition, she will have the power to decide that. I don't expect you to understand this, but it's my wish, I hope it's not ignored."
Who was he to escape the tradition? His life was based on it, his family (a part of it) was based on it. Why should he follow another path? You were right, it wasn’t easy to understand that being in his position, but the prince was not blind to what was expected of women in relation to duty. Still, what if your little Naerys didn't want to get married or have children? What if she wanted a life away from duty? He wouldn't force her, would he?
You definitely wouldn't go. No, not at all. That night, when she stopped crying, you took her in your lap and fed her with your milk hidden from the others. "You will be able to be everything you want, without restrictions, and I hope you are and enjoy your life. Fly as much as you want and be happy, use the opportunity that many of us don't have. I love your father, I truly love him and I just want to be by his side, but I wish I had seen more things and could come and go. Don't tell anyone that I was the one who gave these advices, please," you kissed her little head.
The next few days were strange to both of you, not because of the conversation you had earlier about Naerys, but because of the way she completely changed your routine. Aemond and you thought about her all day, every day, and they always wanted to have her around. Yes, the crying was annoying, mainly because you didn’t know what afflicted your baby so much, but everyone with more experience and knowledge about motherhood ensured that it was normal, "newborn children are like that, they’re still getting used to our world," said Lady Fell.
While the prince still remained staring at her for long minutes, standing in front of the crib with his single focused eye and with several layers of his sketched feelings. Fear and adoration were visible at times, but then a change in your husband's posture made you swear that that was the reason your daughter was crying, because he was so tense and intense.
“What are you thinking?" You asked low, in your usual position in bed.
“In her. She's perfect," Aemond replied without looking at you. "Just like you."
You looked at him fond of him. "Just like us." And then he looked at you in an enigmatic way, but with a vulnerability shown a few times. Something as simple as a compliment shouldn’t cause so many reactions on him, it was annoying to have a weakness in something that happened so many years ago but still torments him deeply. He hates feeling insecure about his appearance, although nothing has been said directly to him about it in all these years.
But the looks don’t lie, they never lied, aversion and fear were things he was forced to live with and even helped him build his defense walls. But these same walls prevented him from seeing the phenomenal, intelligent, shrewd and incredibly beautiful woman with whom he had become just a body and soul before the Septon. You would never accept him, Aemond believed that, even though he was the brother who studied history and philosophy and tamed the largest dragon in the world, you would never see beyond the damaged shell he had. How wrong he was. How wrong he was with you.
Moving away from Naerys' cradle, the prince walked to his privacy to put on his bedding and join you. He was ethereal with his loose and white top that left the beginning of his chest exposed. He crawled like a cat to your side and was almost nested to you.
"Do you really think I'm handsome?" He asked low, almost ashamed of his vulnerability.
"Of course I think. You’re so handsome Aemond, my handsome husband, my beautiful man, all mine," you caressed him on the face and hair, leaning to kiss him on the forehead. "I love you." He nested even more to you, hugging your body carefully, leaning his head on your neck to breathe your smell and feel your comfort. "You have many admirable qualities, in addition to your sincerity, loyalty and intelligence, your appearance is one of my favorite things. I love your sharp nose and perfect drawn lips, your beautiful blue eye and silver hair, everything about you is beautiful. Your body too. Especially the present between his legs." Yes, he was amazing down there.
He laughed against your neck and hugged you even more. He really needed that. "Thank you, my love, I truly appreciate it." He kissed your jaw and smelled your hair. "How are you?"
“Tired, but fine. I can't stop thinking about her."
“Me too. It's strange."
"A lot, but a good stranger."
“Indeed,” he said. “I’ve been thinking what you said, and I want her to be happy the way she chooses. I want share the world for you two, all the things you deserve to see. I love you and I love what we have.”
Your heart warmed up and you kiss his forehead with affection. “Thank you for that my love, I love you so deeply, I love we have too.”
He doesn't know where the impulse of his next actions came from, but he felt he needed it. Maybe was the moment, maybe was the time, or maybe he wanted do that. He needed to break down the last and definitive barrier to be entirely yours.
"I want to show you... my eye, the sapphire and the scar, but only if you want to see it."
Oh, how you waited for that…
“Yes. I want to see you.”
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End.
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Yes, I’d like to say a few words. When I started writing this story I thought it would be a one shot, since it has been many many since I concluded a fanfic with many chapters (so far). But I saw the potential of this idea and decided to embark, even with my terrifying laziness, procrastination and quick ease of getting sick of things. Much is due to the positive feedback I received from you in every kind comment and reblog, so thank you very very much to everyone who came here with me, much of this story is due to you and I am very grateful for that! To everyone who arrived here, see you soon and again, thank you very much for giving this idea a chance. 🤍💛🤍💛🤍💛🤍
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hmmmm what about aemond’s new little wife doesn’t know how to tell him she’s feeling horny so she’s irritated the whole day and he at first thinks he’s done something to upset her but he takes in her flushed face as she’s squirming in her chair at dinner and he’s all like “hmm, i haven’t been doing my duty as a husband, have I?”
Effective Communication
Aemond Targaryen x Petite!Female!Reader
Prequel to Practice Makes Perfect (but can be read without reading that first!)
Rating: E- MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Warnings: Making out, discussions of sex, heavy making out, allusions to sex
Word Count: 1.7k
Synopsis: You've missed your husband's attention and can't quite get up the courage to tell him.
Author’s note: THIS IS A GOD TIER LEVEL PROMPT THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! This sparked so many ideas and so I'm working on I think three other prequels to Practice Makes Perfect to go along with this one!! Thank you so much!!
Aemond Masterlist
It’s been five days. Five days since you’ve had the opportunity to spend any alone time with your husband.
He was constantly busy with his attendance to his brother the king and the realm’s newest crisis.
You stayed up each night and waited for him, but he would come back so late that sleep would have you in its grasp by the time he slid into the bed beside you.
You told him he could wake you up, if he wished, but he reassured you that he didn’t want to bother you and you should get your full night’s sleep even if he couldn’t. He clearly didn’t get your underlying message that you would like him to wake you up, and you were still rather shy about expressing your needs.
He was gone every morning with a quick kiss to your forehead.
You groaned in annoyance as you fully woke to an empty bed yet again.
You marched through the rest of your day, meetings with noble ladies, a walk through the gardens with Helaena, party planning with Alicent, all of it you tolerated rather than enjoyed as you usually do.
You were terrible at masking your irritation and all day you dealt with questions.
“Are you alright, Princess?” “Are you upset, dear?” “Have I done something to offend?”
Your reputation as kind and sweet worked against you when you were obviously upset.
You were sick of feeling such frustration and you racked your brain to determine the cause of it. You were not in the phase of your cycle that causes irritation, you weren’t hungry, and you didn’t have a headache.
You rolled your eyes at yourself as you realized the reason. You had a deficiency in your husband’s attention. For someone still so new to sex, you had grown used to your husband joining himself with you each night in the months you’d been wed, and anything less that daily felt unbearable.
That night was the weekly family dinner that Alicent enforced.
When your lady’s maid dressed you for dinner you fidgeted enough that she huffed in irritation as you thought of finally seeing Aemond.
“What is wrong, my lady?”
“Nothing,” you muttered.
A pageboy knocked on the door and when you gave him permission to enter he let you know that your husband would have to meet you at dinner rather than escort you due to a meeting going long.
“Ugh. Wonderful,” you snapped back at him.
You had hoped to at least have a moment alone with Aemond before dinner.
He visibly blanched at your sharp tone.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Thank you for delivering the message,” you said and he nodded and left.
You sighed and placed your head in your hands.
“Perhaps you should talk about what is bothering you,” your lady’s maid suggested as she finished helping you get ready.
“No, I’m alright,” you mumbled.
She looked at you like she didn’t quite believe you but didn’t want to push it and finished her task in silence.
You made your way towards the royal dining room and with soft, not quite genuine smiles, you greeted everyone and sat down.
Everyone was present besides Aemond and Aegon.
Alicent chit chatted with you and Helaena, though you participated in the conversation less than the two of them.
Finally the doors opened and you looked up eagerly.
You sighed when it was only Aegon.
He took the seat to the right of you, Helaena on his other side.
He greeted his wife before he turned to you.
“Hello, sister,” he said and you glared at him.
“How is it that you made it here before Aemond?” you asked bluntly.
He laughed in surprise at your surly mood and then the doors opened once again.
You sighed in relief this time as your gorgeous husband strode in.
He smirked at the awed expression on your face as your breath was taken away by his handsomeness.
He crossed the room in quick strides and soon took his seat next to you.
“Hello, little wife,” he purred as he pressed his lips to your cheek.
It took all your self control not to throw yourself in his lap and press your lips to his.
“Hello, dear husband,” you breathed out as you were lost in his gaze.
Alicent called everyone’s attention and said a prayer before the food was brought in.
Honestly, Aemond was not ever very physically affectionate in front of other people, so you weren’t sure why you expected it, but you grew more upset that he made no efforts to touch you when he sat so close.
He spoke to you softly a few times but you mostly gave him short answers or ‘mhm’d’ in agreement with his words.
It was unfair how good he looked. You wanted to tangle your fingers in his hair. You wanted to yank his lips down to yours. You wanted to bite his neck and hear the way it always made him groan.
You were already practically dripping with need.
When Aegon made another unseemly joke you couldn’t hold yourself back as you scoffed and rolled your eyes.
Aegon looked at you in surprise at your obvious attitude and then made eye contact with Aemond, and looked at him like you were crazy, which only made you more angry.
You opened your mouth, to say something you would most likely regret but Aemond laid his arm across the back of your seat and you turned towards him.
He leaned in to whisper in your ear and you tensed at his proximity.
It is true that Aegon was often irritating, but it was not common for you to be so vocal about your annoyance.
“Where is my sweet wife?” Aemond asked and his breath tickled your ear and caused a shiver to run down your spine.
“I-“
“Tell me what is wrong,” he commanded, though his voice was still soft.
You felt a wave of desire to please him flow through you.
You turned your head and your eyes met his. Though your gaze flickered to his lips as he wet them with his tongue.
His eye widened slightly with realization.
He smirked as he looked you up and down and took in your flustered state.
“Are you irritated because of me?” he surmised.
You squirmed in your seat and bit your lip as you looked at him.
“I have neglected my husbandly duties as of late, haven’t I?” he purred with a smirk.
You nodded as you watched him wide eyed.
His smile was mischievous and triumphant as he pinned you to the spot with his gaze.
He turned away from you.
“Mother, my wife is not feeling well. We shall have to take our leave early,” he said.
You breathed out a sigh of relief.
She expressed concern but he brushed her off as he took your hand and led you to stand.
You said quick goodbyes and he let you out of the hall with a hand on your waist.
He led you towards your shared rooms, but abruptly pulled you into a dark hallway.
“Aemond!” you squeaked in surprise.
“Quiet,” he growled and his lips were on yours.
He devoured you.
Passionately and fervently his lips moved against yours as he gripped you tightly.
It seemed you were not the only desperate one after such an extended period of not feeling one another’s touch.
His mouth opened slightly and as you followed his lead, his tongue brushed against yours.
You moaned.
He pulled back from you with a hand softly placed on your jaw and throat.
“You do not wish for others to hear us, do you little wife?” he whispered.
You shook your head as you stared at him with wide eyes.
His lips curved into a smirk once more and you yearned to press your lips to his again.
“Are you so desperate for me that you would let me take you right here where anyone could walk past?”
You whimpered in embarrassment and desire. You slipped your hands beneath his coat and wiggled underneath leather and buckles until at last you could feel his warm skin.
He tilted your chin up with a finger and pressed his lips to the sensitive skin of your neck.
You shivered in desire.
“I want to hear you say it,” he murmured against your skin.
“Yes, husband, I- I want you now,” you gasped.
His teeth grazed your skin and your gasp turned into a moan when he bit down.
“Well this is an unexpected sight,” a loud voice interrupted the two of you.
You squealed in embarrassment and Aemond helped you hide yourself behind his body as he turned and glared at his brother.
Aegon laughed in amusement.
“I thought you were feeling ill,” he teased as he leaned to the side to see around Aemond’s body and make eye contact with you.
Your face was hot with embarrassment and shame.
“Leave her alone, Aegon. She does not need your teasing,” your husband ordered.
“Yes, I can see she has her hands full with you,” Aegon mused.
“Oh gods,” you groaned in mortification and he laughed once again.
“We are leaving,” Aemond huffed as he reached behind himself and grabbed your hand. He shoved his shoulder roughly against Aegon’s as he walked past him.
You avoided Aegon’s cocky and all too amused gaze.
“Goodnight!” he called out as the two of you walked away.
Once you finally reached your chambers and the door was safely shut behind you, you covered your face with your hands.
“That might be the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” you groaned.
Aemond chuckled, “Then you have led a very fortunate life, my love.”
You huffed.
“Aemond,” you protested and he chuckled once more.
He gently tugged your hands from your face and peered at you with love and amusement.
“It is alright, little wife. It was only Aegon, but I know how shy you are about such things. I will talk to him and threaten his life if he ever dares to speak of it to anyone, would that make you feel better?”
You nodded.
“Good,” he said and pressed his lips to your once again.
Your desires were quickly ignited once again as a wave of his fire and passion came over you.
And finally, after five excruciating days, your husband fulfilled every desire you had for him.
#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#hotd#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x wife!reader#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond targaryen x petite!reader#aemond targaryen x female!reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#house of the dragon fanfic
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The sweetest fruit
[ Aemond • Targaryen x Valyrian! • female ]
[ warnings: oral sex, smut, angst, sexual tension ]
[description: (Anon Request) Aemond is to meet his future wife from Essos, in whose veins runs the blood of Old Valyria. They've been engaged since they were kids, but he's in no hurry to get married and he's not happy about her arrival. His future wife, however, turns out to be someone completely different than he expected. Smut, angst and a lot of sexual tension.]
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Next chapters: Masterlist
_____
Aemond knew this day would come someday. He had known since he was a child. He knew his wife would be a woman from across the Narrow Sea, the blood heiress of Old Valyria of House Vhassar, residing in the Volantis with her family. The thought of her was as distant to him as the continent she was on.
When his mother told him that his fiancée would eventually come to Westeros to marry him, he thought he was going to faint. For some reason he thought that he had more time, at least a couple of years.
He had Alys, who he visited whenever he wanted, satisfying all his needs. He made sure she didn't get pregnant, not wanting to have bastards. The freedom she gave him suited him. He felt like a dragon about to be locked in a dragon pit.
Nevertheless, Volantis was King's Landing's greatest bank and sponsor of some war expeditions. He knew their alliance was of state importance, and he couldn't refuse.
He took his mother's words in silence, clenching his jaw and looking away. He tried not to show how much he disliked this idea and made the decision, that he would fulfill his duties properly.
On the day her family arrived at the royal harbor, a great feast was held in the main hall. He waited until the very end, not wanting to look at her or talk to her. He knew what he looked like. He didn't want to see the bride's look of horror or disappointment that she would have to spread her legs for him in the nearest future.
Finally, however, his mother came for him, saying that everyone was expecting him. He nodded, tense from head to toe, and strode forward down the corridor, his queen mother a few paces behind him. They entered the hall through the side entrance, on the side of the main table.
At first no one noticed them, there was a buzz of conversations, laughter and music to which couples were already dancing. His mother walked over to him and pointed to a girl who had just been talking to Helaena. He felt his throat tighten into a thin knot.
It terrified him how beautiful she was. He thought it would make her even more disappointed with him. His body froze, unable to move, his face completely petrified.
He watched her slender hand go to one of the bowls for a fruit that he had never seen before. A small, dull orange-red ball, the size of an apple, but softer and hairy. She bit into the fruit easily, pursed and licked her lips as she listened intently to his sister. Suddenly her eyes flicked to him.
They stared at each other for a moment, and he felt his heart pounding like a hammer. He felt shivers run through his body as she smiled at him in a way he had never seen a woman smile at a men before.
The corner of her mouth twitched rakishly upwards, her lips tightened and moistened slightly, opening again, now sticky and luminous. He felt his manhood pulse in his pants in shock at the sight and looked away, embarrassed.
Lady Vhassar was clearly not intimidated. On the contrary, she waited for her father who had already noticed the prince. They approached him and the queen together, both bowing low. Aemond dared to look at her again. Her gaze was lowered meekly, there was no trace of her expression from a few seconds before.
She was wearing a thin, translucent dress made of a very delicate material in a shade of lilac. Her light skin went perfectly with this shade, her black hair was partly pulled back in a bun, her bright eyes seemed to glow. His gaze involuntarily moved to the line of her breasts, he could easily see the outline of her nipples.
He looked up and met her gaze, he knew she had caught him in the act. Her lips parted, her gaze expressing satisfaction with his condition. He had no idea what was going on with him or what kind of woman she was, but she certainly wasn't acting like the ladies of Westeros. Her father spoke.
"My queen, my prince. I am glad that our bloodlines remain in a strong bond, which we intend to maintain through marriage. Me, my daughter and the whole family are honored." He said softly, bowing again. He owned the largest bank in Volantis, constantly conversing with outsiders. He had a talent for diplomacy and spoke with ease. The queen nodded.
"We are grateful too, Lord Vhassar, for the tremendous support you give us. Your deeds will never be forgotten." She said warmly.
Finally the king entered the hall and everyone sat down at the tables to start the feast. His fiancée was sitting across the table, with her family. They stole a glance at each other, her gaze showing neither embarrassment nor fear. He was curious what she was thinking.
He had heard that the women of Essos were more liberated and less restrictive about how they shared their beds with men. He thought that he was pretty sure she wasn't a virgin. He felt he had no right to judge her, since he himself had slept with another woman.
Aegon bent over him, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"I envy you, brother. Will you fuck them two in turn, or will you introduce them and fuck them two at once? Either way, it sounds wonderful." He said, taking a piece of roast into his mouth. Aemond said nothing, taking a sip of wine, his face expressionless.
***
Lady Vhassar glanced furtively at her fiancé once in a while with a faint smile on her lips. She thought she was lucky. He was handsome but withdrawn, terrified and terrifying at the same time. It was a challenge for her, and she loved it.
She wasn't surprised to find out he had a mistress. She had heard a lot about marriages in Westeross, but certainly not that they were successful and passionate.
The other woman didn't bother her, of course as long as he kept her at a distance. She had already spotted several handsome guardsmen who she knew would provide her with wonderful entertainment if her husband turned out to despise her. For now, she has set herself the task of having fun only with her future husband.
She wondered what he had learned from this woman and whether he was a good lover. She felt wetness between her thighs at the thought. She thought she'd go fuck him in the hallway if he wanted to. She saw how he looked at her. How greedily he stared at her breasts and mouth.
She swallowed the last bite of her roast, dipping her hands in the rosewater that was standing nearby. Her brother, Vhogar, commented quietly on what he saw with displeasure.
"They pretend to be saints and bred but I heard Prince Aegon is one big pig. It's a good thing you're not marrying him, but his brother." He said, taking a sip of wine from his goblet, grimacing. "Gods, they have some diluted shit here, not wine. Don't we have our bottles somewhere?"
His sister laughed lightly at his words and placed her hand on his shoulder. They leaned towards each other.
"Hold on a little longer. You'll be home soon." She said gently. He frowned.
"Without you." He said dryly. She sighed softly at his words. They were inseparable from childhood. They were each other's confidantes, telling each other about their adventures, lovers and broken hearts.
"I know." She said softly.
After the feast, it was time for dancing. Her future husband didn't even flinch, but she thought that if he could barely talk, he couldn't dance for sure.
She didn't care, dancing with every lord who wanted it in turn. She saw their greedy glances, escaping to her mouth, breasts and hips. She knew that if they could, they would take her to their chamber for the night.
She stared at the dissatisfied, frustrated expressions of their wives in between. She thought she felt sorry for them and was not going to take their husbands away from them. She suspected that wouldn't stop them from continuing to seek relief in the arms of servants or kitchen wenches.
After another tiring dance, feeling beads of sweat running down her bare arms, she glanced toward the table. She saw her future husband sitting alone, pensive, toying with his goblet. She wondered what was going on inside his head.
She smiled to herself and moved towards the table, walking lightly up the steps, standing in front of him, taking him completely by surprise.
He swallowed loudly and tried to get up, but she shook her head, as she crossed over to sit down next to him. She sat down so that her back rested against the armrest and she was sitting half-side to him. She crossed her legs, her body glistening with sweat, her strands slightly sticking to her face.
She grabbed his goblet and took a sip of wine from it, without taking her eyes off him. He was staring at her intensely, his one hand clenched on the table. She put his cup back in its place, licking her lips.
"Forgive me, my prince. I was thirsty." She whispered and saw him inhale faster, his nostrils flaring.
He didn't say a word, his gaze expressed surprise, horror and curiosity all at once. She smiled warmly at him, got up, and walked back to the dancing couples, leaving him alone.
She knew he watched her dance. She knew he didn't know how he felt about her, wanting to be indifferent, while being jealous and frustrated at the same time.
She laughed inwardly at the thought that perhaps it would be better if that woman were his wife and she his lover. She thought it was a brilliant idea to steal a men form his mistress.
When the feast was over she went to her rooms without giving him a single glance. She asked her servant to follow him and remember where his chamber is. She wanted to be able to recreate this path later.
She changed into her thin, beautifully embroidered nightgown. It was so hot in Volantis that she slept naked. Often she even walked around the chamber like this, knowing that there were only her servants outside the door, letting her know when someone was approaching.
She felt then like a goddess among her nymphs, free and beautiful. Here everything seemed gray and gloomy, devoid of emotion. She wondered if this was what her future husband was like.
After a few hours she went on a journey through the darkness of the palace corridors. She knew his quarters were nearby. She waited patiently for the guards to pass through the corridor and walked barefooted, holding only a peach in her hand. It was her gift for him.
She quickly opened the door to his quarters and closed it behind her. She heard him jump up in his seat by the fireplace, staring at her in disbelief, his mouth parted.
"What are you doing here?" He asked softly and low, the first words he ever said to her.
She smiled at him, walking lightly towards him, unfazed by the fact that her nightgown covered practically nothing. She knew she shouldn't be there, and that if anyone heard them they'd both be in trouble. She stopped in front of him and held out her arm with peach in her hand.
"I have a gift for you. I brought them with me from my homeland." She said gently. She saw him purse his lips, all tense. He didn't know where to look, sucked in a breath.
"You should go back to your quarters." He said coldly. Silence fell between them.
She raised an eyebrow at him, slightly amused. She thought she'd play with him. She had no desire to win his heart by begging him to look at her kindly, giving him a sweet look full of hope and pain. She figured they'd have fun together or apart, but she certainly wasn't going to cry over him.
She lifted the peach to her mouth and bit into it. Its soft flesh yielding easily, the juice running down her lips she licked off with her tongue. She loved this taste.
She watched with satisfaction as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his gaze fixed on her lips.
"You're embarrassing me." He said finally. She wanted to burst out laughing at that remark.
"Your lover doesn't embarrass you?" She asked lightly, taking another bite, her face calm and gentle.
He looked at her shocked. He was horrified that she knew about his little secret. He pursed his lips and swallowed hard, apparently completely wiped off the board.
"What do you want?" He finally asked quietly. She looked at him deliberately, wondering why he was so tense. She twisted a bitten peach in her hand.
"I want you to taste my present." She said, looking at him from under her long lashes. He looked at her shocked.
"If I try it, will you leave?" He asked softly, giving in.
She smiled warmly at him and nodded. He reached out to grab the fruit, but she wouldn't let him. He frowned, frustrated.
"I said I want you to taste it, not bite it." She said, biting into the fruit herself again, licking the sweet juice from her lips. When he realized what she meant he shivered, his lips parted slightly.
She approached him slowly, unhurriedly. His whole body was tense like a string, and she knew something violent was going on inside his head. She thought that he was going to hit her right away or fuck her.
She bit into the fruit again, this time deliberately sucking on the flesh for a moment, spreading its juices over her tongue and lips. She slid her hand under his hair, grabbing him gently by the nape of the neck, pulling his face to hers. He leaned back a bit, terrified, his lips slightly parted. He didn't protest.
She stood on her toes, pressing her soft lips to his. She felt him inhale hard and shiver all over. She brushed his lips, waiting patiently for what followed a few seconds later.
Helplessly, he opened his mouth and she slipped her tongue in, letting him taste the sweet fruit. The tip of his tongue licked hers, and they both moaned into each other's mouths, surprised at the intensity of the sensation.
Their tongues licked for a moment, both of them not even noticing when their hands closed around their bodies. Their caresses were drawn out, their tongues rough, sticky and wet, exchanging saliva and the delicious taste of peach each time.
She felt her nipples harden in surprise, wetness trickling down her thighs. She took his hand, clenched tightly around the material of her nightgown in hers, leading her down.
"There are plenty of similar sweet, sticky, juicy fruits in Essos, my prince." She whispered into his mouth, continuing to caress him, their tongues dancing together in a slow, lazy dance. She felt a shiver run through him at her words, and at what she was doing with his hand.
She lifted her nightgown and slipped his hand between her thighs, letting him feel how wet she was. He drew in a sharp breath as he felt it, his lip quivering helplessly. His fingers ran timidly over her sticky, hot entrance, making her moan sweetly into his mouth.
"All the fruits in Essos have this much juice?" He asked low, his voice quivering, his tongue sliding deep into her throat. She moaned loudly, surprised by his words, a shiver ran through her body. She thought with delight that her future husband could give her what she wanted.
"Yes." She whispered helplessly, her hand pressing his fingers to her womanhood, craving more intense caresses, her hips beginning to rub against him, seeking fulfillment. They both began to breathe louder, their kisses one sticky, wet mess.
"If you want, you can try another fruit I brought with me, my prince" She whispered sweetly into his mouth, and he groaned loudly. She knew it was over, that they were about to fuck on his bed.
He lifted her suddenly by her hips. She wrapped her thighs quickly around him, making him moan in her mouth again. He threw himself on his bed with her, laying on top of her.
They didn't stop kissing, licking the tips of their tongues and sucking each other's lips, his hands quickly lifting her nightgown, spreading her thighs shamelessly in front of him.
He pulled away from her, her face hot and smudged, no trace of shame or fear. She saw that he was looking at her with a dark, unpredictable look, that made her feel throbbing inside.
"Let's have a taste." He purred low, suddenly going through a change, as if he wasn't the same person. She thought that she hadn't been aroused so much in a long time.
He cupped her thighs low with his big hands, massaging them leisurely. He leaned in, the tip of his tongue running over her entrance all the way to her pearl, causing her to lean back with a loud moan. Her hand tightened automatically in his hair. She felt him smile, his tongue teasing her clit, swirling around her, then moving down again, licking her juices.
"Delicious." He whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mouth, gasping sweetly with delight. She felt that if he kept going like this, she would soon come.
Her thighs began to move towards his face, demanding more intense caresses. She moaned loudly as she felt him slide his tongue inside, moving it rhythmically with a wet click. She leaned on one hand, lifting slightly, making his tongue touch her where she felt the greatest pleasure. She moaned softly, looking at him tenderly, her nipples hard with desire.
"Oh gods, yes, lick me!" She sobbed, throwing her head back, her hand tightening on his sheets as she moaned loudly. A wonderful, strong, hot orgasm ran through her body. She came on his face and he, unmoved, licked everything that flowed out of her, making her tremble all over.
"Gods…" She whispered helplessly, laying on her back, panting heavily. She watched, as her future husband ran his tongue over her throbbing, hot womanhood and then up her thigh. She pursed her lips, exasperated.
"Can I taste you too, my prince?" She asked quietly, and he gave her a shocked look, his mouth parted slightly. After a moment he smirked in a way that sent shivers down her spine. He stood in front of her, undoing his pants.
"Come here." He instructed gently. She obediently got up and settled herself on her lap, kneeling at his hips, looking at him expectantly.
"Have you tasted many men?" He asked teasingly, amused, letting her pull his pants down.
She thought that when he was like that, ironic, direct, dark, she could fuck him all night. She thought that she had great lover material. She wondered what his woman would think if she saw them now.
She looked down at his manhood and licked her lips in satisfaction, seeing how big he was. She thought she would make sure he gave her a lot of pleasure in the future.
"I've never tasted a dragon before." She purred, his attention making him smile from the corner of his mouth.
His lips parted in delight as she leaned over him. She licked his entire length with her tongue, glancing at him without a trace of embarrassment. His cock throbbed impatiently, swollen and hard. His hand gently tangled in her hair.
"This is not how I imagined you." He whispered and moaned low as her hand gripped the base of his member, her tongue teasing his tip, licking his own juices. She smiled at his words, popped him into her mouth, wetting him with her saliva, and pulled him out with a loud, wet click.
"Aren't you ashamed of me anymore?" She asked sweetly, shoving his length deep into her throat. She heard him chuckle lightly at her words, his hips moving against her mouth. She sucked him unhurriedly, caressing him with her tongue, taking care of every second of his pleasure.
"No. I changed my mind." He purred low, panting loudly, his hand forcing her to speed up. His member slammed against the wall of her throat, her lips pressed tight against him, driving him crazy. His buttocks pumped his manhood hard between her lips with a wet, sticky sound.
"You have to swallow it all. You know that, right?" He hissed, his hands clasping her hair, he was answered by her purr of satisfaction. He parted his lips, panting heavily, as he felt his fullfilment approaching.
"Oh Gods, swallow it, swallow it like a good girl" He panted, cuming hard deep in her throat, his length throbbing in her mouth. She moaned loudly at his words, swallowing all of his semen patiently, waiting for the last drop to spill out of him.
"Just like that." He whispered, looking down at her, stroking her hair. "Such a good girl."
To his astonishment, he noticed that not a drop had escaped her mouth. She released him from between her mouth with a loud, wet plop, licking her lips.
"Delicious." She whispered.
They stared at each other with hazy eyes, as Aemond pulled up his trousers, tying them back. She wanted to get up and just leave for her chamber, but he closed his hand on her shoulder and stopped her.
"What are you doing?" He asked surprised.
"I keep my promise." She said softly, taking her arm away, avoiding him with a light, unhurried step.
"Stay." He said suddenly. She stopped, looking at him in surprise.
"Are you sure?" She asked, trying to hide a smile of hot satisfaction, her eyes shining. He pressed his lips together, sliding under his sheets.
"Come here and go to sleep. I have to get up at dawn tomorrow."
_____
Aemond Taglist:
(bold means I couldn't tag you)
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Not Worthy Of You || Aemond Targaryen x Reader
Summary: An unexpected visitor at night brings some clarity to the last months
Word count: 2.9k
Warnings: Mention of B&C and Storm's End. No beta reading
Author's note: This was supposed to be short. This was supposed to be 1k words. But I got carried away. Enjoy!
The candles had long died out, and only dying embers remained in the smouldering fireplace, too feeble to give the room any light. Piercing darkness entered through the gaps in the drapes, the moonless night shrouding the Red Keep in a thick, ponderous veil of black. Not a sound disturbed the quietness of the Holdfast, nor the peace of those sleeping in it.
You stirred in the bed, the sheets rustling and a pleasant tingle spreading through your body as you stretched your limbs lazily. You felt well rested, perhaps for the first time in many moons. It had been a long time since you last woke up naturally, instead of being forcefully taken from your slumber by aches, cramps, and most recently, little cries throughout the night. At that thought your eyebrows furrowed, and still partially asleep you rolled over in the bed, your hand searching in the darkness for the little wooden cradle by your side.
Your fingers only found emptiness, the abandoned blankets still holding your newborn’s warmth.
Whatever drowsiness lingered in your mind soon dissipated as worry crept upon you, settling like a heavy weight atop your chest. You sat upright with such haste you felt faint, having to hold onto your head until the bright lights vanished from your vision. Fright quickly overcame your senses. You double checked the crib, pulling blankets out and looking under your bed, as if somehow the babe, barely a fortnight old, could have climbed out and hidden somewhere without you noticing.
Desperation clouded your thoughts, your heartbeat quickening and your breath coming in shallow pants. You scrambled from bed, barely having half a mind to grab a robe; the parky night air covered your skin in gooseflesh. You headed for the door, the call for help ready to sprout from your lips, when the smallest, softest of coos drew your attention to the opposite side of the chamber.
Now that your eyes had adjusted a bit, you could vaguely make out the shape of a person sitting in front of the large windows in a sturdy rocking chair your family had gifted you when they received the news of your impending motherhood. Slightly hunched forward, gently swaying back and forth, the rockers barely made noise against the thick carpet they laid upon. At first you believed it to be the wetnurse, who usually sat there to feed the baby, but you had specifically requested to have no servants in your chambers at night, wishing to carry the bulk of the childcare yourself. Hoping that that way you would feel more connected to your child, instead of staring at it like a foreign being that had been dropped on your lap by the Mother. Lovely, yes, and so dearly loved, but foreign nonetheless.
Soon it became obvious, however, that it was not the wetnurse, nor a maid, the one who sat in the chair. The dark figure sat tall, shoulders muscular and long legs stretched out, rocking the chair with a lazy sway of heavy boots. Oppressive panic stole the breath from your lungs at the vision of the unknown man, his arms positioned in a way that could only mean he currently held the infant in his embrace. The memory of what had recently happened to Helaena and her sweet child remained fresh in your mind.
You considered screaming for help, but not even a choked cry managed to come forth. Or maybe it did, and you just couldn’t hear it above the frantic hammering of your heart, rumbling in your ears like menacing war drums. Blindly you sought a weapon, any means of protection you could grasp to defend yourself and your child. Your trembling fingers gripped tightly the handle of an ornate letter opener you so happened to have left in the nightstand. You tried to swallow, but found your mouth to be as dry as the Dornish deserts.
Your feet barely made a sound in the flagstone as you carefully approached the intruder. Your mind overflowed with horrifying images of what had occurred to sweet Helaena. Even though you had not been witness to the act, the whispers reached you nonetheless, despite the Dowager Queen having carefully instructed the servants to not mention the crime near you, for fear of upsetting your mood and spoiling your health, right in the middle of your seventh moon of pregnancy. Despite the efforts, the nightmares lasted for weeks, fuelled by the clamour of your good sister’s wails as she escaped her chambers at night and wandered the halls calling for her lost son.
Slowly, as if wading through mud, you approached the chair. But it seemed the distance lengthened with each step, or perhaps your imagination had fooled you and you remained rooted in the spot. Your brain overflowed with horrific scenarios, a million outcomes to the situation, and the hopeless need to cry out, even if your mouth refused to open. As your eyes finally adjusted to the pitch darkness, however, you noticed silvery white tresses covering the person’s shoulders, and a thin dark strap wound around the head. The arm carrying the weapon lowered slowly, and the letter opener slid from your sweaty grasp onto the floor. Although weightless, in the silence of the night, the little piece of metal resonated like thunder.
The man didn’t flinch nor move to seek the source of such scandal; his smooth voice echoed in the chamber, a careful murmur to be heard without waking the baby.
“Abrazȳrys”
The familiar term of endearment should have calmed your nerves, but the word spoken so abruptly made you jump in your spot, hand coming to your bosom as your heart raced, as if ready to escape from the confines of your chest and make a run to safety.
“Seven hells, husband. You scared me half to death” You protested, pressing your cool palms against your heated cheeks and taking slow breaths. An immense wave of relief washed over you, mixed with an overpowering sense of weakness; all your energy had been consumed in the eternal moments you thought yourself and your child in danger, and now it took all you had not to collapse on your knees.
“My sincerest apologies, wife” He replied with a tone of propriety so usual in him, as if he merely apologised for bumping on you in the hallway, instead of scaring the living daylights out of you. His violet eye met yours as you moved within line of vision, taking seat in a low cushioned bench against the wall.
The bundle of blankets wrapping their firstborn appeared small and radiant against the dark planes of Aemond’s chest; the child tightly tucked in shades of green and trimmings of gold, chubby cheek snuggled against the warmth of her father’s body as she slept soundly. It amused you how easily the girl cozied up to Aemond, considering that, as far as you knew, they had not met before.
Fifteen nights and fourteen days had passed since their daughter Daenys came into their arms, letting her powerful cries be heard throughout the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast as the hour of the bat reached its peak of darkness. The child stunned those who helped bring her forth into the world, having been born with her eyes open, the right one violet like a Targaryen, and the left one with her mother’s colouring. A full head of silvery hair mixed with stray wisps of darker hues, giving her a colour no one could quite describe.
The day of her birth, her father shone in his absence. He evaded the Holdfast as if it were a cursed place. First he escaped towards the sparring yard, demanding to be taught the usage of a bastard sword, and turning a deaf ear to Cole’s comments that he should be with his wife. When the pestering became unbearable he tried to see his sister instead, but his wife’s screams echoed through every hall, making it impossible to ignore. Defeated and overwhelmed, he turned towards his dragon, far away from everyone. The smallfolk saw the massive shadow of a winged beast soar the skies, framed by the last rays of the setting sun as if engulfed in a fireball. Sight of him was lost with nightfall, but the dragon’s cries could still be heard, hidden behind clouds.
Aemond would have remained airborne until sunrise, had not young Daeron been sent out to pursue him and inform him that his wife had brought forth a most precious healthy girl. But not even such joyous news managed to lure the Prince back to the Red Keep. He flew again, towards unknown destination, not to be seen until the following day, well after the sun had begun its journey across the sky. Yet instead of rushing towards his family, he locked himself in the library, buried between books and scrolls until past dinner.
His attitude puzzled many around the court. Even if he perhaps found disappointment in the gender of his firstborn, his commitment to avoid his wife and child surpassed all levels of understanding; whispers began to spread of all sorts, most showing support to the beloved lady than to him. Some even said it was for the best; who would want a kinslayer to come near a newborn anyway?
No one could come even close to understand the why of his actions..
He had not been the same since Storm’s End. After his return, while his brother rejoiced and his elders frowned in worry, Aemond found himself numb, cold even, as if the icy winds and gelid rain that accompanied his flight that night had seeped into his bones. He only recalled broken fragments of what had occurred after he flew in pursuit of his nephew; the rattling of the saddle chains against the wind, Valyrian words shouted into the storm he did not remember pronouncing; a feeble, pathetic little fireball blown into Vhagar’s eyes, not doing more harm than a pebble would against the mountain. The horrific crunch of Arrax’s bones under ferocious jaws, as whatever remained of him and his rider floated down towards the restless sea.
The horrifying knowledge that his actions had caused the death of not one, but two boys.
After that, he shut himself more, if possible. He refused to see anyone, spending days and nights alone in his chambers, permitting only the presence of a servant to bring him his meals and news from the outside, isolated like a common prisoner. He abandoned his marital chamber, moving instead to the ones once meant for his wife; connected by a door he kept permanently locked and blocked.
His mother attempted to coax him out with gentle words and his grandsire with stern reproaches. You knocked on his door at nights, softly whispering his name, almost like a plea. He saw your shadow under the door, pacing or sitting on the floor against it, waiting for something to happen, to at least receive a word of acknowledgement; but night after night your hopes crumbled into dust, and soon you gave up. There’s no helping someone who doesn’t want to be helped
Yet a flicker remained, that the ice would melt with the fire of newborn life. That the cries of their so awaited child would break the trance Aemond had submerged into and return him to his senses.
He opened his door that day, yes, but only with the intention to flee.
And now, without warning or explanation, he showed up in the dead of the night, hidden by darkness like a lowly criminal, pushed by some unknown force to finally hold the being that had changed his status from man to father.
You sat with your hands on your lap, patiently awaiting for an explanation. Yet Aemond didn’t move, nor spared you a second glance; his whole focus on Daenys. His eye fixed on her soft features, arms protectively around her, holding her with dexterity you did not yet possess, but he had acquired with his little brother and his niece and nephews. One arm around the body, the other under, lithe finger cradling her head and gently caressing the silvery hair. Even in the dark, you could see the enthrallment in his gaze. The fearsome warrior Prince, wrapped around Daenys’ minuscule finger
“Husband?” You called out softly, trying to attract his attention
“I heard her cry” He replied, his thumb brushing across Daenys’ cheek “Whenever she cries I hear her from my chamber. You always tend to her so quickly, almost as if you awake before she makes a sound” You blinked fast, perplexed. You never imagined he could hear from his chambers, but again, Daenys had a pair of lungs that could be heard from across the city if you wanted to.
“But she cried and cried tonight, and nothing happened. I thought you could not settle her, but I didn’t hear your voice like when you speak or sing to her. So I came”
You wanted to be embarrassed that he had heard that too, but instead focused more on the fact that if Aemond knew all of that, he lingered at the door whenever their daughter cried, wishing to know what was happening with her. For a moment you imagined him with his ear pressed to the wood, holding in his breath to not miss a sound.
“She kicks a lot when she cries” He commented “I thought she wanted to be fed, or was cold. But you were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you, and I-” He swallowed before continuing, His index traced the baby’s features, from the roundness of the cheeks to the sharpness of the nose, a perfect match of his own.
“I took her in my arms and she settled. I suppose she didn’t want to be alone”
His voice held amusement. As if he could not believe his daughter, his own blood, could find comfort in his embrace. He had expected her to kick and scream and alert the world that a monster had come for her. But she didn’t. She just snuggled close to him and drifted off to sleep, lulled by the safety of her dad’s arms.
You felt your heart ache for him, as you finally began to comprehend some things. The why of Aemond’s distance. He had killed a boy. His bastard nephew, and the object of his ire, but a boy nonetheless. Because of that, Jaehaerys had been lost. And now he feared something similar would find his girl, for it seemed that a path of tragedy and blood followed his every step and dragged those close to him into the same fate.
You stood, not without difficulty, and moved to stand behind him, one hand on his shoulder. He shifted position, holding Daenys on one arm and holding your hand with the other, thumb caressing your knuckles. They remained in silence, both staring at the fruit of their love with adoration only a first time parent can conjure.
“She’s beautiful” He whispered “Gevie hae se hūra”
You only understood ‘gevie’, and that sufficed to make you smile. You leaned down until your chin rested atop Aemond’s shoulder, cheeks pressed against each other “She’s perfect. And she looks so much like you”
“Only the good parts” He replied, almost a bit harshly, the mere notion of his daughter resembling him setting him off. But soon he relaxed as Daenys stirred, mouth open in a quiet yawn which left her tongue trapped between her lips.
“She will be the best of us” You commented, your arms coming under his own to hold her. To hold them both; Aemond needed your support as much as the babe did. Right there, maybe even more.
“I will hurt her” He whispered, barely audible, his grip on Daenys tightening as he leaned down, his forehead against hers as he closed his eye. “If something bad happens to her, it will be on me”
“You would never” You rushed to reply, a coil tightening in your throat. How could Aemond think such a thing? He could never. You knew it. You knew it from the moment you saw him with the child in his arms, that he would burn down the entire country to safekeep that little girl
“Directly or indirectly, but I am dangerous for her. I’m not worthy of her” Sorrow laced his words, a sentiment foreign to your husband, who always held his emotions carefully and kept them well hidden under a mask of serene indifference. Seeing his vulnerabilities surface felt wrong, as if you had witnessed something private, a crack in the surface of an indomitable mountain. But he had no privacies with you; you were his wife, and you were meant to know him whole.
You moved to crouch before him, hands cradling his face and forcing him to meet your firm gaze “You are her father. The Gods blessed us with this gift because they deemed us worthy of her. And I know you won’t let anyone touch a single hair in her head, because they will be ash and dust before they can even get close” This time, you flattened your forehead against his, never letting go of him “You are worthy of this. Of her. You are worthy of good things”
His eye closed and he leaned into you, your bodies together shielding Daenys, keeping her warm. You two remained there for who knows how long, in silence, holding each other again after so long apart. It was him who broke the spell, his hand coming to circle your waist
“Let’s put her to sleep” He replied in a soft whisper “And then I’d like to sleep in your bed, if my lady wife will have me tonight”
You smiled without meaning to, feeling his warmth spread over you
“Tonight and every night. All the nights you want”
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You have heard of enemies to lovers and lovers to enemies, now get ready for enemies and lovers.
Aemond x wife!Velaryon! Reader who wants to kill Aegon and end the war and is also very Team Black despite being Aemond’s wife.
Just a preview i couldn't wait to share with y'all
Cw: attempted murder
Aegon is dead to the world metaphorically, when you are done, he will he dead literally.
“Long live Queen Rhaenyra.” You whisper in his ear as you bring the pillow to his face.
He doesn’t struggle, you don’t think he even knows what is going on.
But the cold knife against your neck tells you your husband does.
“Wife.” He says in a bored voice.
You had not hidden your true nature from him, you had expected for him to hate you when your father ordered you to wed him so he could rise higher than his brother, the Seasnake.
You had expected him to loathe you when you refused to attend Aegon’s coronation and called his brother a usurper to his face.
“Husband.” You say feigning to be his sweet and obedient wife.
You do not stop, especially when Aegon begins thrashing under your pillow.
“If you do not stop this our little Daenerys will be left motherless and in the care of my darling mother.” There is a teasing lilt to his threat.
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