#aemond x y/n
Text
Kiddo
Chapter one
Kiddo masterlist
English is not my first language, be kind.
Modern!Older!Aemond x Modern!Younger!Reader
•Chapter warnings: beginning of the obsession•
As Aemond sat at the bar during his lunch break, his colleagues from the bank company gathered around him, chatting and laughing.
It was a family company, but nothing was given off out of nepotism. He had earned it. And he earned it fucking wonderfully.
He had studied in the best schools, yes, but he had been dedicated as no one could.
His father took him to work there when he was twenty-two, then he took his degree.
He worked wonders in the company, success after success. Not that his father ever applauded him anything. It was just his job to be a good employee.
He acknowledged his success, that he did. That was the reason why when his father started to get seriously sick, he named Aemond his successor.
Because he was fucking good at what he did.
Then, it happened. His father died, and the company fell into his hands.
CEO at thirty years old.
These types of bar were not something Aemond usually frequented. He likes places more… quiet, personal. He only came because his colleagues, or well, his employees suggested it with enthusiasm.
“Keep good relationships. You have to be present in the company, for them to trust and respect you. They’ll see how much you work and they’ll never doubt a word of yours.”
Despite the jovial atmosphere, Aemond remained aloof, his icy demeanor never faltering.
"So, Aemond, how's the Martel project coming along?" asked Marcus, a fellow executive, taking a sip of his drink.
Aemond shrugged nonchalantly. "It's progressing as expected." he replied in his usual monotone voice. "Nothing worth getting excited about."
Marcus chuckled. "Always the stoic one, aren't you? You should loosen up a bit, enjoy the small victories."
Aemond raised an eyebrow. "I'll leave the celebrations to those who find them worthwhile." He said curtly.
Across the table, Emily, another colleague, leaned in with a playful smirk. "Come on, Aemond, don't tell me you're immune to the charms of success." She teased, her eyes twinkling mischievously.
Aemond's lips curled into a slight smirk, the closest thing to a smile he ever showed. "Success is fleeting," He replied cryptically. "I prefer to focus on the long game."
The conversation continued, with Aemond contributing sparingly, his responses always measured and guarded. He listened intently to his colleagues' chatter, but there was a distance in his eyes, as if he were observing from afar rather than fully engaging.
Despite his detached demeanor, there was an undeniable aura of authority and confidence that surrounded Aemond. He commanded respect without ever having to demand it, his presence alone enough to make those around him sit up a little straighter.
“Aspect, composure, and attitude are the key.”
As the conversation turned to other topics, Aemond remained in his own world, a silent observer amidst the lively banter of his colleagues. For him, the bar was just another backdrop in the intricate dance of corporate life, a place where he could observe and strategize, always one step ahead of the game.
As he perused the menu of the pub, a sense of disappointment washed over him. The offerings seemed basic and uninspired compared to the elegant plates he was accustomed to in high-end restaurants.
As he reluctantly considered his options, he couldn't help but long for the sophistication and refinement of the restaurants he frequented. The thought of settling for a mediocre meal in a dingy pub left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He ordered a basic plate of pasta, hoping it wouldn’t suck too much.
He glanced around the bustling pub, filled with lively conversations and clinking glasses, he thought that perhaps there was more to the dining experience than just the food itself. Maybe, just maybe, he could find enjoyment in the simple pleasures of good company and convivial atmosphere, even if the cuisine didn't quite meet his lofty standards.
He looked at his employees around the table.
What a lie.
He liked being alone, he liked to stay away from people.
He sighed silently and scanned the pub, people standing or sitting everywhere, with a beer in their hands, laughing out loud, it almost gave him a headache. He drifted his gaze to a group of young girls that just walked inside. They were laughing in such a high pitched tone it was so annoying. They were all dressed too provocative for their age, probably hoping to look older in order to buy some alcohol.
Stupid kids.
They could barely walk on those heels, they looked horrendous, even if they acted like they were on top of the world. One of the group of girls looked at him and she immediately straightened up her composure, trying to evidence her curves.
Aemond felt like throwing up.
The girl laughed when he averted his gaze for a minute, looking behind her. He followed her gaze, and he saw her, a couple of steps behind the whole group, there was another girl, dressed in a skirt long to her knee, and a cardigan. There weren’t heels at her feet but old stan smith, she wasn’t wearing much makeup, just some mascara and gloss on her lips, that made them sparkle under the light, making them look soft, plumb, ready to be bitten.
Her hair tied up in a half ponytail, her hair coming down in soft waves. She clinged to her backpack strap like it was her life savior. She must have been… sixteen? Maybe seventeen, and she looked like it, despite her friends. Her friends only looked ridiculous.
She walked in a shy demeanor, her legs almost shining over the light that came from the door of the pub. Her thighs swayed one against each other, making all of her skin move in waves. They looked so soft, the perfect shape to grab them tightly and-
“Here’s your pasta.” The waitress said to him, as she placed the plate in front of him. He hummed and nodded, as she gave him a smirk and went away. He didn’t even bother to look at the waitress' body as she walked away. He went back to the little girl, but he found her looking back at him.
She softly, gently smiled at him, shyly.
She smiled.
Aemond didn’t smile back, and she immediately looked away, running to her friends. Her breasts jumped up and down at every step she took towards the bar, her hair moving around her face.
She was beautiful. Perfect.
He coughed and finally looked away from her. He felt like she put a spell on him. He felt drawn to her.
God he looked like a pervert.
The girl was only sixteen, half his age.
What the fuck was wrong with him?!
He groaned and rubbed his temple, looking down at his plate, grabbing the fork and taking a bite.
Tasteless. Fucking tasteless.
“Marcus, stop staring at them, they could be your daughters!” He heard one of his employees say, laughing. Aemond immediately looked at him… Kyle? Then at Marcus, seeing him looking at the group of girls he saw before.
Don’t you dare look at her.
Marcus looked up and down the girls, smirking to his colleague.
“You can look at those, I don’t even know what the other girl is.” He laughed.
Don't talk about her.
Aemond clenched his hand on the fork, as both Marcys and Kyle turned to look at the girls again, drawing the attention of other colleagues as well. Aemond took a deep breath, closing his eye and leaning his head down.
I will kill you.
“Marcus, I heard the Lannister complaining about some work that has been done for them.” Aemond spoke, raising his glance at him, as he sat comfortably back on the chair.
The most uncomfortable chair he has ever sat on.
Marcus looks at him, surprised, and he immediately lowers his eyes.
“Uhm… yeah, they’re not really good at explaining what they want, you know? I made some mistakes, but I immediately fixed them when they noticed.”
“Mistakes?” He questioned further, taking another bite of his pasta, leaning back forward.
“Yeah, but nothing serious… Everything's alright now.” Marcus quickly added.
“Mh.” He only answered. He looked down at his silverwares, and he noticed the spoon was dirty.
Disgusting.
He sighed and looked towards the bar. The girls were still there. His girl was looking around the pub, her mind obviously somewhere else from her friend's conversation.
He shouldn’t do it.
He got up, excusing himself cordially to his employees, and walked away from his table.
He really shouldn’t.
He approached the bar, standing beside his girl. Her friends were giggling closed in a circle, she was more outside of it.
Were they really her friends?
Why the fuck did he care?
He twirled the spoon between his fingers, looking ahead of him as he waited for someone of the pub’s staff to consider him. Still he kept his ears well open.
“Y/N you should do it too!” One of the friends exclaimed, laughing. His girl looked at her, confused, but with a gentle face.
Y/N. He liked her name.
“What should I do?” She asked softly.
Her voice.
God, her voice.
Sweet, caring, gentle.
“Sammi maid. To earn some money, you need it, don’t you?” Her friend chuckled.
Bitch.
Aemond felt his anger rise in a second. They couldn’t be her friends. No. His girl tilted her head, confused.
“What is a Sammi maid?” She asked, so innocently. All of the girls laughed.
“Just… a maid. They just pay them more.” One of the girls explains.
Don’t.
“Might think about it, thank you.” His girl answered. She sounded embarrassed, her soft cheeks were probably red.
Don’t.
Aemond sighed and moved away, as finally, he saw a bartender coming to him.
“This spoon is dirty… and I know those girls are underage.” He handed the spoon and pointed at the group of girls, who were just asking for beers to another barman.
“Thank you, sir.” The barman took the spoon, and as he went to change it he whispered something to the other barman.
He saw the pissed expression of those girls and how they acted all offended. They quickly started to walk away but his girl was confused.
“I… I haven’t finished my cola…” She said weakly. One of the girls rolled her eyes at her.
“Whatever, Y/N stay here then.” She said, and all the group left. His girl was just staring at them surprised, as she stood there, alone.
He felt bad for her.
He wanted to hug her, console her. Kiss her.
What. The fuck. Was wrong. With. Him?!
He wanted her for himself. Never let anyone else touch her, speak to her, see her. He wanted her to be a prisoner in his arms. Why was he being so affectionate towards this girl? She was nothing he hadn't seen before. Yet he found himself rubbing his fingertips together, wanting to touch her, in any way she would let him.
“Here.” The bartender gave him back another spoon. He nodded and took it, so he turned to walk away, when he saw a necklace on the floor, next to her feet. He bent down, as she turned to him, surprised to see someone so close to her. Aemond stood up in front of her.
She was short. Shorter than him.
Her head was barely at the level of his shoulders. She looked at him, always gentle, soft, a hint of a smile on her face.
Her perfume. Sweet. Vanilla.
Her big eyes were staring at him. She looked so innocent.
He raised his hand with a necklace so she could see it. Her eyes sparkled when she noticed the necklace. She smiled broadly, and grabbed the necklace, putting her other hand over his.
“Thank you so much! I didn’t even notice it fell from my neck.” She looked at him, grateful. Aemond nodded back, even if his mind was trying to perfectly memorize the feeling of her touch. He looked at her hand, over his, her thumb moving slightly, as if to caress him.
He was a stranger to her, why was she being so nice and friendly? Was she like this with everyone?
He hoped not.
“Have a good day.” He said, nodding, turning to walk away, but she quickly put her hand in his arm, stopping him on track.
He had to put distance.
She had to stay away from him.
He didn’t know what was happening to him.
“Sorry… Would you mind helping me put the necklace on?” She smiled softly, her expression a mixture of hope and worry, she didn’t want to bother him. He shook his head and turned back towards her, as she gave him her back, giving him the necklace. He quickly puts it on her, and she immediately turns back to face him, smiling.
“Thank you. Again.” She chuckled. Aemond felt like smiling at her.
He didn’t.
He gave her another nod, as he walked away, back to his table.
Somehow, none of his employees seemed to have seen his interaction with his girl, and he was thankful for it. Especially because of how he felt his cock stiffen at the mere memory of her touch
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If The Sun Ever Rises | Chapter 4
Chapter 4 | Right Where You Left Me
SUMMARY | After narrowly escaping the Battle Above God’s Eye, Prince Aemond is now a hidden fugitive within the very kingdom he once ruled. Driven by vengeance, he plans to usurp Aegon III and avenge his family. His rage-blinded path to the throne begins with getting rid of Cregan Stark and the men who support his nephew’s rule. Having nothing to lose, he recklessly kidnaps the Northerner’s betrothed - his own niece - hoping to lure him and his men out to fight.
Soon, Aemond finds that memories of a first love are strong, and that he cannot steel his heart against the woman he has loved all his life.
WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; Canon Divergence - Aemond lives (but barely); Violence; Stockholm Syndrome; Mental and Physical Trauma; Angst; Canon Incest; Manipulation; No Happy Endings In This House YAY; Slow burn, I think?
WORD COUNT | 3.4k
Text Divider by @saradika-graphics
The days passed by in a quiet, green haze.
The cave where she had been made to stay shouldn’t have provided her with as much solitude as it did, given her circumstances. But with each passing moment, she found herself healing, growing stronger, and seeing as clearly as the blue sapphire that now haunted her dreams. She embraced the quietness of it all, allowing her situation to wash over her as she came to terms with it.
She had run, and she hadn’t made it. The claw marks and gashes all over her form were definite proof. In these last few days, she had been too weak to move. She felt pain with every weak movement in her limbs, ensuring her captivity for a longer period of time. But in the time that had passed as she recovered, one thing was constant.
The nightmares, and him.
Night after night, she found herself ensnared in a labyrinth of nightmares, each more vivid and terrifying than the last. In the darkness of her dreams, the snarling beast lurked, its eyes gleaming with malice as it bore down upon her with relentless fury. She would awaken with a start, her heart pounding against her chest as she gasped for air, drenched in cold sweat. The cave around her offered no solace, its walls closing in like the jaws of the predator she’d been trying to escape in her dreams.
In her tired state of mind, she thought she had imagined his warm palm on her forehead, checking for a fever. Had she imagined his mumbled Valyrian whispers too? Ēdrugon sȳrī, mandianna, she had heard, his voice as mellifluous as the calm waters of the stream outside. [Sleep well, niece.]
She had always loved listening to him speak.
At first, his presence was a comfort, his soothing words a balm to her frayed nerves. He would speak to her in hushed tones, murmuring smooth Valyrian into her ears as she struggled to comprehend the light touch of his moving lips on her skin. And when words failed, he would hold her close, his arms a sanctuary against the dreams that threatened to consume her.
Nyke paktot kesīr, he would say. Ao sagon rūsīr issa. [I’m here now… you’re with me.]
But as the nights wore on, confusion crept into her heart, clouding her thoughts like a dense fog. His touch, once a source of uninhibited, fanciful love, now stirred something unfamiliar within her, a longing and heaviness that she could not name. She would lie awake, breathing and panting in the silence of the cave, her mind awash with questions that had no answers.
Was it his gentle touch that set her soul ablaze, or was it merely the anger at being ripped away from her beloved in the middle of the night? How did it come to this? How did he end up becoming the very safety that she sought to gain by running far and away from him? She could not say, and so she clung to him like a lifeline, seeking refuge in the warmth of his embrace. What else could she do?
Those were the thoughts that consumed her as she sat up, her body sore as she grunted in pain. She sat up for the first time in what she assumed could only be days, and managed to stand up too. She braced herself with a hand on the slippery cave wall, her eyes landing on the mountain of discarded bandages - covered presumably in her own blood.
She closed her eyes shut and tried to get a grip on her surroundings once more - it seemed that no matter how many times she had tried, she couldn’t come to terms with being brought to the jungle by a man who made her heart rush to wherever he touched her - no matter his intentions to hurt her family.
Are you ashamed of me, mother? For wanting him despite it all? For never stopping?
With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, determined to wrestle back control from the haunting memories that threatened to take her for all she was worth. At first, all she could hear were the echoes of that harrowing encounter - the guttural snarls of the boar and the piercing screams - both his and hers - that tore through the air.
No, no, no.
But she refused to let fear hold her captive any longer. Slowly, she forced her mind to shift its focus, reaching beyond the darkness that threatened to suffocate her. Gradually, the noises of her nightmares began to fade, replaced by the gentle sounds of the forest - the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the melodious chirping of birds, and the soothing murmur of the stream of water trickling nearby. Before she knew it, the water had called to her and she walked slowly before stepping inside.
The sting of the wounds from initial contact faded and gave way to a relaxing sensation that made her skin tingle. Her shift billowed in the water, and she let herself breathe before she lifted her head up to breathe. She kept up these motions until she raised her head up to find that Aemond had come back, from wherever he’d gone. His presence, though familiar, sent a jolt of anticipation coursing through her veins, stirring something deep within her.
His expression was one that she knew all too well; there was no mistaking the lust in his eyes as they simply stared at each other, unmoving. In the calmness of her mind, it was easy to forget the weight of their shared history, to lose herself in the fantasy of a time long before the war had torn them apart. Every stolen kiss, every tender touch—it all rushed back to her in a dizzying whirlwind of emotion, threatening to consume her with its intensity.
If she were to beckon him to her right now, would he come? Should she?
The question lingered in the air, heavy with anticipation and uncertainty. But before she could find the words to speak, he was the first to look away, breaking the spell that had held them captive. With a heavy sigh, she watched as he turned away, the distance between them stretching like an unbridgeable chasm. And in that bittersweet moment, she knew that some things were better left unsaid, some desires left unfulfilled. For as much as she yearned for his touch, she also knew the pain that lay in its wake—the shattered dreams, the broken promises.
One moment she wanted to see him die, and the next, her heart would tear itself apart with how much it wanted him. She hated this, not knowing how she felt about him.
But didn’t she?
He set up a fire and sat on a log, staring into the fire like it held all the answers. What did he hope to see?
When the water went from being calming to making her feel cold, she stepped out, damp clothes sticking to her form as she walked, resembling a Goddess come to life. She took her seat next to him, hugging her knees tight as she leaned forward to take in the warmth. She breathed in the smoky smell of the fire, goosebumps rising from the heat of the fire and his gaze, now focused on her.
“How long do you plan on keeping me here, uncle?”
Winterfell was beginning to feel less like a foreign land and more like a place she could learn to love and call home.
She had taken her time familiarizing herself with every nook and corner without intruding on what she wasn’t meant to see in her capacity as a guest. If the war ends in her mother’s favor, she knows she’ll soon be Lady of this castle - no longer a guest. She had walked around the gardens, taken her time with the Godswood, gone down to visit the kitchens, and strolled on the grounds countless times. She had made friends, people she loved to speak to and smile at every day; those who made this uncertain time much more bearable as she tried to push horrid thoughts about her family at war to the back of her mind.
And him.
Finding no answers to her confusions as to why Aemond would draw first blood by killing the brother of the woman he loved, her mind raced much too fast for her convenience. She knew why, though, deep down. She simply refused to believe it.
Believing it would mean coming to terms with the fact that he had given up on her. On them.
While she chose not to trust her mind, her heart was a lot more fickle. Lord Stark had been perfectly gracious and treated her with all the gentleness worthy of a Princess and a future wife. It was a calmer, happier, and much less doubtful relationship than the one she had with Aemond. It was steady, and it was hers now.
This would all be hers. Lord Stark would rule the Keep, and she would rule him. He was hers, and he made sure she had no doubts about the same.
The thought did not make her feel as bad as it used to. This would be her way of moving on with her life and doing her part to ensure her mother’s victory. Cregan brought her a satisfaction of doing things right that Aemond did not. She never had to doubt him or herself with this man. Lighter feelings of infatuation clouded her mind as she walked to the library, her purposeful stride taking her to where her future husband sat.
The scent of old parchment hung heavy in the air as she found herself closer to where he was, mingling with the subtle aroma of beeswax polish that adorned the wooden tables and chairs scattered throughout the room. At the heart of the library stood a grand fireplace, its crackling flames casting a warm glow that bathed the room in a soft, golden light. And right next to it, he sat in a wooden chair, elbow on the armrest as he held his face up by the chin. He looked worse for wear and dejected, and it pained her to see.
What was it about her that she only ever ended up with men who chose to brood like there was no tomorrow?
She stood by the arch, leaning to the side as she debated disturbing him when he seemed like he’d much rather be left alone. As she decided to step out and read while waiting for him to come out on his own accord, she heard his heavy voice call after her.
“Princess.”
“My lord.” She couldn’t possibly leave now, so she walked in, steps as quiet as the man himself. She took to standing in front of him, her figure forming a dark silhouette as she blocked the hearth from his view. He leaned forward and took her hands in his, and she was startled by how huge they were in comparison to hers. Aemond’s hands were beautiful in an obviously otherworldly Targaryen way, with nimble, dexterous fingers; Cregan’s were unabashedly huge and well-worked yet warm, just like him.
She would learn to stop comparing them soon. It would not be long. Damned mind and heart, forever at war.
He’d had to execute a Night’s Watch deserter today - the Northerners pass their own sentences, she’d been told. “I heard you’ve had a taxing day. I thought I’d…” It seemed silly to her now to think her presence would lighten him up given the circumstances. She turned to look at the path she’d walked through, nervous at her thoughts of inadequacy as she thought of a suitable excuse to walk away without feeling embarrassed. But it seemed that there was no need.
“I killed a man today. Swung Ice heavy and clean into his neck… and now, I hold the most beautiful woman in the realm with the very same hands.” He talked as though he was speaking to himself rather than her - there was a certain absent-mindedness about him that endeared him to her - or was it his way of showing that his mind was preoccupied?
“Aye, good fortune is shining upon me.”
She smiled, never considering that her presence could bring about that level of comfort to a man who seemed much more put together than she. Her gaze was half-lidded as she looked down at him, his head leaning forward to rest his forehead upon their conjoined hands.
“What’s it like?” She regretted the words immediately after they tumbled out, knowing very well that she was throwing into his face the very subject that he probably wished to forget.
“Do you really want to know? It is a topic unsuited for a woman of your gentle nature, Princess.”
“If you want to speak, I want to listen.”
She did not miss his somber smile, making it clear to her that he appreciated her company more than he let on - for now, that was enough. “When men pledge themselves to the Night’s Watch, it is an oath for life. It is a matter of keeping your word, of honor. And when you’ve proved that your word means little and less, you’ve disrespected those you swore to protect. When this happens… as their liege lord, it is my place to punish them for it. It is not something I take pride in, but it needs to be done. One cannot put off justice for too long. Never.”
“Does it always have to be you swinging the sword?”
“Aye. ‘Tis only respectful to the man losing his life, regardless of his fallacies.”
She nodded, understanding his reasoning, and grateful that he’d seen fit to let her understand. Most would dismiss her, saying it did not fall under a lady’s purview - but he didn’t, and she appreciated that more than he knew.
For a moment, they stayed together in silence. He only got warmer with each passing moment, a feeling of comfort in the cold air that she’d grown accustomed to. “I am grateful… that it’s you,” she said. She didn’t know what she hoped to achieve by saying it, but she did anyway.
“I’m glad you’re happier, Princess. I…” She found doubt in his eyes as he debated whether or not to say the words, but she wordlessly encouraged him to go ahead by squeezing his hands in her hold. “Your brother told me that your loyalties are… divided; that you will need time to accept me. I am glad that you are.”
She tensed at the mention of her affections for Aemond, but she was quick to let it pass. She would not entertain her heart’s pull towards the man who killed her brother - she would not. Here sat a good man with the patience of a maester - she would learn to be worthy of his affections.
Almost as though he sensed her train of thought, he pulled her right back to where he was. “Princess?”
She smiled, a tired smile of resignation as she found herself grateful at the hand she’d been dealt. A time of war, where well-bred men were turned into murderers - and somehow, the Gods saw fit to give this good man to her. She was thankful, and by the Gods, she would learn to love him well.
“I’m happy too.”
“How long do you plan on keeping me here, uncle?”
She refused to look at him. Her eyes were trained on the fire, the blaze blinding her for a moment until she turned to look the other way to escape the heat-induced tears in her eyes. She felt the dampness of her form and clothes dissipate with each passing moment, and she let her throat bob as she allowed herself to calm down.
“As long as it takes.” His voice was devoid of any emotion at all, and she was struck by how hard it was for her to read him through his words - it wasn’t like this before. She used to be able to make out his emotions from the simplest of words or noises, but now it was as though she was made to face a stranger. But then again, she didn’t know this man. The Aemond she knew and loved was not battle-tested and war-worn; he was a scholarly achiever who took more pride in himself than his spoils. How could she understand him if she did not know him at all?
“And you see no other way to exact revenge? He’s…” The weight of her words overwhelmed her, and she could not bring herself to complete the sentence.. Here she was, abducted at night from where her mother thought she’d be safe, by the man whom she once upon a time believed would protect her - eventually, both Winterfell and Aemond had led to her current state.
“The war is over, uncle. The realm is slowly getting back up and the lords are working towards peace once more. Must you truly be so vengeful? Undo all the work that is being done?” The anger and tension was palpable, with her not being able to contain herself. The more she spoke, the more she knew that all of what he did was unnecessary - but then again, this entire Dance was unnecessary, was it not? “Cregan is good to me. He’s a good man and he cares about Westeros, he cares about making Aegon a worthy King despite all the poor child has been through-”
“No amount of goodness can change the fact that Cregan Stark did not pledge allegiance to the rightful king.”
“The rightful king? Grandfather declared my mother the rightful heir long before Aegon was even born -”
“Before he was born! When he was born, she lost every right to the Iron Throne. A much more sensible woman would have stepped away, but my sweet sister -”
“It was HER RIGHT!”
“It was never hers and it was certainly not yours or your bastard brothers' to claim!” With words exchanged and thrown at each other like weapons, her hands had been animatedly moving about as was her habit. But she froze at those last words. She knew very well that he had too, if the sudden hitching of his breath was any indication.
He wouldn’t apologize, that much she knew. He was much too proud and condescending about his otherworldly and striking Targaryen features to apologize to her - for she knew very well what she was, even if nobody else would openly admit to it.
A bastard.
Her mind was a mess as she looked at him, at a loss for words. The spell had shifted, they weren’t bickering as they used to any longer. In the silence, a moment suspended in time, she looked at him - really, truly, looked.
And there sat a boy. Not a battle-tested man who was now a hidden fugitive, but a boy. The boy that she’d known and loved. How much longer could they possibly hold on to grudges that neither had inflicted upon each other? The war had broken them, gotten them to drift apart - but where did it end?
Her heart ached as she beheld him, recognizing the boy she had once known beneath the bitterness and resentment that time and circumstance had piled upon him. The lines etched into his face told stories of battles fought and losses endured, but his eyes betrayed the weariness of a soul weighed down by burdens too heavy to bear alone.
He was tired.
He was depressed, hungry for revenge and angry, but in close vicinity, as her hand reached up to let her fingertips graze over his eyepatch, she could not help but think. This was her Aemond. She’d waited for him to take her away, and in a cruel twist of fate, they ended up here.
In the dim glow of twilight, her voice, a tantalizing whisper, wrapped around him like a spell. "I haven't ever seen you without your eyepatch. You never let me." Each word, a delicate lure, tugged at something deep within her; a longing that she had never quite moved on from, but scarcely dared to acknowledge in her time away from him.
If she leaned in just a bit more, she could kiss him. Would it be wrong to? Did he want her to? What was he thinking?
His hand closed around her wrist, holding her delicate touch in place over his concealed eye. With a weary exhale, he released a breath burdened with the weight of countless battles, etched into the lines of his weathered face.
How had she gone this far without him?
Before she let her fleetingly powerful feelings take over her, she closed her eyes and walked away. In the distance, a lone wolf's mournful howl pierced the tranquil stillness of the forest, making for a haunting melody.
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#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen smut#ewan mitchell#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond smut#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen fic#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond fanfiction#aemond one eye#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen fan fiction#aemond fic#aemond#pro aemond targaryen#aemond angst#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen fanfiction#fic recs
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Love, Peace, and War
[requested : @immyowndefender]
“Will you do one where reader lives and shoves both Alys and Aemond into a burning pyre along with the rest of kingslanding or at least one where she makes Aemond her bitch?”
Whispers of another woman keeping his bed warm have swarmed y/n since he left for Harrenhal. He had supposedly missed her, she now believes it to be simply guilt, coming home despite orders from his king and making love to her until the early morn. Something had seemed off that night, and she wanted to question it, but she was simply happy to have her love back in her arms. However, now he seems to only be trouble. Both of their sons lie dead and wrapped in the finest cloth on a pyre. Vhagar rumbled from her perch, seemingly annoyed. Y/n took one last look at her boys and looked Aemond in the eye with a depressed rage. He only looked at her with remorse. For their sons? For possibly ruining her by sleeping with another woman? She didn’t know, nor did she care.
“Dracarys”, he spoke loudly to Vhagar. Warmth kissed y/n’s cheeks, almost drying her tear stains. “Goodbye my little dragons, protect each other, my strong boys”, she whispered. Y/n turned and walked to her horse, not acknowledging Aemond or his family. When they traveled back to King’s Landing, y/n rushed to her chambers with her maids in tow. “Lyliana, fetch some wine. I’d also like a bath.” Both girls got to work, Lyliana fetching the wine and Alessandra starting to warm some water. Y/n glanced to her bed and saw a plush toy shaped like a dragon sitting next to her pillows. She can’t cry anymore, she’d lost all of her tears. “Shall I help you undress, your grace?”, Lyliana asked softly, knowingly.
Y/n nodded and proceeded to be undressed with delicacy. Sitting in her shift, both girls started to braid her hair and wrap it like a crown to not get it wet. Y/n asked, “Do you think they’re alright?” The girls glanced between one another, Lyliana answered, “They have each other, your grace, that is all we could hope for.” Y/n nodded and stood. The water was warm, something she needed after a while. Her muscles had been tense after what she’d been through. “I will fetch more oils, your grace”, Lyliana spoke after looking at the selection. Alessandra spoke quietly, “I lost my boy in the fall”, she paused her words and focused on scrubbing the dried blood missed from under the princess’s fingernails. “What did he look like?”, y/n asked. “He had these big brown eyes that were so curious of what was happening around him. He barely stayed asleep, I believe he thought he would miss something”, she smiled with a small laugh, “His hair was black like his father’s and thick. He had this freckle under his chin too. My mother always told me freckles were angel kisses.” Y/n and Alessandra sat in a comfortable silence, only the water could be heard.
Lyliana returned with the oils and assisted in finishing the princess’s bath. When she had emerged from the water, there was a knock at the door. Lyliana answered the door only through a crack, as y/n was in a state of undress still. “Prince Aemond”, she bowed, “Your wife isn’t dressed yet and doesn’t wish for any visitors.” Aemond didn’t listen and entered the room, “Y/n.” “Ladies, you may go for the night”, y/n released the girls, having now been dressed in her nightclothes. She looked at Aemond standing in the middle of the room. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I am the reason our sons are gone. I just- I can’t have you not speaking or even looking at me anymore.”
She poured herself some wine and sat in a chair, “That is what we are doing now, isn’t it?”
Aemond got on his knees at her feet and placed his arms around the small of her back, “Y/n please, you do not have to forgive me, but please don’t do this.” He buried his face into her thighs.
Y/n looked at her cup, not once acknowledging his proximity, “How’s Alys?”
Aemond raised his head, “What?”
“The girl from Harrenhal. What did they say she was? Some wet nurse to her brother?”
“How did yo-”
“I didn’t know you had a thing for bastards. Thought you always hated them, especially if their roots were from Harrenhal”, she paused for a drink, “Was she your spoil from war?”
Aemond brought his head up to look y/n in the eyes, “Tell me, Aemond, was she any good?”
He stood up now, stumbling over his words like a child caught. “Well?”
“No, she never could compare. I was so alone and lost, I-I lost myself to weakness. Please, my love, I never meant to hurt you.”
“Well you did.” A knock could be heard through the thick air, “Come in.”
A man who looked very much like the prince without the Targaryen features entered the room, “Your grace”, he bowed, “Your spoils.” A bag was handed to the princess, glancing inside she was hit with the stench of death. “You may go, Alfred.”
With her back to Aemond she stated, “A parting gift for you”, she turns and hands him the bag. “I will be going home for my brother’s coronation. I won’t be back.” She walks out of the room to the maester’s. Aemond slowly opened the bag and found Alys River’s head inside, devoid of color. He threw it, landing on a dresser, and poured himself some wine. His movement erratic, he didn’t know what to do, so he drank and went to the training yard to get his frustrations out. Y/n had traveled to Dragonstone before returning home. She spoke with Rhaenyra of how she was the true queen, and the world was lied to for a selfish man’s gain. How Delbore would support her claim if called upon. Then they spoke, not as queen and princess, enemies, or friends. They spoke of their sons, what she would do when she goes back home, and revenge.
Before she boarded the boat, she turned to Daemon and Rhaenyra, “Kill him. Make it painful.” She looked into Daemon’s eyes, and he nodded to her. She smiled softly and set sail for home, for peace. Her kingdom was never called upon.
The Targaryen’s had seemingly forgotten of the princess. Until one day, she sat in the gardens with her sister-in-law and queen of Delbore having tea. “Princess y/n, a letter has come for you”, a servant girl spoke like a mouse. “Thank you, dear”, y/n dismissed her. She noticed the black Targaryen seal on the scroll and took a deep breath. The queen placed a hand over hers and smiled gently. The words she had hoped to hear for months, almost a year now. Aemond is dead. In black ink, the details of how he had received his dues. Daemon had sacrificed his life in killing the prince, leaving him with a sword through his eye. Time went on and Targaryens died like flies. Y/n, however, flourished on Delbore Isle. She took another husband. A sturdy but soft man who loved her truly. He never left her side, even during the birth of their daughter. Y/n had finally found peace.
Taglist : @watercolorskyy
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#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen#aemond#aemond the kinslayer#hotd aemond#aemond fic#aemond x reader#aemond x you#Aemond smut#Aemond brainrot#Aemond targaryen brainrot#aemond targaryen fanfic#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond targaryen fanfiction#prince aemond targaryen fanfiction#prince regent aemond targaryen#prince aemond targeryen fanfic#aemond x y/n#the one eyed prince
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“Be Quiet.” // DILF!Aemond Targaryen x Babysitter!Reader // PART ONE.
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 500 FOLLOWERS! (+200 now) so here is the awaited fic, celebrating a milestone <3 based on this poll, dilf aemond won at the end haha 💞
MDNI
WARNINGS: unprotected p in v sex, dubcon(?), oral (both f and m.), blowjob, cum eating, cum play(?), breeding kink, multiple orgasms, age gap (9ish years), DILF aemond, single father aemond, power imbalance(?), throat fucking, cunnilingus, lots and lots of kissing, + not proofread
WC: 7.1k (yeah...)
« part two // 🎄 special »
Getting fired from your job while trying to pay rent and gathering tuition fees isn't exactly ideal, you wanted to pursue a bachelor's degree after high school, but you didn't have enough money, coming from a family that was barely held by, nor were you eligible to apply for student because there were legal issues.
You moved out of your parents not wanting to financially burden them anymore, renting a decent apartment with just enough space for you to call it a 'home' you've been working for the past 2 years, a decent paying job but it was enough to get by and save up on the fees too, everything seemed to be going perfect until you suddenly got fired and your landlord decided to increase the rent.
You knew you'd have to cut into your savings to pay rent now, but you didn't want that, you halfway there to your goal, you were expected to get promoted and get higher pay, you calculated it, that it would only take one more year for you get enough amount to pay for the first few sems, and then maybe you'll be able to apply for a student loan by then.
But fate had different plans, and here you were on your couch scrolling through multiple apps to find any type of job, extremely desperate.
And that's when you saw it.
“Babysitter needed.” you thought how perfect of a job it would be considering the degree you wanted to so badly was based in psychology, child psychology specifically, and interacting with kids will probably give you some type of experience?
You quickly clicked on it and found the contact number, and decided to call it, you bit your lips nervously hoping they'd pick up.
“Hello?” you heard a cool voice say which sent shivers down your spine.
“Hello- yes uhm, Hi! I am calling because I saw the post on the app that said you needed a babysitter for hire?” you stumble over your words and mentally facepalm yourself for it.
“Yes, indeed. Are you interested in applying?” he asks and you quickly reply with a yes.
“Do you have any prior experience?” he asks and you reply with a quick yes, you've babysat a few kids throughout your highschool era for quick cash, as a way to not rely on your parents for menial things.
“Mhm alright, I don't want to bring your hopes up by saying you got a job, I'd like to have a personal interview first, if you do not mind.” he says and you say, thanking him and he hangs up the call.
You were fucking shaking.
It felt like applying for the first job of your life all again, the nervousness, the anxiety, the everything.
Aemond had saved your phone number and sent it to his assistant, Floris, asking her to run a background check on you, and to see if you had any criminal background, he read your name on the file that got delivered to him, sipping on his coffee while he scanned through your details.
You just turned 21, recently.
‘So young’ he thought, ‘Let me guess, she's probably looking for jobs in order to afford education.’ he guessed and he was exactly on the money with that one.
He wasn't that old himself, barely 30
He inherited his father's business at just age 23, being the only one capable of handling such pressure, his elder siblings couldn't stand a chance against him, and since then, he's maintained the Targaryen name perfectly.
He remembers falling in love with a woman older than him, he was 24, she attended one of the business parties he dreaded going to, Alys rivers was her name, they dated for 2 years before deciding to pace things up and get engaged since everything was going perfect for both of them.
Until Alys got pregnant, Aemond was overjoyed when he heard that news, but he didn't know that the child would suck the life out of her.
She died giving birth to their son, and he was devastated, being heart broken by her death, however he never once blamed his child, it was their choice to birth him, and it failed miserably.
But 3 years had passed since her death and he had moved on from her death, ready to love once again, yet it was extremely hard to find someone that wasn't after his money.
He knew he couldn't just live in the misery of heartbreak, and Alys would've wanted him to move on too.
His son, Aenys, recently turned 3 too, he inherited Aemond's purple eyes and silver blonde hair, typical targ features, but he saw how the softness of his nose, sharpness of his eyes resembled his mother.
But back to you at hand, he went through all your papers deeming you fit for the interview, he called a day later telling you the address where the interview would be held, his office.
Yes, his fucking office, as if you were applying for a job at his company, he justified it by saying that you were technically his employee.
When you got out of the taxi and looked at the company in front of you, it finally clicked in your brain that your employee was none other than Aemond Targaryen, and it only made your anxiety worse.
You went to the receptionist and told her your name, and she typed it in, giving you a small smile, telling you that you were exactly on time. She called his office to tell you that you were here and led you to his office. You looked around and noticed how big this company was, a bunch of employees working in their cubicles, typing away.
“Mr. Targaryen?” she called out and you heard a small ‘come in.’ Before stepping inside and pushing the door open for you to enter, you did and she stepped outside, closing it gently behind you, leaving you alone in the room with the man.
Aemond hadn't looked up from his files until the door closed, and when he did, he felt his breath caught in his throat.
“You may sit.” he says and you nod, sitting across him on the opposite side of the table, you felt so small under his gaze, it was so intimidating but you put up with it.
He began the interview by asking questions about yourself, and all relevant things, but there was one question that caught you off guard.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks and you furrow your brows, “Excuse me?” you question, noticing how odd of a question it is.
“Don't get me wrong, the previous babysitter had one, and she used to bring him to the apartment and…” he cleared his throat and you immediately caught on to what he was implying, “Oh! No! I do not have one, and even if I did I would not do that!” you reassure him and he gives you a nod.
He was fucking lying.
But you didn't know that.
The previous babysitter was an old lady, who Aenys liked a lot, but sadly she had to leave the city.
“I hope you know that you're expected to work full time? I leave for the office at 9AM and return back at 7PM, and you'll need to be ready to work those long hours, and sometimes I might not even return till late at night if there is extra work.” he says and you nod, and before the question can leave your mouth he cuts you off.
“Do not worry, you'll be paid for those extra hours.” he confirms and you nod smiling at him.
And then came your terms, which he agreed to, he made you sign a one year contract, and you did it without hesitation.
Frankly the pay was so high you would barely need to work 6 months to reach the full amount, but you still did an extra 6 months considering how having extra money at hand doesn't hurt.
And with a handshake, he accepted you.
You were practically going to spend most of your awake time with the kid, it sounds hectic but the pay was too good to pass up on, I mean, $80 per hour? fuck yes, you'd be having around $230k by the end of the contract. Aemond was filthy rich.
It was finally your day to go to his house and you already knew it was going to be big, but you were still shocked when you arrived to the destination, it was a 20 minute drive from your house, and it was located in the richest neighbourhood to exist in the city, you felt embarrassed getting out of your taxi at an area where everyone probably had their own cars, heck, a collection of them even, but you paid the fare and the guard got up to question you, you told him and he quickly nodded before letting you inside.
It was early in the morning, you came quickly so Aemond could show you around the house and introduce you to his kid, you stood there nervously as you rang the doorbell, Aemond had checked through the security camera before the door opened, revealing the house interior.
You quickly stepped in and he closed the door behind you. You expected him to have maids and a bunch of staff, but you were surprised when you found none. No wonder he asked if you can cook, you'd probably be doing all the work here besides the cleaning.
“Aenys is in his playroom, let me take you there.” he says cooly and you follow him, taking in your surroundings.
He opens the door to the playroom and you immediately find a kid, who you assumed to be older than 2, playing with his dragon toys, making rawr sounds, and yelling the word ‘dracarys.’ you smiled at the cuteness.
Aemond cleared his throat which caught the attention of Aenys and he smiled brightly before he jumped in his arms, “Papa!” he yelled, before he turned his attention to you and looked at his father in question
“Hey aeny, do you know how the previous babysitter had to leave town?” he asks gently and Aenys nods, “And papa needs to be away for work top right? So I got you a new babysitter who will take care of you.” he points towards you, explaining and Aenys looks at you tilting his head slightly
“Hey, Aenys.” you give him a small, waving your hand, he shyly waves back before he hides his face his fathers chest, you chuckle at the cuteness.
“I'll go give her a house tour okay? And then I will visit you once again before I leave, have fun darling.” He says and puts his son down, and Aenys looks at you once again, inspecting you, observing you, you smile at him once again, and this time he gives you a shy smile.
Aemond leaves the room and you wave a quick temporary goodbye to Aenys and follow him.
“Aenys, doesn't have a mother, or at least he had to grow up without one” Aemond randomly begins and you look at him confused. “My fiancee-” he sighs before halting his footsteps, “She- she had died while giving birth to him.” you watch as he takes deep breaths, “It's okay if you don't want to talk about it now, we have a lot of time anyway, just open up to me when you are ready, sir.” you tell him and he looks at you, giving you a nod and resumes the house tour.
It was fucking big.
Just like he said, he visited his son once more before leaving for work and the entire day you spent it with Aenys, getting to know him, observing his behaviour.
You noted that he was extremely shy at first but then he eventually warmed up to you, he still had his guard up of course since you were fairly new and a stranger in his life, you introduced yourself and he did the same.
He showed you all his toy collections, which you were genuinely fascinated by, he had so many dragon figurines and remembered each one by their name, his favourite was vhagar.
“It waass papa's once, when he was jus like mee.” he babbled cutely, the way he pronounced the words were so cute too, you swear you could die at it.
“Vhagar belonged to your papa?” you felt awkward saying the word papa, but you knew you had to considering that it was the term Aenys was used to, he nodded, smiling.
“Yesh! He gwave it to meh.” he says and you smile.
Aenys had quite a developed vocabulary for his age, though he pronunciation was a bit off, but you knew it would improve with time.
And just like that, you and Aenys grew close, he was always cheery to see you, you cooked and looked after him, feeding him vegetables in a way he would enjoy, and Aemond was surprised when he found out, considering Aenys refused to eat vegetables.
You put Aenys to sleep one day, singing him a lullaby and caressing his hair as he fell asleep in his bed, he watched you with big doe eyes, which were slowly beginning to get droopy as sleep overcame him. He closed his eyes and his brows were relaxed. You sat there for a while, watching him sleep, and you look at the time, 8PM, Aemond was running late, but you didn't mind, by the time he usually fell asleep, Aemond would've been there, listening to you sing to his son and when he finally fell asleep, you would leave, politely saying goodbye to Aemond, but this time you had stayed, since Aemond was late.
You noticed how Aenys eyebrows furrowed before you saw tears coat his eyelashes
“Mam… mama… I want mama...” he mumbled in his sleep and you swear you felt your heart wrench at that, then you heard small sniffles.
He was crying in his sleep.
Is this what usually happens after you leave? You felt extremely sad, you remember how Aemond had told you that Aenys grew up without a mother, how she had died during childbirth. You never really thought about it much but you realised how tough it must've been for Aenys, then suddenly you remembered all the times you played together or watched cartoons, how he would say the word "mother" longingly when he was referring to a mom dragon, or how he stared in a daze when a cartoon showed a mom taking care of his child.
He was beginning to notice an absence of a parental figure in his life.
You were snapped out of your thoughts by the sniffling getting louder, and Aenys was beginning to borderline cry out, you quickly picked him up and carried him, pacing around the room gently as you patted his back, his hand clung tightly onto the sleeve of your arm and he rested his cheek on your shoulder.
“Shhh, Aenys, it's okay.” you try consoling him but he kept repeating the words 'I want mama, mama.' in his sleep over and over again.
Not knowing what to do, you began to feel bad, so you did what you thought was the best.
“Aenys, Mama is here, it's okay hush now..” you coo gently into his ear and that's when he finally stops sniffling, 'mama?' he mumbles and you hum, “Yes, it's mama, do not cry anymore okay? Mama is here.” you caress his hair and he finally relaxes, you were so entranced in comforting him that your brain managed to ignore the presence of Aemond himself, who had arrived when you picked him up and paced around in a panic, he was going to interfere but then he heard you say those words.
You stopped dead in your tracks when you noticed him, heat climbing up your face as you realised he probably heard everything and also you were stricken with fear too cause you likely overstepped.
You gently placed Aenys down on the bed and got out of his room, anxiety coursing through your veins as you realised what you had done
But you were only trying to comfort him.
Aemond soon followed you out the room as well and you turned around to face him when he closed the door.
“I apologize— I'm so sorry—” you began.
“Don't. It's fine, I can understand why you did that.” he cuts you off, and you wince.
“He- he's been noticing.” you began and Aemond nodded, “I've noticed too.” he replies and sighs.
“Aenys has changed a lot since you've started babysitting him in a good way , and I've noticed it, he's becoming more and more aware of the world around him.” He moves to the living room, sitting on the couch and you do the same, sitting on the one opposite to him.
“I've made sure that he never felt a lack of anything in his life, but I guess it's only natural for a person to desire something he can't have.” he says.
“Aenys can have a mother, if you remarry, that void will be fulfilled somewhat.” you suggest and he looks at before chuckling “I've thought of that too, my mother said the same thing, but i cannot trust anyone, especially considering how many are after my money, who knows if they'll be kind to him, or whether Aenys will like them or not.” he sighs.
“That is true.” you agree with him and he looks at you.
“Unless… ” he begins, eye scanning your entire being and you look at him, your heartbeat quickening, just as he was about to say something, your phone rings and it cuts off the trance-like state you were in, and you look at it to see who it is.
It was a spam call.
But then your eyes bulge out of your sockets when you look at the time, “Holy shit it's late, I'm sorry sir but i have to leave now, or else it will be too dangerous.” you say and quickly apologise and he nods, dismissing you. That was the first night, sleep came to Aenys peacefully.
But it didn't to Aemond, he was lost in thought about everything, but then his mind wandered off to somewhere it shouldn't go.
The way you comforted Aenys stirred something inside you, the moment was perfect, you cooing in Aenys' ear that you were here, pretending to be his mother.
It was so perfect.
Almost as if you were made for that.
Aemond felt his heart flutter.
For the first time in years.
He couldn't help but accept the pull he felt towards you.
Aenys doesn't seem to remember the incident, probably cause he was literally just sleep talking so it was left at that, but you and Aemond however grew a bit close after that incident, he came back home early as he can, so he could spend time with his son and you, he was subconsciously trying to get his son used to both of them being around, both present in his life as parental figures.
You obviously weren't able to leave early just because he got home early because those were your mandatory hours, so it became your new normal to spend time with him and Aenys.
You couldn't deny that there was something definitely blooming in between you and Aemond, he would often throw appreciative comments in your way, which made your belly pool up with heat.
You noticed how he wanted to stay by your side, physical touch lingering, he had suggested that you 3 should go grocery shopping, and you found it odd considering he could literally order his clients to fetch them for him, but you agreed anyways, using it as a chance to get outside and let Aenys interact with other people. Aemond was heavily against sending him to the daycare, because he was scared for his son, it was understandable but it also set Aenys behind a bit.
“Mama, I want this!” you hear a kid yell at his mom and you watch as she refuses it gently, telling him no and that she will buy him the next time they come back here, and the kid just pouted, you chuckled at the sight.
You turned your attention to Aenys who was staring at the scene too, and you realised how he was in a daze once again as well, you looked at Aemond who also seemed to notice.
Aenys quickly ran in another direction and you panicked and almost ran after him before he was back in front of you again, grabbing the same toy the other child had grabbed earlier and showing it to you. “Ma-” he cut himself short before pushing the toy to show you “I want this!” he says and Aemond was confused at first and he was about to agree to buy that toy for Aenys until you butted in, “No Aenys, we can't buy it right now! We'll buy it next time when we come back here okay?” you say and he smiles sheepishly at you, before pretending to pout and put the toy back in a random shelf.
You chuckled at the childishness, he just wanted to feel the same type of experience that others do. Aemond knew it was just you both playing around, he didn't miss the way Aenys almost called you his mother, and it spurred him on further, the way you acted as a genuine mother.
Those type of random moments became often, and it pushed Aemond further and further to the edge, the way you would act like such a perfect mom made him want to bend you over any surface and fuck you, filling you up with his cum.
Aemond then suddenly started joining for lunch, he would usually eat at his office, but he made extra effort to drive home so he could eat with his 'family.' He loved your cooking, you made it taste like home, he would watch as you cut smaller pieces of fruits and vegetables for Aenys so he could properly chew and eat. He imagined how perfect you would be as his wife and like an official mother to his child, or better, children, all of these small things were pushing him to the edge
And soon it would push him off it.
Aemond cursed himself when he drove through the rain, already running late, he looked at his watch and read the time, it was 10PM, the meeting in the afternoon stretched over two hours long which set back the rest of his schedule by a lot, he quickly parked his hair before making his way inside his house, open the door with the extra key carried before shutting it close.
“Look Aenys! Dada's here.” he heard you say and he was immediately spun around, he didn't expect you to stick around this long, but then he realised it was raining heavily and you always went by taxi, there probably would've been no taxi available in this weather.
“Aenys didn't go to sleep yet?” he asks, undoing the suit he was wearing before throwing it on the couch, approaching both of you, taking Aenys into his arms.
“He wanted to wait until you got home, he was worried for you, though he seems tired hmm.” you pinch his nose playfully and he scrunches it up, “I'm not twired…” he says but then yawns earning a chuckle from both you and Aemond.
“I'll put him to sleep, you go freshen up.” you say and Aemond nods, giving him back to you.
Fuck everything about that interaction felt too domestic.
And Aemond had lost his resolve.
He found you sitting on the couch, scrolling through something, he sat down next to you.
“What are you doing?” he asks and you look at him, “Trying to book cabs, but there are none available at the moment due to the weather.” you sigh before placing your phone down.
Aemond should've offered to drive you home but instead he offered to let you stay.
“You know you can stay over, I do not mind it.” he says and you look at him “Really? I don't wanna be a bother—”
“Oh please, you are never a bother.” he cuts you off and smiles at you. “You should freshen up for the night, you've been here since morning.” he says but you pout. “I do not have any clothes.” you say and he simply shrugs, “You can wear mine.” he pushes the buttons, wondering how far he can get away with it, he knew offering you to let you stay at his house already broke the employee boss relationship, hell, the moment he desired you was when it already broke.
“Mhm okay! Where is the guest bathroom?” you ask and he shakes his head, “The water heater is broken in that one, it's better if you use the attached bathroom in my room.” he says.
The water heater wasn't broken.
He was lying.
And you believed him.
He watched as you got up and made your way to his room, which was right next to Aenys', considering he has to react if something happens to him, he followed you inside opening the cupboards and giving you his hoodie and fresh pair of boxers which you thanked him for.
He left the room to give you privacy, but oh gods his mind was racing with all the thoughts.
He paced around, trying to contain himself, and he stood there in front of the door.
And then you opened it.
His hoodie reached to your thighs, and you looked at him, shocked to find him in front of the door, lips parted.
He snapped.
He quickly pushed you inside and shut the door behind you, slamming his lips against yours, and kissed you fervent hunger, you stumbled back and you almost fell but he caught you by your waist and pushed deeper into the kiss, moving his lips hungrily against your.
He pulls away, silently giving you a way out if you need it.
You should refuse this.
You should push him away.
But you don't, instead you wrap your arms around him and pull him into a deeper kiss, he groans when he feels you kiss him back, he pulls away once again, before grabbing you by your arm and pushing you onto the bed, making you fall on your back, your hoodie rising up, revealing your stomach, which he kissed lovingly before he pulled the hoodie even more further up, exposing your tits and pressing kisses to the nipples, causing you to gasp.
He pulls the hoodie off of you completely, and you raise your hands to assist him, he pulls off his shirt too, exposing his naked chest, and you bite your lip at the view, next he takes the boxes off you, doing the same, leaving you both completely bare to the room.
He pushes you upwards to the bed and crawls on top of you, kissing your face, neck, collar bones and valley between your breasts, his hands grab the flesh of your tits before he kneads them, massaging them, thumbs flicking the nipples making you arch your back.
One of his hands trails down to your core, dipping into the heat, he outright moans when he finds you practically leaking, collecting the arousal and bringing it upwards your bud. Rubbing small circles which makes you gasp.
He pulls his hand away and brings it up to lick at the wetness that has accumulated on the fingers, humming in satisfaction before he pressed kisses which travelled downwards until his mouth stopped right at your core, giving a small kiss to it to, you shivered when you felt his hot breath against it, the way the air he exhaled would hit your clit. He kissed the inner part of your thighs first, making you needy with want, wishing he'd just take you into his mouth.
And then he does, his tongue strides upwards from your opening to your clit, giving you one long lick before he captures your clit with his mouth, suckling on it, causing you moan his name loudly, both of his hands wrap around your thighs and he pulls them further apart, his fingers digging into the flesh as he hungrily devours your cunt, tongue flicking the bud constantly, you grip his hair and buck your hips, practically rutting against his face, you felt his tongue travelling down and lick at the wetness, the tip of his nose pushing against your clit, you felt your core tighten as the movement of his tongue sped up, causing you to topple over the edge and your orgasm hit you like a truck, making you whine loudly.
He greedily licked everything up before he placed wet kisses on your thighs, the residue of your wetness sticking to them before he sat back on his knees between your parted legs, you watched as he got up slightly, making his cock come into view.
Your eyes widened slightly, which didn't go unnoticed by Aemond, this stroked his ego very much.
He was big, bigger than any you've seen before, it was pale with a tip that was flushed pink due to the blood pumping, oozing precum out of it, he pumped his cock in his hand to ease the area, coating his dick in his own precum before he positioned it against your entrance, you bit your lip in anticipation but then you felt him slide against your folds, covering his dick in your wetness as well before slapping your clit with the tip of his dick, making you whimper.
He then lined himself against your entrance and pushed in, and you arched your back at the stretch, it was so delicious, you felt so full.
He leaned on top of you and gave you a passionate kiss, you could taste yourself on his tongue, making you taste the tanginess, he supported his weight on his elbows which were on either side of you, gripping yours, fingers intertwined with yours. You were locked in a missionary position, a position that felt intimate.
Then you felt him move, thrusting in and out at a brutal speed, causing you to moan his name, the thrusts made you jolt up the bed, breasts bouncing due to the force emitted from it, his grip tightening as he grunted on top of you, rutting into your wet heat, his hair dropped his shoulders, cascading around his face, and you gasped at how godly his looked like this.
Then you felt his tip hit your gspot, constantly, which caused you moan extremely loudly, “Fuckk! Ahh~ Aemond!” you mewled, closing your eyes and throwing your head back, his hand left one of yours to cover your mouth as he continuously slammed into you.
“Shh, be quiet, or he'll wake up.” he whispers, referring to Aenys who was sleeping in the next room and you nodded, you felt him pull his hand away but his thumb traced your lips, you opened your mouth which made him put his thumb inside and you sucked on him, and you felt him groan, then he pulled it out, hand going back to grip yours, and you bit your lip to hold back your moans from slipping out.
You felt your core begin to tighten again and it snapped once more, causing you to arch you back, pushing your breasts against his chest and he muttered 'fuck' feeling the way you clenched around him.
His thrusts begin to grow sloppy and lose their rhythm, indicating that he was close, “Fuckk, I'm gonna cum inside you.” he says and you whine, “I'm going to get you pregnant, watch you grow round with my kid…” he growls, thrusting into you again and again, “You're going to give Aenys little siblings, You will, right? He looked so lonely, I think he'd appreciate that.” he grunts and you nod quickly, mind too hazy to even comprehend or acknowledge the complications behind you agreeing to this.
“Good girl.” he says before he finishes inside you, and paints your walls white, shooting up his seed far into you, riding his orgasm out.
You felt him pull out and thought that was the end until he pushed you over onto your back, and sat on his knees, he grabbed your waist and pulled it up, and you immediately switched to supporting your on your knees as you arched your back, stretching like a cat, your hands on the side of you.
He groaned when he watched his cum drip down your thighs before he scooped it up and put it in his mouth, tasting your combined essence.
He was still hard.
So he wasted no time, shoving himself back inside you and you whined at the way your walls felt overstimulated, not knowing if you can handle one more orgasm consistently.
He sheathed himself inside your walls, and moved with fervent speed like before, his balls slapping against your thighs, the room was filled with erotic noises, he gripped your waist for support, until his hand travelled slightly upwards, catching one of your tits before gripping it tightly, and rolling the nipple in between his fingers.
“I can't wait to watch them swell.” he grunts.
“You'd look so pretty with my child in your belly, the way your tummy will swell? Gods fuck, that is a vision.” he moans
“Look at you, taking my cock so well, like you are meant to.” he notes, thrusting in and out, watching as the previous cum leaks out.
He clicks his tongue
“So much is going to waste, tsk, it's okay I'll fill you up again, make sure you get pregnant.” he groans and you moan, “Ye-yes fill me up.” you say, and he smirks at that, “Good girl, taking my cock like one.” he leans against you, your back pressing to his chest as he leaves kisses on the back of your neck, and you once again, topple over the edge for the third time.
He finishes too, inside you again.
You both fall besides each other on the bed, and realise the weight of the situation after the adrenaline and excitement of the moment fades away and the breathing becomes more stable.
“I- fuck.” Aemond begins not knowing what to say and you lay there quietly.
“Listen, ever since that day you walked in, I felt some type of pull towards you, I wasn't sure what it was, but it was as if we were meant to me, and I couldn't ignore the feelings brewing inside me.” you watch as he speaks.
“I- to put it in simple words, I fell in love with you. I really did, though it's fine if you do not share the same feelings, we can go back to pretending this never happened.” he confesses.
“I am in love with you too.” you confess, “I pushed these feelings away, because it wasn't appropriate.” you say and he looks at you this time.
Silence falls between you two.
A comfortable silence.
He pulls you closer and wraps his arms around you, hugging you, and you hug him back, the he places loving kisses atop you.
You felt something hard pressing against your inner thighs and you looked down, shocked to find him hard again, you chuckle.
“Again?” you tease and he playfully glares at you, “Yeah, you're so fucking irresistible.” he kisses your neck, hips mindlessly grinding against you. “I'm so sensitive.” you pout, but you get an idea, you quickly push him onto his back before getting on top of him, and then crawling down in between his legs, before taking his cock in your hand.
“Fuck!” he moans when he feels your warm hand wrap around it, before you gently tug on it, pumping your hand up and down, watching as the precum leaks out, you collect some with your tongue, poking the slight hole making him groan and grip the side of your head.
You trail kisses down to his balls, before giving them wet kisses as your hand pumps his cock, you lick a long stride up his length before taking him in your mouth, as best as you can, hands resting on his thighs to balance yourself.
You bob your head up and down, swirling the the tongue around him, pulling away time to time to breath before descending onto him once again, the grip on the side of your head tightened and you watched as he sat up slightly leaning on his elbow, before his hips thrusted upwards, and so you let him take control.
He collected your hair into a makeshift pony before gripping the back of your head tightly and thrusting his entire length into your mouth, the tip teaching the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, causing tears to well up in your eyes, you closed them and tried to breathe through your nose as he thrusted upwards and fast, essentially fucking your throat.
You felt him twitch slightly in your mouth, knowing he was close, you sucked him and hollowed your cheeks, he threw his head back at that, he felt steady pleasure rising within him before such a force expelled from his body, causing him to peak, shooting out ropes and ropes after cum into your mouth, you felt it hit the back of your throat, causing you to swallow unknowingly, before he slightly pulled out, cause the remaining to fall in your mouth.
He pulled out completely and watched your face, flushed and hair dishevelled, you held his cum in your mouth, waiting for his command, “Swallow.” and you did, obeying him, opening your mouth to show that there was none left, he groaned as he watched the remnants of his seed drip from the side of your mouth before he collected it with his index finger and shoved it back into your mouth, and you click his finger clean, he grunted before you upwards and kissing you, tasting himself in your mouth, hands squeezing your ass before he gave one of them light slaps, causing you to wince.
You pulled away and breathed heavily, he smiled down at you, before he left the bed to clean both of you up, collecting the clothes and getting dressed before he pulled beside him in the bed, going to sleep while hugging your form.
You dreaded the next morning, wondering how you'll explain your relationship to Aenys, you woke up to an empty bed, you read the time, it's was just 8AM, you felt sad but then you quickly got up and went outside finding Aemond and Aenys awake, sitting at the table conversing, your heart warmed at the sight, Aenys spotted you and ran over to you, lifting his arms up, asking you to silently to carry him, and you did, you picked him up before placing a small kiss to his forehead.
“Mama!” he said and you froze, before you looked at Aemond, who gave you a small smile and nodded and your eyes softened at it, it seems he had done the explaining.
“Mama! Mama!” Aenys grabbed your face making you look at him and you chuckled, “Yes Aenys, it's mama.” you say and he smiles brightly.
“I'll go get ready for work.” Aemond says, getting up from the spot he was sitting on and coming over to both of you before he pressed a kiss to Aenys forehead, and doing the same to you and going inside his room and getting ready.
You put Aenys down on his chair and went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, you made simple eggs on toast, and just on the time, Aemond came out of his room, looking all ready and you placed three plates down, along with fruits cut into small pieces of Aenys.
“I made breakfast.” you say and Aemond smiles at you, before sitting down and the three of you ate breakfast.
Applying for this job was the best thing you've ever done.
Who knew your life would change the course of it in the span of just a few months.
There were other things to discuss, and you knew it was plaguing Aemond's mind as well, but you both decided it will be best if discussed later and so you both basked in this moment, listening to Aenys babbles.
“So i hwave a mom now rightt?” he asks Aemond who nods, “Are you happy?” he asks and Aenys nods quickly, “Yesh! Aenys is wery hwappy! But…” he trails off and you feel your heartbeat quicken.
“I want a sibling too…” he murmurs
Oh gods.
Your eyes flickered over to Aemond who stared at you, you blush and look away as you remembered the details of last night.
“I wwant a swister… ! or a bwother!!! Hmm any is fine…” he babbles on, not knowing what he is asking for.
You look at Aemond again, who didn't seem to take his eye off you at all.
He smirks.
Oh fuck.
You quickly get up and collect the empty plates before going behind the kitchen counter and placing them in the sink, washing your hands, focusing your attention on them, until you felt arms wrapped around your waist before one trailed upwards towards your breast giving it squeeze, you quickly looked up to see Aenys was watching until you realised he was nowhere to be seen.
“He's in his playroom.” Aemond whispered in your ear, grinding slowly against your ass.
“Heard that? He wants a sibling so badly, surely you can't deny him right?” he asks, pinching your nipples through the fabric causing you to gasp.
He places kisses down your neck, before he spins you around and kisses you on the mouth, making you wrap your arms around his shoulder. He pulls away before kissing you on the cheek.
His phone rings and he notices the time, 9:15AM, he was running late which was the first for him, and it was his assistant calling him.
“Fuck, mood spoiler.” he grunts before shoving his phone back in his pocket before placing a kiss to your mouth once again.
“Don't think I'm done with you yet, it's gonna be one hell of a ride when I get back home.” he presses one final kiss to your neck before pulling himself away from you, granted it was so fucking difficult considering how he wanted to fuck you on the kitchen counter just moments ago.
You nod and follow him to the front door.
“Have a nice day, Aemond.” you say, and he smiles at you, coming to kiss you but then Aenys comes running towards you both.
“Is dada going to work?? BYE DADAAA” he screams and Aemond chuckles, before waving a small 'bye' to Aenys, and leaving from the front door.
He barely left and he already couldn't wait to get back home from work.
And you gulped, nervous in anticipation.
Oh seven hells.
———
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x reader smut#aemond x reader smut#aemond smut#aemond targaryen#aemond x fem!reader#reader insert#x reader smut#hotd x reader#x reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen fic
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SERENITY.
Part 2
Dad!Aemond Targaryen x wife!niece!Reader
With Aemond’s arm around you, and his lips pressing against your temple, the fatigue you were feeling could wait for a little while, if it meant you got to indulge in those rare moments of serenity for just a little bit longer.
WARNINGS: Canon typical incest/Targcest, fluff, female Reader (no mentions of appearance besides color of her eyes), mentions of difficult pregnancy and birth, soft dad!Aemond
WORDS: 1.1 K
“Hae mērot gierūli. Se hāros bartossi.” As one we gather. And with three heads.
The voice was a distant rumble. It held a familiar edge to it, yet your tiredness made it difficult to make out where it came from. The calmness of it made you want to sink further into the silk sheets, the soft sigh leaving your lips indicating that you were close to falling asleep again – until it settled that you heard voices in your chambers. In the midst of the night.
Reaching to your side to check for the man you had married three summers ago, you couldn't feel his body right where he was supposed to sleep, the vacant spot already cold, which suggested he had been gone for quite some time by now.
And if you had to guess, you’d say it was late into the Hour of the Owl already.
“Prūmȳsa sōvīli. Gevī dāerī.” We shall fly as we were destined. Beautifully, freely.
When your lilac eyes eventually opened, your marital chambers were only dimly illuminated, forcing them to adjust to the dark. Most candles had gone out, and not more than an ember glowed in the fireplace. The light of the moon, however, shone through the drapes hanging in front of the windows, highlighting their subtle movements in the gentle breeze, and the tall frame of your husband standing behind them.
A deep sigh escaped your throat, one that gathered the attention of your occupied husband. You hadn’t even been aware that you had held your breath, and quickly placed a hand on your chest to stop yourself from making any more sounds, not wanting to wake your babe.
“Ēdrugon, ābrazȳrys,” he hummed, though his voice was slightly muffled. Sleep, wife.
Leaning over the edge of the cot standing on your side of the bed, there were no distinct snoring sounds coming from the boy it belonged to, his little blanket missing as well. It merely was the reddish dragon egg sitting neatly in the corner, having yet to hatch. Your boy was nine moons old by now, and it became less and less likely it was going to hatch at all.
You rose from the bed, quietly, and pulled a thin robe over your shoulders, tying a knot in the front. Sidling toward Aemond, you soon spotted the small head of your son resting on his shoulder with your husband’s lips pressed gently against the side of the boy’s face. A warmth spread through your body at the sight, your heart fluttering.
“Emā naejot ēdrugon hae sȳrī,” you purred, cautious to not wake the sleeping babe in his arms. You have to sleep as well.
As you came up to him, you brushed your hand over Aemond’s back, resting at his waist, and craned your neck to meet his eye. His sapphire eye was gleaming in the soft light the moon casted upon you three, making him look as if he had been forged and created by the Seven.
Your lips pressed to his shoulder, and only then did you notice that he was bare-chested, prompting you to raise your eyebrows. Aemond slightly turned and reciprocated the gesture, oblivious to your surprise, though his lips pressed to your temple with him taking a deep breath of your scent.
He carefully shifted the hold on your son, supporting him with his right arm as he slid his other around your waist to pull you against him and meet your lips for a kiss that robbed you of your ability to breathe.
“He was not able to find rest,” Aemond rasped, words fanning over your lips. “He sleeps most peacefully in our arms than in the cot, you know.”
You nodded, and allowed your fingers to ghost along the crown of his head, caressing the tuft of silver hair your son possessed. Your eyes crinkled at the corners, your heart swelling at the realization that you two had created the very being Aemond just cradled in his arms.
Turning your head toward the window overlooking King’s Landing, you were in awe that the rawness and vulnerability of the moment even made the filthiest of cities seem peaceful and quiet, yet the true sight to behold was and always would be the prince standing right next to you.
Despite the rift parting your House into two, Aemond had always been a dutiful husband, taking care of you and protecting you just like he had vowed to do on the day you wed in the traditions of the Faith. Duty. It had never been more than that to him. But with your pregnancy taking a woeful turn, and the much more miserable birth following, something in him had changed.
His training with the sword could wait more often than not, if it meant for him to get the chance to bond with you, and, after the birth, your son. And knowing all too well that he prioritized full nights of sleep, moments like these made you even more aware of how much he had grown into his newfound responsibilities.
For all that the people of court found the prince to be cold or even cruel at times, he was nothing if not incredibly gentle with you and your son.
When you looked back at Aemond, you already found him staring at you with the striking lilac eye of his, an expression of deep affection written all over his features. The warm look in his eye made you feel weak in the knees, just like it always did.
With a soft smile on his lips, his hand trailed from your waist to your stomach, gently rubbing over the small bump that slowly started to blossom. His touch was tender, loving even.
“You deserve your rest more than ever with the child growing within you,” he noted, “return to bed and get some sleep, my love. I shall watch over him.”
You nodded as you watched Aemond’s head tilt forwards to look at the sleeping boy that was cradled in the crook of his arm. You were exhausted, but at the same time, a part of you wished to spend every moment you could with your little family.
A cheeky smile grazed your lips. “But what if I want to stay?”
His brows raised slightly as he regarded you, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I believe that we,” he nodded towards your son, “would not mind your company, provided you are not too tired.”
“Perhaps just for a few moments longer,” you replied softly to which he nodded in return.
With Aemond’s arm around you, and his lips pressing against your temple, the fatigue you were feeling could wait for a little while, if it meant you got to indulge in those rare moments of serenity for just a bit longer.
#house of the dragon#hotd#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#hotd aemond#aemond x reader#aemond fanfiction#prince aemond#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen imagine#hotd imagine#hotd fanfic#hotd x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond x you#hotd x you#aemond stannies#aemond targaryen x female reader#hotd fic#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfic#aemond imagine#aemond fluff#aemond fic#hotd fanfiction#hotd fluff#house of the dragon fic#house of the dragon imagine#ewan mitchell#ewan nation
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My Dragon ~ Aemond x wife!Reader
warnings: mentions of Aemond's eye injury, some angst & fluff
word count: 1.0k
note: pure fluffy dad!Aemond goodness! was stuck on this idea for a while, hope you enjoy this little piece!
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You returned to your chambers after a long day, desperate for nothing more than a long, hot bath and the soft furs of the bed you shared with your husband. You had spent the day with your good sister Helaena. Though once only sisters through friendship, you were truly sisters now after the marriage to her younger brother.
As you opened the doors to your chambers, it was unusually quiet. You closed the door behind you, listening to the crackling of the hearth. You spot the back of Aemond’s head, seated on the settee facing the dancing flames. His head is angled downwards; no doubt he has stayed up late with his nose in a book as you often find him.
Though he never admits it after the fact, you’d caught him on more than one occasion fast asleep on the settee or in his chair, a book open-faced in his lap.
You smile softly as you approach, careful not to startle him.
“My love…” you call softly, to which Aemond turns his head.
He purses his lips slightly, bringing a hand to his mouth shushing you. Your eyebrows concave together in confusion, which ebbs as you walk closer. Aemond has forgotten his usual book this evening; instead, your sleeping daughter rests her head on his lap, fast asleep, her small chest rising and falling with each breath.
Her silver curls are splayed every which way, her nose whistling with every breath she exhales.
“It is late my love,” you playfully tease, keeping your voice a low whisper so as not to wake her.
“I know,” Aemond says, his voice just as soft, “We lost track of time.”
You smile, walking behind him to place your hands on his shoulders. Though only in her fourth year of life, your little dragon has the Targaryen prince wrapped around her little finger. Aemond brings a hand to rest on top of yours, pulling it from his shoulder and pressing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand.
“Did you have a nice time?” he murmurs against the back of your hand, his breath causing gooseflesh to appear.
You hum in response. “I did. You know how I enjoy spending time with Helaena. Though I must admit, my legs do ache.”
You had spent most of the day walking through the gardens with the princess, helping her add to her collection of curious creatures and oddities. You loved Helaena’s hobbies and were more than happy to indulge her. But the day was long under the hot summer sun, and it left you eager for bed.
“Shall I call for someone to draw you a bath?” Aemond asks as you lean to rest your chin on his shoulder.
“It tis alright,” you assure him, “Do not trouble yourself.”
“It is no trouble, you know this,” he insists, glancing at you sideways. You made sure to rest upon the shoulder where he can see you with his functioning eye.
You remove your hand from him, caressing the leather eyepatch he wears.
“You must be uncomfortable,” you tell him softly, stroking the worn leather. It begins to irritate him on days such as this one when the heat causes the leather to chafe the skin of his cheek.
The weather is strange these days, getting so hot during the day and then dropping significantly during the night. Aemond’s violet eye flickers down at your sleeping child. How perfect she looks, the perfect combination of both of you. A miracle made of your love. You sense his hesitation.
“She shall not be afraid, my love,” you assure him.
“How can you know?” he says, looking down away from your comforting gaze.
Aemond had always been fearful of how others reacted to his injury. You remembered in your youth before he had begun courting you, how you’d learned of why he wore the patch. It was Helaena who informed you that Aemond wished to not frighten the ladies of the court.
“Prince Aemond should not wish for a weak stomached woman anyhow,” you had snapped, as other ladies had snickered at his injury. “Women say they wish to marry a warrior, then faint at the scars from battle. How distasteful.”
Helaena had told Aemond how you’d come to his defense. You’d been the apple of the Prince’s eye ever since. Well, until the birth of your little one. Two women now completely owned the dragon prince’s heart.
“A mother’s intuition,” you assure him, moving to remove the patch. Aemond freezes for a moment but relaxes into your touch as you place the eyepatch on the table, revealing his magnificent sapphire.
You stroke your finger along the scar, admiring how the sapphire reflects the light from the hearth.
“My dragon,” you murmur, cupping his sharp chin in your hand, and pressing a gentle kiss to the scarred tissue.
Aemond sighs, his chest rumbling. You can see a flicker of desire in his violet eye at your praise. Your daughter stirs then, perfect face scrunching as her pale lashes flutter open. She looks up at you with wide violet eyes before throwing her small arms around your neck.
“Muña!” she says sleepily, arms heavy around your neck.
“Hello my love,” you softly croon, pulling her completely into your arms, “How was your day?”
She buries her face into the crook of your neck and you inhale the lilac scent of her hair. How you enjoy the moments with your companions, but oh how you miss your daughter by the end.
“We went exploring all day! And we went flying on Vhagar,” she chatters away, “Sunfyre even joined us! Kepus flew right next to us!”
“Did he now?” you ask with a chuckle. Aegon was a surprisingly delightful uncle.
Aemond stands then, still facing slightly away. You reach for his hand, pulling him closer. Your daughter looks at him, the smile never leaving her face. Aemond turns his head slowly, revealing the scarred tissue and brilliant sapphire. You hold your breath, waiting for your little girl’s reaction.
She stares, unblinking, before reaching out to touch his face.
“Blue is my favorite color,” she informs, turning back to you, “Did you know Sunfyre likes to sing? I don’t think Vhagar enjoys singing, her songs are rather deep. It shakes the windows of the Keep! Muñāzma was quite cross with her!”
You glance at your husband, watching his cheeks turn red. You smile so brightly that your cheeks begin to ache. There was never anything for him to fear. She adores him all the same.
As do you.
#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x fem!reader#aemond fluff#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond one eye#prince aemond#house of the dragon aemond#dad!aemond#dad!aemond targaryen#aemond fic#aemond x fem!reader#aemond fanfiction#aemond stannies#aemond the kinslayer
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Love Sick ///Aemond X F!Reader
Summary: Alys Rivers had a vision about the prince’s arrivals, using her charm to lure him, she haven’t anticipated you, his new wife. So a little something might help him see who he truly belongs.
Warnings: SMUT
Word Count: 1,8K
Notes: I have read a lot of love potions fics and decided to give it a try. So here we are.
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Alys Rivers always had visions, the flames would always tell her their secrets, this made it easier for her to survive. Yet, one vision kept appearing for her, a Targaryen Prince, dressed in his battle gears, long silvery hair tied to his back, a scar across his beautiful face.
She anticipated his arrival at Harrenhal way before it was even decided he should go. So when she heard the roar high in the skies, and saw the huge dragon landing in her home, she knew her time had come.
She had tended to him since he stepped his foot in Harrenhal, preparing his bath, serving his food, and occasionally flirting with him, she noticed how he looked at her, she was a pretty woman, long black hair and emerald green eyes, she was sure that it would just take a couple of days and he would fall for her.
Whoever, what Alys Rivers haven’t seen in her visions, was the Baratheon beauty arriving a week later. Lord Borros' third daughter, known for her breathtaking looks and even more impressive brain.
Lady Baratheon strolled through the front door, guards behind her as she walked through Harrenhal. And Alys watched with horror as the woman entered the dining room, giving a little smile to the Prince before slowly making her way towards him.
“Lord Husband.” She greeted, kissing his cheek and squeezing his shoulders, Aemond gave her a small nod and gestured for her to join him.
“How was your journey, my lady?” He inquired as the servers prepared her a plate, she politely thanked the maid before taking a piece of green bean with her fork.
“Quite exhausting, I am happy to finally settle down.” She bites her food. “Your dear mother was right, it feels good to be away from the Keep.” Aemond chuckled.
“Do not remind me of all that chaos.” She smiled at him, Alys kept in the corner watching the exchange in silent anger.
“Queen Helaena sent her greetings to you, my dear.” He held her hand.
“Did she talk to you?” Y/N nodded.
“Just a few words, but she seems better.” Helaena was still grieving the loss of her children in the hands of Daemon’s assassins.
“More wine, my Prince?” Alys intervened, her voice low and sensual, the prince turned his eyes to her, lifting his goblet. She could be his wife, but Alys knew what desire looked like, perhaps the prince just needed a little help.
⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆
Prince Aemond was in his study room, book in hands as he took some time off. Alys knocked, hearing his powerful voice commanding her inside.
“I brought some tea, my prince.” She placed the mug with the hot tea on his desk.
A simple love potion, she knew that he had feelings for her, so this would simply amplify them, make them so unbearable that he wouldn’t have any other choice than to go looking for her. He would claim her as his, as it should’ve been.
Alys excused herself, going straight to her room in the servants wing, she needed to get ready for when Aemond Targaryen knocked on her door and took her in his arms.
She had cleaned her room, and then, took a long shower, rubbing a scented soap on her skin, making herself look flawless. She sat on the bed and waited for him.
⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆
Y/N brushed her hair, Harrenhal was quite hot, so she asked the maid to run her a bath, she didn’t plan on leaving her chambers, so a silky nightgown covered her body while she took care of her hair.
The door was abruptly opened, making her jump in her seat. Her husband, without his coat and with four buttons of his linen shirt open, looked at her, a smirk on his lips as he entered the room.
“You know, dear wife?” He closed the door, walking towards her. “It was always you, when I went to Storm's End that day, it was you I had in mind.” His tone was slow, like he had been drinking.
He grabbed her hand, removing the brush and placing it on the desk. His other hand brushed her shoulder, pulling the straps down just a little.
“So beautiful, such a smooth skin. I know I had to have you.” He pulled her up, spinning her around until she was facing him, her hands splayed on his chest while he held her close by the waist. “You smell so good.” The prince said, smelling the skin of her neck.
Y/N felt her cheeks flushed at the attention, heating pooling in between her legs, forcing her to close them for some friction, as Aemond started to kiss her neck.
His touch was delicate, his lips cold against her hot skin. Kissing, licking and biting, making her whimper at the sensation spreading across her body.
“A-Aemond.” She half spoke half moaned, making the prince grow impossibly harder, his cock painfully restrained by his pants.
“You sound divine when you moan my name.” He said, getting away from her and walking towards the bed. He sat down, still looking at her, his shirt was messy and fully opened now. “Come here, my dear wife.” She made a move to walk to him but he stopped her. “Take it off.” He ordered.
She shivered as she saw the lust on his gaze, with shaking fingers, she undone the laces holding her nightgown in place, letting it pool at her feet, standing there completely bare to his hungry eye. His pink tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he eyed her up and down.
“You’re a goddess, I cannot wait to see you choke on my cock.” He grabbed her hand as she got close, pulling her straight to his lap. He kissed her, tongue exploring her mouth, hands cupping her ass.
She reached for the eyepatch, throwing across the room, she hated that damned thing, covering his beauty from her.
“You’re so beautiful, my prince.” She breathed, his lips attached to her breasts. Sucking the nipple in his mouth and moving his tongue in circles, making her squirm in his lap, brushing his hard cock.
He squeezed her flash, kissed her like he was going to die in the next second, and she moved her hips against his clothed cock, making it very hard to keep controlled. He never felt that kind of lust before, but he was ready to give in.
Y/N got up, and slowly kneeled in front of him, she had heard the ladies in court talking about the pleasures the mouth could bring to a husband, and despite the lack of experience, she wanted to try.
She reached for his belt, removing it and opening his pants, he lifted his hips just enough for her to slide all the pieces of clothes he was wearing down, freeing his dripping cock from its cage.
She swallowed hard, hesitantly grabbing it in her hands, earning a hiss from him. She moved her hand up and down, slowly, taking encouragement in his groans, the pleasure growing in him as she gently stroked him.
In a more bold move, she lowered her head, giving it a lick in the tip, Aemond shivering as she did so, she looked at him, giving him a small smile that could be the death of him. Then, she took him in her mouth, bobbing her head and masturbating what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. Aemond closed his eyes, buckling his hips and enjoying the sounds of her choking on his cock whenever she went too deep.
She hummed, sending vibrations down his cock, making his balls tight and the orgasm wash over him, his cock twitching, sending hot cum down her throat. She removed her mouth, coughing a little.
“You look so beautiful, kneeling in front of me.” He praised, his thumb caressing her cheek, making her blush as he looked at her. “Allow me.” He said, pulling her up and laying her down.
He got in between her legs, his breath fanning over her hot core, he circled the back of her legs, squeezing her skin and pulling her thighs apart. Smirking at her glistening cunt, he sank there, lapping at her folds, collecting all of her juice as she arched her back, moaning his name like a prayer.
He kissed her clit, rubbing circles with his tongue, making her see stars. Freeing one of his hands, he inserted two fingers inside her cunt, pumping them inside and out, in the same ruthless pace as his tongue. She moaned his name loudly enough to echo around the walls, feeling the knot in her belly grow until it was ready to snap. Driving her over the edge, her walls clenching around his fingers and closing her shaking legs around his head.
Aemond smirked against her, feeling her recover from her orgasm, he looked at her, sweat coating her forehead and panting, her chest moving up and down rapidly.
“Do you want more, my goddess?” She looked at him, smirking at her like the devil and she nodded. In a second, Aemond was on top of her, without any clothes and his cock ready for a second round.
⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆
Alys tapped in the bed frame, growing restless as the potion should be working in this exact moment but Aemond was nowhere to be seen. She got up, grabbing a robe and sliding it over her shoulders.
She walked towards the Prince chambers, forcing the door open just a little, she gasped as she peeked inside.
Lady Baratheon was facing the door, her eyes closed and mouth slacked open as she moaned loudly for him. “Do not stop!” She begged, her voice hoarse from all the screaming.
She was on all fours, her ass high in the air as Prince Aemond pounded inside her from behind, moving so fast that her breasts bounced back and forth.
Alys wanted to move but she was rooted in place, the potion had clearly worked but with the wrong person.
“Please, Aemond. I am going to cum.” She whined, and the prince pulled her hair behind, forcing her to look at him.
“And i am going to stuff you full with my heirs, make you swell with my seed and birth my children.” His tone so raw that Alys felt her cheeks hot in embarrassment, Lady Baratheon moaned his name, her body convulsing as her orgasm crashed down on her again, followed by him spilling inside her.
Alys watched as the prince removed himself from inside her, his hands stuffing his cum back inside her cunt. “I love you.” He breathed, pulling her by the hair again and kissing her with all he had.
“I love you too.” She replied, face flush red as she tried to recover from the amazing sex.
Alys walked backwards, running away from the scene, knowing that no matter what she did, she could never break the bond the two shared.
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Reunion | oneshot
Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...
[Part 2]
Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI
Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not).
Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3
TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.
Words count : 7600
Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha
But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever
Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!
Enjoy 🖤
I don't know what I'm supposed to do
Haunted by the ghost of you
Oh, take me back to the night we met
The night we met - Lord Huron
The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment.
Ashes.
Fire.
War.
It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss.
It was like a long howl and then sudden silence.
Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.
For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him.
There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side.
The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.
It had been the best solution, you knew.
For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded.
He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight.
He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface.
He had searched and no body had been found.
So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.
The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.
You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair.
But it still hurt.
It sill fucking hurt.
Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation.
A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years.
A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother.
And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges.
And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled.
Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.
Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.
During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever.
Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger.
Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.
And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders.
Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.
But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it.
He knew.
He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans.
And the humiliation was all the more bitter.
First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own.
And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.
You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed.
When he had become more forgiving.
When he had trusted you.
When he had become gentle.
When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly.
When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.
You loved him.
So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice.
Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.
Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?
Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands.
You felt as if you were losing your mind.
But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.
Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.
It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell.
Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost.
King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.
But above all, it was haunted by him.
The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.
You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you.
Probably glad to see his friend again, too.
Your friend, to both of you.
But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.
Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all.
It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.
On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.
When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.
"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you."
You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor.
You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.
"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.
It felt good to be back.
It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family.
It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you.
Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.
The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead.
It must have been your imagination.
You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.
Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest.
Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there.
You feel as if you are being followed.
At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed.
In the gardens, with your son.
Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.
But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.
You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep.
All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.
One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.
The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.
And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged.
Fuck.
Fuck.
You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.
"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen.
That voice.
It couldn't be.
Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.
It can’t be.
That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.
"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."
The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.
It is impossible.
He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.
Is it a ghost?
Is it a hallucination?
"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.
You have so much to say to him.
So many things to reproach him for.
His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears.
The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver.
You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets.
And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.
You want to kiss him.
You want to slap him.
He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.
The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.
"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.
He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.
"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company.
He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how.
Why.
He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to.
Who you were married to.
A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.
You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal.
You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead.
But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.
"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly.
There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway.
"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"
"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him.
You've waited three years, what's another moment?
But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be.
You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't."
"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.
"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."
The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs.
"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you.
You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin.
Not a sound leaves your lips.
"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."
Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall.
Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself - but you can't help feeling your heart clench.
You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.
"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time.
You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again.
You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.
"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him.
A bit of anger, perhaps, too.
"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly.
Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."
Everything is so confused in your mind.
A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy.
Of love too.
You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond.
Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.
"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."
You nod.
Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words.
The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.
You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips.
There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.
His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.
"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."
You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.
"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."
His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.
It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.
You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet.
You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion.
You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts.
All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you.
The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know.
But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.
"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.
His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.
Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.
"On your knees then."
The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago.
You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit.
He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.
Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely.
Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes.
He doesn't look away from you.
His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion.
His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.
"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."
You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly.
"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder.
Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.
His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience.
He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps.
" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.
The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.
"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you.
The memory was so close and yet so far away.
Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.
"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him.
He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.
"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.
"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence.
You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you.
You have this power over him and it's delicious.
His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching.
He doesn't let go of you.
"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him.
It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.
His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his.
Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you.
You need him to make you feel whole again.
Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him.
You had always burned for him.
In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.
There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.
His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.
He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow.
He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other.
Your hands are buried in his long silver hair.
You can feel how wet you are between your thighs.
You need him desperately, right there.
The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.
"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet?
Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.
"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress.
You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.
"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."
"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."
Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.
You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away.
You grunt in frustration.
You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.
He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.
He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation.
He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices.
The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.
" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body.
He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.
You feel whole again and you want to cry.
You never want to lose that feeling.
You want to keep him, against you, inside you.
You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.
"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command.
He always has that need to control.
He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.
"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable.
You need him.
When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.
Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.
"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."
The praise is sweet music to your ears.
You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.
You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.
"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.
Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him.
Your moans grow louder.
"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."
The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him.
It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse.
It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.
I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you.
He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.
The weight of his body on yours is comforting.
For the first time in years, you feel alive.
For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.
When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness.
You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.
Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you. You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment.
He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.
And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.
You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.
"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."
When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy.
He lets out a hm and pauses.
"Is he yours?"
You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth.
You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?
"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.
"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"
Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment.
You should lie.
You know you should lie.
To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years.
You only need one word.
You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.
"No, he's not."
The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.
"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece."
Disappointment.
You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.
You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips.
" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."
You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye.
It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.
"What did you say?"
You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words.
You want to bury your face in his chest.
You breath.
"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.
It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.
Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image.
He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.
Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.
"My son," he repeats in awe.
It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity.
Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.
"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.
He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.
And this time, he makes love to you.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret.
Your hand rests on his.
"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.
It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.
Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.
"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"
The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings.
It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.
"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know."
He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.
"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him.
You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him.
You know he would have made a good father.
You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.
You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand.
You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up.
Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know."
Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence.
He has always suffered from his father's indifference.
You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.
"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.
You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions.
But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.
#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen#Aemond Targaryen x reader#aemond x you#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen fic#aemond x y/n#aemond x fem!reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x niece!reader#aemond targaryen fanfic
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Haven’t I Been Good to You? | Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader (18+)
my masterlist
Words: 2K
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Neice!Pregnant!Reader
Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), good old fashioned targcest, p n v, overall bad writing because I haven’t properly written in so long
Note: Reader is Rhaenyra’s heir/eldest daughter and the argument takes place after the dinner scene. I tried not to use any physical descriptors but those gorgeous targaryen platinum locks so I hope thats okay and you enjoy. Literally crawling in my skin right now because I’m about to post this, existing is an embarrassment, if you see this ily thank you for reading.
part two
Aemond was anything but cooled off when he returned to his marital chambers that night. He bound into the room, his displeasure from the night clear in his body language and his labored breathing. His wife sat stoically in front of her vanity, clad in only her night dress as she combed through the length of her silky, silver curls.
Aemond stared her down in disbelief as she barely acknowledged him. How could she honestly be angry with him? It was her bastard brothers who started the disagreement, who started the rivalry to begin with, who teased him their whole childhood and took his eye that fateful night on Driftmark. And here she sat, his wife, shoulders back and proud and angry with him.
Gods, she was beautiful when she was angry. If he didn't know her so well he wouldn't be able to tell. She was so serene and regal and surprisingly calm when she was upset. He often thought of how opposite they were in that sense. He thought of how hot tempered and quick to snap he was, and how she thought everything through before it slipped from her pretty lips. He envied this about her, and yet it was what he had loved most about her as well.
Aemond couldn't help it. He broke first. "Where are the children?" He inquired, steadying himself to the best of his ability.
She hardly gave him the time of day as she answered, her eyes not leaving her own reflection. "I've settled them into bed,” she said.
The Prince furrowed his brow. "Did you not think that I would wish to bid goodnight to my sons?"
"The hour is late. They've had their fill of excitement for the day, Husband."
Husband. Not her usual 'my dearest love,' not 'my darling.' He was in trouble far more than what he had bargained for. He eyed her in disbelief. "You're truly taking their side?"
She finally turned then, vast (e/c) eyes meeting his violet one. "There is no side to be taken, Aemond,” he hated her formality when they argued, "We are a family. We're supposed to be on the same side. Did you see how pleased the poor King was to see everyone finally getting along? Our mothers finally found some common ground after all of these years and yet you ruined an otherwise pleasant night with your wounded pride."
"My wounded pride?" he spat harshly, raising his voice at her. "Did you not see the way your beloved brother laughed as they sat a roasted pig in front of me? Or have you forgotten the torment I was subject to as a child? What do you expect to me to do, (Y/N)?"
She stood then, the silk of her long night dress accentuating her rounded stomach. "You are to be the Royal Consort one day, you will be King!" she scolded him sternly, silencing him. "I expect you to be the bigger person. I expect you to act with dignity and not meet the teasing of a child with the ferocity that you did tonight!"
Aemond softened at this, turning away from her to face the burning embers of the hearth. He did not retaliate, only moving to sit in a chair placed in front of it. He gripped the arms of the seat trying to calm himself, breathing deeply.
His wife watched him carefully. "It is not fair. I know it isn't," she swallowed, her eyes glazed over as she did. "I know that it angers you that I love my family after all my brothers have done to you, after what Lucerys has taken from you and I am sorry, Aemond. I truly am."
He was silent still, eye glued to the flames before him as if they were the most important thing in the room. "I cannot keep atoning for crimes I did not commit," her voice was almost pleading as she stepped closer to him then, slowly, testing the water carefully. When he did not retaliate, she kneeled on the floor in front of him. "I know that you would not have chosen me to wed on our own, dear husband."
Her hands reached out to take his, and he allowed it, watching down the bridge of his nose as his wife gently held his hands in her small ones and brought them both to her lips, kissing them tenderly and repeatedly. "We have been honest and good to each other in these near seven years as man and wife, though," she stated, eyes wide and pleading as she rested her chin on his knee. "Have I not been a good to you?"
"You have," Aemond's voice cracked, his eyes fluttering shut at her soft inquisition. He breathed deeply, removing one of his hands from hers and carding it through her beautiful hair. “My love.”
"I have given you my body, mind, and soul. I have given you my virtue, and my fidelity. My heart has only ever belonged to you," she whispered as her husbands tensity began to dissolve between her nimble fingers and lips. Her soft kisses continuing slowly up his arm. "I have bore you two beautiful, healthy boys. Boys that will be Kings and Warriors one day, and I carry another inside me."
The air was stolen from her as Aemond halted her pecking and surged forward, lifting her swiftly from the stone floor to straddle his lap as if she weighed nothing. She gazed down at him, moving to gently remove her husbands eye patch. He hadn't minded the action for years now, as it was a bother to wear and his pretty wife had never judged his appearance or what he had lost all those years ago. She set the patch on the end table next to them, not taking her eyes off of him as her hands slid up his shoulders and found their home at his jawline. Her thumbs moved in slow circles on his face.
"I have given you power," he whimpered at this, gripping the soft meat of her thighs. "Outside the walls of this chamber you are my equal, and one day we will rule the Seven Kingdoms side by side, however we see fit to."
"Yes," he groaned hoarsely, continuing his kneading at her thighs, sitting up to press his lips to her throat, leaving hot opened mouth kisses down her neck to the swell of her breasts as he detangled the strings of her shift, baring her supple chest to him.
"You would like that wouldn't you, My King?" Aemond growled in agreement, continuing his ravishing as she slipped her fingers to the base of his neck and weaved them into his hair, gripping it tightly. "And in this room, you will rule me as you see fit."
"If that we're true then I would bound you to our bed, little wife," he sank his teeth delicately into the flesh of her breast, tongue swirling against the skin, causing her head to snap back in pleasure and a breathy moan to fall from her lips. "You would never leave these chambers. Who would be left to rule if I'm buried inside this sweet cunt for all of our lives, hmm?"
"You have many years before we are crowned for me to ride you, my dragon. And I plan to mount you morning and night,” she grinding into him, their lips meeting finally in a messy kiss. "Surely you'll tire of bedding me by then."
"Never," he pressed his forehead to hers, their breathing hot as he moved a large slender hand to cover her swollen stomach. "I enjoy no sight more than your belly swollen with our children."
She rutted her hips against his once more, her weeping cunt begging for friction. "Please, my dearest love"
"I wonder how the realm would feel if they knew the truth of their precious Princess?" he smirked as she fucked herself on his covered length. "If they knew how she begged for me each night? How wet she gets without me even having to touch her."
"Aemond, please," she wined.
"You wish to ride your dragon, my Queen?" he began hiking up her night dress to rest on her hips.
She panted at his movements, so tender, so achingly slow and teasing. "Yes," she whimpered.
He cocked his brow at her. "What's stopping you? Claim me then."
She didn't have to be told twice. Her trembling hands moved frantically to the strings of his pants, unfastening them and pulling them down to his thighs. He hissed as she took his length into her hand, stroking it sweetly before he lifted her hips and guided her to sink down on him. Her eyes screwed shut, crying out in pleasure as she adjusted to the size of him. Neither of them moved for a moment, their breathing tense and labored.
Aemond brushed a lock of hair out of his wife's face, her forehead falling to meet his as he cradled her head with his hand. "Alright?"
"Mhm," she hummed needily, bracing herself as her hands dropped to his shoulders. Aemond's free hand moved to cover the swell of her stomach, a lazy grin forming on his lips, before finding it's way to her hips once more, helping to roll them against his. Aemond cursed, his jaw going slack as his wife unraveled above him. Once she found her footing, she picked up her pace, bobbing up and down steadily, her finger nails curling into his shoulders. His hips snapped up to meet hers, and she cried out, his name tumbling from her lips like a prayer. Something came undone in him at the sound, his hands were everywhere then, cupping her full breasts, wrapped around her throat, sinking into her thighs. He was pawing at her like she would disappear if he let go for one second, grunting like a wild animal as he rutted against her.
"So good," he captured her lips in a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth clashing. "So pretty and all mine."
She babbled something nonsensical in appraisal, her heat clenching around his cock as he worshipped her, their movements becoming sloppy as they approached their peak. "I'm so close."
"Say you love me," he demanded, fingers making their way to her pearl as he toyed with it, causing her to squeak at the touch. "Tell me again that you're mine and mine alone."
"Please," she panted, whimpering as he fucked into her relentlessly, hitting her sweet spot with each thrust. "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou."
Aemond's fingers were torture, slow and taunting. "Say it."
"I'm yours," she cried out. "Only yours. Please--"
"Let go," he permitted, following close behind as she toppled over the edge, back arching and eyes rolling back as she was overcome with pleasure. They were still, chests heaving and hot breath mingling as they came down from their shared orgasm. Her nimble fingers tangled into his hair, brushing it away from his sweat soaked neck. He fell back into the chair, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her.
"I would've chosen you," he broke the silence after a long moment. She lifted her head slightly to look him in the eye, confusion evident as if she had not registered what he said. "When you said that you weren't the wife I would have chosen for myself. If I had been presented with a choice, I would've chosen you."
Her gaze softened at the sincerity and raw emotion flickering in his eye. "Then choose me now. Choose our family," she gripped his shirt tightly, pleading with him. "Love me more than you hate them."
Aemond sighed deeply, covering her hands with his. "I do love you. More than anything."
"Then promise you will try."
Neither wanted to admit what they both knew, that even if he did, it was too late. The King's health dwindled more and more by the day, and the wounds cut between the Greens and the Blacks were too old and too deep for even their love to heal. The time was coming where they would have to choose. War was looming and their last chance at peace had slipped through their fingers like flowing water. So they didn't, and chose in silence to carry on pretending while they still could.
Aemond cupped her face gently, and pulled her into a soft, sweet kiss. "I promise," he whispered, the sweetest of lies, and he met her lips again in a more fervent kiss.
And she let herself hope, she let her self believe, just a little while longer.
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond imagine#Aemond Targaryen fanfic#aemond x velaryon!reader#hotd aemond#aemond x y/n#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon imagine#hotd#hotd imagine#ewan mitchell
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Modern!Dark!Aemond - Divorce AU - Oneshot
Til Death Do Us Part
SUMMARY: You and Aemond had been married for years, but he was not the man you thought he was. Discovering his affair with his secretary Alys Rivers, you had decided that enough was enough. You packed up your things in secret and left, leaving divorce papers on the table, and booked a one way ticket out of the country.
What will happen when Aemond goes to the ends of the earth to find you and make you his again?
WARNINGS: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. She/her pronouns, stalking, abuse, toxic relationships, infidelity, divorce, NONCON, manipulation, gaslighting, marriage, rough sex, choking, hitting, punching, yandere, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, forced orgasm, violence, daddy kink, dacryphilia, head injury.
PAIRINGS: Modern!Dark!Aemond x reader
Word count: 10.2k
NOTES: Well, well, well.... Here we are. You have all been so feral waiting for this to drop and I am honestly so excited to see you all crawling about in my walls after. Probably shouldn't have to say this by now but will for new folks, READ THE TAGS, this is a DARK!FIC. There is no fluff or happiness lmao. This has been so fucking fun to write hehehe.... Anyway.... Without further adieu... Enjoy ;) <3
The soft hissing of the kettle took you away from the book you had been reading, nestled against one of the many windows in the small cottage you now owned.
Taking the kettle from the stove, you poured the boiled water over your tea leaves, watching the herbal mix swirl in the strainer.
The soft aroma of chamomile and peppermint wafted from the cup and you inhaled deeply, leaning against the kitchen bench as you waited for it to steep, no use going back to your book nook until the tea was ready to take with you.
The leaves from the pine trees in the forest outside had turned a deep green, the cold chill of winter having rolled through the valley of the quaint village you lived in early this year. Condensation rose from earth as the sun heated the mildew on the grass, the smokey illusion seeping from the forest floor.
It was different to the city. No more were the days of craning your head up to look at the crawling skyline of buildings, the sound of traffic, or yelling of people on the street. No more did you hear cars blare their horns or music, or the melodic sounds of people chattering in the late hours of the night or fights between lovers from apartments surrounding.
Now, the most noise you heard was the occasional storm that rolled through the valley, or the deer that wondered the pasture at the back of your property.
You could remember the first night you heard them, such a different and unfamiliar screeching that had set your hair on edge, eyes darting about to each window and front door as you raced around the house to make sure they were locked.
They always were.
You were meticulous that way. Always vigilant, always ready.
But in reality, you shouldn’t still be on edge.
It had been months since you left.
Almost an entire year since you packed your things and left the papers and your ring on the table for him to find. And what’s more, there would be no way for him to find you out here.
Not that he would even try.
You hoped.
It wasn’t as if you didn’t love him, or loved him; the lines were still blurred there. But Aemond had broken you in ways you never knew he could.
The lies, the secrecy, and then, her.
You remembered when you had first met Alys; a work event Aemond brought you along to. The pretty wife and happy family image did wonders for his company and the press, so he often brought you along on his arm, smiles and grins for the cameras, whispers of starting a family or trying for one, until you were out of view.
But that time had been different.
That time, something had changed.
You had known about Alys Rivers for a while, a new hire going months back. A woman from no notable name, nor background, a start up of her own, worked hard to get where she was, or at least, that’s what you had first thought when Aemond had described her to you; his new secretary hire.
An older woman, not one a wife would usually find as a threat.
It’s almost always the younger ones. Older men seeking out their youth between the thighs of a barely twenty-something, whilst their wives are none the wiser, or perhaps knowing and too resigned to care, birthing them children at home as their marriage dissolves into nothing but a loveless legal contract.
But this was different.
She hadn’t come to introduce herself at first, not at all, and that’s what you found the strangest.
Alys Rivers, a few inches taller than you, with pale skin and bright green eyes, had stood in the far end of the hired venue, sipping a glass of red wine, perfectly manicured maroon nails tapping on the glass, whilst she tucked an ebony strand of hair behind her ear.
You had felt the heat of her gaze immediately, your eyes meeting hers, and yet, she didn’t look away, didn’t smile softly, walk over and introduce herself as any other woman would have. She just stared. Right into your very soul. It had sent shivers down your spine, and you knew, in that moment, that something was wrong.
Off.
Aemond had done his rounds with his private investors, higher employees, friends, if you could call them that, and press alike, all whilst you stuck by his side, smiling pretty and responding with shallow answers that didn’t give too much or too little for them to talk about later.
You hated those stuffy events, men and women alike always trying to get closer to you in order to get to Aemond, who was a fortress to begin with. Some people often commented or made joking remarks at how surprised they were that you had married him. That you had managed to thaw the Ice Man himself, that he was even capable of such things, and you would always laugh and make jokes back in good nature, smile never reaching your eyes.
But really, he was amazing when you were first married. Doting, loving, loyal, and always there, though that was sometimes overbearing. There was of course the little things, the teeny red flags that you ignored more often than not, rose tinted glasses and all that, but you had been young and in love and crazy about him, and he had been the same about you.
But as the years rolled by, and the two of you grew, you also both changed. The business expanded rapidly with the death of his father Viserys, and Aemond became more preoccupied with that legacy, most of the empire being passed along to him, and not his older brother Aegon, who had no desire to work and would rather live off his inherited wealth with drugs and weekend benders surrounded by lusty women. Occasionally men too.
And then when Alys came into the picture, it was like a switch had been flicked.
As though the Aemond you had thought you knew, never existed at all.
Alys had sauntered her way over half way through the event to introduce herself, all saccharine smile with razor sharp teeth that looked ready to sink into your flesh. She was polite, pleasant, overly pleasant, too sweet, too complimentary, and it felt off. Like an overripe peach, or wine that had been left open for a week too long.
Your husband had been stiff at your side, hand flexing around the tumbler of whiskey the entire time she stood beside him, too close to be friendly, and most certainly far too close for a boss and his secretary. And really, you should have listened to your instincts then and there, for they screamed that something was amiss.
But Aemond had a way of getting into your head, making you believe every word he said, push away your own instincts, and question yourself over, and over.
And that’s what you had done.
Questioned yourself, over and over.
Yet one day, something in the back of your head nagged at you too loudly. Aemond had not answering his personal number, calls you could understand, but usually he responded to his texts. But that day he hadn't. And so you called the office, where he spent most of his time these days, which had become a frustrating new normal, as was the depletion of your small weekends away, romantic dinners, spontaneous days out together.
The marriage felt stagnant, stale, and you knew in your gut the true reason for it. His desk had rang for too many rings too long. And when Alys had finally answered, she sounded rushed, caught unawares, awkward.
That was all it had took.
You had asked if he had his lunch yet, that you were nearby in the city and wondering if you should drop by, knowing that he had been spending later evenings in the office ‘working’, or weekend trips away to Harrenhal for business there, his secretary tagging along.
Alys informed you that he had just ate, but the way she said it was with that same overly sweetness that set your brain afire.
It was almost smug.
And so, without even hesitating, like you had for months on end, you picked up your keys and left, heading straight to his office.
Your heart had raced the entire time you drove there, weaving through traffic, just knowing, knowing, something, deep in your gut was not right.
And you were right.
Because there they were, caught like two deers in the headlights as you had swung the door open, Alys, seated on his desk, skirt pushed up to her hips, one shoe lost to the floor as Aemond thrusted into her parted legs.
They hadn’t even heard you at first.
But she saw you.
And she had smiled.
You will always remember his face.
He had turned and looked at you with shock at first, but then it turned to anger, as though you were at fault for this, as though you had ruined his fun, as though you should have known better, scar on his cheek crinkling with the sneer he threw your way.
You left in a flurry of hot tears, immediately calling your lawyer.
You drove straight to your best friend Sara’s house, and crashed at hers for the week, ignoring the constant buzz of calls and texts, and yes, even emails from your husband. Aemond in his desperation to reach out to you, even drove to Sara’s house, demanding if you were there. You had hid in the bathroom, holding your breath in the tub, shaking with anger and heartbreak and fighting the urge to go out there, to yell at him, scream at him, or more dangerous still, forgive him.
Then you were gone, speaking to your solicitor to get everything set into motion, friends loyally supporting your decision. You left the divorce papers on the dining room table, packed your bags and left whilst he was at the office, giving him no chance to manipulate you into staying, no chance for argument, and no chance for your heart to win over, taking your essentials and sentimental possessions with you.
You stood in your home, looking at everything inside, at all the memories that you shared in there. From when you had first looked at the house, to buying it, to Aemond's insistence on christening every single surface in the house to make it yours, all giggles and smiles, pleasure and joy.
But gone were those days, gone was the joy and the giggles, the pleasure and the smiles, and so with shaky fingers, you ripped off your wedding ring, finger feeling bare in its absence as you left it atop the pages.
At first you were just hoping to get some space to clear your head and not be manipulated by your husbands lies and very convincing words again. You knew that if you gave him a chance, you would be stuck. You knew that if he pleaded, if he begged, if he smiled with his signature smirk, it would be your downfall. He knew you far too intimately now. He knew how to get you to bend to his will. So you booked the nearest ticket you could and raced to the airport, not once looking back.
You had just landed in Paris when you turned your phone back on, watching the screen as it lit up, where you were immediately bombarded with multiple missed calls from him and a barrage of texts that became more, and more aggressive as time went on.
It was your fault really, to poke the dragon the way you had.
And yet you still did it, answering one of his frantic calls to hear the cool and icy tone of Aemond, barely keeping it together on the other end.
“Where are you?” He had asked, voice deep and quiet, small growl on the end; a tell tale sign that he was furious.
The airport was loud around you, people moving to their next gates, or stopping to move to the small cafes to eat, others continuing onwards towards the baggage claim to collect their luggage.
“It's none of your business.” You had responded, tone clipped, irritation and anger surging through you at his audacity to even be mad.
“I think it’s plenty my business. You’re my wife.”
“Not anymore. Have your solicitor talk to mine. Sign the papers, Aemond.”
You heard him breathe heavily into the speaker, “If you think for one fucking second that I’m going to-“
You pressed the red button on your phone and hung up on him, shoving your phone into your back pocket as you moved lazily through the queue to get through customs.
By the time you had gotten out the other end, you checked your phone again.
There was only one text on the screen that had sent panic blaring through your mind.
‘See you soon.’
You hadn’t planned to run, you hadn’t even planned to leave the country indefinitely, you just needed an out, but Aemond’s aggression had extended it, triggering your flight instincts. You didn’t believe that he would hurt you, but this new anger had frightened you. This new Aemond frightened you.
But Aemond Targaryen’s anger was not new to you either, his possessiveness was not new, and at one point you had even found it endearing. But after years of being married to what you thought was the man of your dreams, the other shoe dropped, and the true man was revealed.
So you made quick work of it, going to an international bank, taking every single cent out of your combined account.
You knew he wouldn’t struggle financially from such a loss, having another seperate offshore account, or two, or five if you were really counting. Not to mention his inheritance which sat in a vault in Budapest.
Comes with being descended from royalty.
But in the end, you knew you needed every dollar if you were going to get away from him and make it stick.
So you got a new passport, ID, and hitchhiked your way across several countries until you finally settled, finding a cottage, nestled in the woods, a solid thirty minute drive from town, buying it from the local farmer in cash. No contract. No deed. Just cash and his silence.
And that’s where you had been ever since.
You took your tea to the window, settling against the nook, pillows and blankets strewn all over as you curled inside. You looked out at the trees, the sun slowly setting for the day.
It was cold in your cottage, not too cold, but cold enough. Winter had come early that year, and you had used more logs of wood for the fire than you had thought you would have needed.
It was strange, to be so far away from the life you used to live. To be so removed from the world. But in some ways it was good. You had no social media, having deactivated every single one you had, and you also had barely any use of your phone unless you turned on the broadband, which was shaky at best and if it was windy, the reception would cut out.
The only people you really spoke to anymore was the people who lived in the town just a ways away, and Sara, who called every Sunday like clockwork, well actually like clockwork, you needed to turn the broadband on for Skype to work on the laptop you had taken with you.
In the almost year you had been gone, you had taught yourself how to make your own clothes, pickle and preserve foods, and even became quite handy at baking the odd loaf of bread here and there. The farmers whose cottage it was previously had left his belongings behind, taking only his clothes and things of memory with him.
There were books almost everywhere, the old man having been an avid reader, and amongst the books had been one on horticulture, and so slowly but surely, you had grown your own self sustaining vegetable patch. It wasn’t perfect, but it prevented you from going into town too often, and also allowed you to not seek employment just yet.
That would come later when Sara would tell you that Aemond would sign the papers.
But every Sunday was the same.
“Any news?” You asked her that morning, Sara had frowned, pixelated to hell, but the frown still evident on your screen.
“Nope. Nothing. The asshole won’t sign them still. Solicitor can’t even find him to talk.”
You sighed, wiping hands down your face angrily.
Why was he doing this?
Why wouldn’t he just let you go?
Something about it made your skin crawl.
Those messages, those calls.
The ‘See you soon’ text.
Something had snapped in Aemond, and you didn’t like it one bit.
Your only consolation was that you were far away with a new name, new life, hidden amongst rolling green hills and large forests.
“How’s Cregan?” You changed the subject, and Sara had given you an update on everyones lives, her brothers first, and his new girlfriend. Then to all your other friends who you longed to see again.
But not yet, you just needed a little more time and for your husband to agree to the divorce.
When the sun had lowered in the sky, you moved to turn the lights in the house on, throwing some logs into the fire and lighting them with a match. You made sure to thank the Gods for solar panels.
The warmth of the fire heated up the small cottage quickly, and you made quick work of reheating a lamb soup you made a few days earlier, crisp homemade bread on the side with butter from a nearby dairy farmer.
It was hearty and warm, and filled you up, having a soporific affect on you. You had a glass of red wine as a treat afterwards, bought from the local markets and found yourself sinking deeper into fatigue.
It was a routine of sort, wake, eat, read, work on the garden or house, eat, drink, sleep. It was comfortable, and it eased much of your worries, always keeping busy. You didn’t realise how stressed and anxious the life you used to live made you.
The week went by, much the same.
The same routine.
The same walls, and floors, and rooms.
Same window nook, and cups of tea, and warming your hands by the fire.
By the time Saturday rolled by, you had been elated, excited even, to get out and look at the homemade wares and farm grown produce. To see the people you had grown to care about and make as your quiet friends. Still at arms length of course with your fake new life, but you let them in more than you had intended to.
It was never a large market, merely the other people who lived in or around the tiny town. But it was cozy, sweet, and some faces were more familiar than others. You looked forward to seeing them all and catching up on their weeks, especially an older lady named Lucy, who crocheted and knitted some of the most wonderful things. She had kind grey eyes, and would always insist on you taking something from her for free.
Today was no different.
“You make this most difficult, hen.” The grey haired woman frowned, coming round the side of her small stall to shove a large, grey knitted jumper into your arms, the same colour as her eyes.
You shook your head, “Lucy, please, at least let me give you some money for it.” Grabbing the soft wool that was pressed against your chest.
The older lady smirked, hands up in the air in submission, “It’s too late,” Her voice was thick with a Scottish accent, “You best be taking that, girly. It’ll be a cold winter that comes round this year, I feel it in my bones already.”
You sighed, “Then let me give you some money for it, and you can buy some more wool to make yourself some warm socks.” Fishing around in your bag to find some cash to give her.
Lucy crossed her arms across her chest, “Gonny no dae that. If you give me any money I’ll be right offended by you, I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug. It’s a gift, you dafty.”
You shook your head and chuckled, there was no point in fighting.
You would never win anyway.
“Fine.” You acquiesced, “But I’m coming to drop you some muffins and scones when I make them next week.”
The older lady sat down heavily in her chair behind the stall, “I expect nothing less. Will you bring some strawberries from yer plot? Dang caterpillars got into mine and tore them to shreds.”
“I’ll bring you a mix of goodies from my wonderful garden that has no caterpillars.” You teased, rubbing the woollen jumper between your fingers, “Thanks again, Lucy, but you’re a menace.”
“Got to be when yer married to my husband.” Lucy joked, but it made your heart race instead.
You swallowed thickly and smiled shakily at the woman, nodding before bidding her a goodbye.
You walked through the rest of the market for a while, getting some fresh honey from a local farmer, some potatoes for a stew later on, and even buying yourself a new handmade mug.
It was a bustling affair, small children giggling with their parents, and older members of town who had been born and raised there walking about and stopping to talk with their life long companions.
Bright bunches of flowers caught your attention, and you moved over to look at them all.
Native flowers of all kinds were bunched together; roses, petunias, anything that could survive the chillier climate. And as you looked at a peculiar shaped purple flower, hooded like a bell, the hair on the back of your neck stood up.
A shiver rolled down your spine, and instinctually you turned, eyes darting around the rest of the market, looking at the sea of people, young and old, walking with their wares, chatting amongst each other or smiling.
Not one had that familiar head of silver hair.
You breathed out a sigh, shaking your head.
It’s fine.
You’re fine.
You’re safe.
It’s just your anxiety. It was probably just Lucy’s comment that set you on edge.
Not even Sara truly knew where you were.
You looked back at the flowers again, eyes on the purple ones that were nestled amongst pea flowers and other pinks and yellows.
“Devils Helmut.” The man told you, noting your interest in its peculiar shape, “Monkshood to others, or Wolfsbane to those witchy ones.” His eyes looked at you intently, “You ok? Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally.”
He was tall, older, but not by much, with deep brown eyes and wavy brunette hair that came to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears. His jaw was sharp, a nice shadow across the skin from his stubble, with lips that were full and pulled upwards slightly. He had broad shoulders and large hands, tiny freckles dusting the pale skin as he watched you.
He was relatively new to town like you, but not really. Duncan, you remembered, had moved back to the little town after his father had passed away, inheriting the plot of land that was next to yours. Lucy had spilled the tea, over a cup of tea, about him with you a few months before, telling you that he was an eligible bachelor with a wink, trying to set the two of you up.
And although he was undeniably attractive, you worried for the implications of getting to know him, and eventually having to tell him about your marriage, and why you were truly where you were. You doubted the man would want anything to do with your baggage.
“I’m okay, just a bit cold. How have you been?” You asked him, the feeling of being watched prickling at the back of your head.
“Fairly good.” Duncan rolled his r deeply, same low Scottish timbre as Lucy, distracting you from the rancid feeling that curled in your gut, “The winter’s come early this year.”
Duncan leant a hand against the table, and you noted that there was no ring on his finger.
Stop that.
“That’s what Lucy said too. Can definitely feel it.”
Duncan looked pointedly at the jumper still in your hands, “And what’s she given you this time?”
Unfolding the jumper in your arms you held it up, holding it against yourself to show him, “A new jumper. Will be perfect when it gets colder. Wish she’d stop throwing things at me and not letting me pay though.”
Duncan laughed, a deep chortle that rumbled his chest and warmed your cheeks, “That’s Lucy for you. She does the same to me too, the auld blether.”
You laughed heartily, “We should go in doubles to the markets when you’re not selling. There’s strength in numbers, you know.”
Oh gods. Why did you say that?
A soft smile pulled on his lips, “You don’t know Lucy well enough if you think we’d stand a chance against her. She’d bowl us over without even blinking.”
Another laugh, and a shrug, "Worth the try.”
Duncan’s eyes scanned your face softly before he stepped forward, grabbing the bunch of flowers you had been looking at from their little vase, holding them out towards you, “Here.”
You looked at the flowers in his hands and frowned, “What?”
“Take them.” He insisted, “You looked right keen on the Monkshood, mean bloody flower that one. Be careful you don’t touch it too much.”
You shook your head, tucking your jumper into your bag, “I can’t possibly-“
“-Please. I insist.”
You reached forward to take the flowers from him hesitantly, feeling guilt bubble inside of you. What was with all these people and their generosity? It was going to give you an aneurism.
Your fingers brushed against his, and the warmth carried up your arm and straight into your chest. Duncan must have felt it too, because a soft blush creeped across his freckled cheeks.
Holding the bunch of flowers to your chest you smiled.
“You don’t have any pets at home? Any cats that might try and make a snack of the flowers?” Duncan pointed to the Monkshood.
You shook your head, “No it’s just me.”
His eyes danced as he nodded, and you felt as if you had answered his second question without him even having to ask.
“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
A large hand waved the thanks away, “Dinnae worry about it. Though, I have heard good things about yer baking.”
“Have you now? Has Lucy spilt all my secrets?”
A smirk, “Not yer secrets no. But yer baking, yes.”
Feeling bold, you smirked back, “I could make you something, if you’d like." You held up the flowers in show, "As a thanks, of course.”
“What can you make?”
“Anything you want.” You said quieter, swallowing the anticipation that rose in your throat.
“Can you make a good scone?”
You scoffed, “Easiest of things to bake.”
Duncan mirrored your stance, pursing his lips, “Guess I’ll have to be the judge of that then. Do you have enough wood for yer fire? Snow will be falling soon, and we dinnae want you chittering in the cold.”
“I’ve got some left, but I know I’ll probably have to go over to Douglas and Lucy’s to get some more.”
The brown haired man paused in thought, tongue in cheek before he spun around, crouching down to rifle through a bag beneath his table, pulling out a pen and paper.
Duncan placed the small notebook in front of you.
“How about this, you give me yer number, and I’ll come round and bring you some more wood, maybe chop some for the fire as well, and you can thank me by making some scones. I can bring some of Elsie’s jam with me.” Duncan looked up at you, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.
And although he had spoken with confidence, it was clear that he was just as nervous as you.
It was hard to fight the heat that creeped up your neck. Excitement and anticipation coursing through you, the feeling of being desired making you giddy.
It had been so long.
You bit your bottom lip softly nodding, leaning down to write your home phone number, making a note to plug the old thing in, praying that it still works, as well as your address into the notebook.
Duncan smiled softly, taking it back and looked at the note, “You didn’t have to write down yer address, I know you bought Macnair’s property a while back, we're practically neighbours. Not accounting for the acres between us.”
“Oh.” You laughed softly, “Sorry, I didn’t know you knew him.”
“Hard to not know everyone here, especially when you grew up around them all. Plus, hard to not notice the bonnie lass who moved here. Quite the stir you created.”
You shook your head and blushed again, Gods damn him, “Not my intention.”
You both stood shyly for a moment, staring at each other, a warm pleasant tension building around the two of you.
Duncan cleared his throat, and clapped his hands together softly, “Right. Well, It’s a dreich day, so you best be off before the rain comes again.” He held the notebook up in his hand and shook it lightly, “You’ll be seeing me soon then. I’ll be coming to collect some of those scones.”
You grinned, and held the flowers gently in show again, “I hope they’re up to your standards. Thanks again for the flowers. I’ll see you.”
“Looking forward to it.”
-
The blaring ring of the Skype call filled your cottage. You raced from the kitchen to the desk, answering Sara’s call with a bright smile.
“Sar!” You smiled, pulling out your chair to sit in it, looking at your best friends face. But her excitement did not match yours, and instead, her face filled you with dread.
“Sar, what’s wrong?”
You watched as Sara visibly swallowed, leaning towards her computer, “Aemond’s left the country.”
Chills ran over your body.
“Oh, he must have a conference in Rome or Budapest. He always used to-“
“-No.” Sara interrupted you, and her voice instilled a rising sense of fear that you had been battling with for months, “Y/n, I don’t think that’s it. He’s already been gone over a week. That’s why the solicitor couldn’t talk to him him.”
Your heart raced in your chest, blood rushing in your ears.
Sara continued as you felt the walls around you move closer, “That’s why the solicitor couldn’t get in contact with him. They went to his office. Apparently he’s on leave, not even Alys was there.”
You licked your lips, swallowing dryly, “What do I do? Fuck, Sara, what do I do?”
“Don’t panic. He doesn’t know where you are! Hell, I don’t even know where you are.”
“I know, I know. But still…” You paused, breathing shallowly, “Sara, I went to the markets yesterday, and it was… Off. Something was off… And I just couldn’t shake this feeling that I was being watched.” You felt like you were going to be sick.
Sara’s face fell, head turning to talk to someone else quietly in the room.
“Who’s that?”
“Just Cregan. He’s talking to Helaena.”
You scoffed sadly, “Helaena won’t know anything. She didn’t even know about Alys.”
Sara shrugged, image becoming pixelated, “I-…-ow…-bu-….-o….-harm…-“
“Sar, you’re cutting up.”
You swore, swatting the computer lightly as her image froze.
Fucking broadband. Gods, maybe you should invest in getting a satellite dish here. At least you could get some cable tv if you did.
“-come to you.” Sara unfroze, the pixels evening out to an almost smooth image.
You groaned, “I didn’t catch any of that. Fucking internet cut out.”
“Can you get a satellite or something like a normal person and not be such a hermit? I said, why don’t I come to you.”
“I couldn’t ask that of you, Sar. Besides, he wouldn’t hurt me, not that he’d ever find me. He’s just an asshole. Probably curse me out and tell me I’m making it all up.”
Sara’s face dropped again, and you wished she was pixelated so you couldn’t see it, the image making your skin crawl, “Y/n. Theres something you don’t know.”
You straightened in your chair, “Is Alys pregnant?”
“No. She’s too old for that. Something else. Something Jacaerys told Cregan one night years ago. I didn’t want to tell you then, you guys were so in love, and I had never seen you so happy. I just,” She sighed, “I didn’t even really believe it until recently.”
“Sar, you’re scaring me.”
She shook her head, “I know, I know. But as you said, he doesn’t know where you are, and he won’t find you. But Y/n, Aemond isn’t who we think he is.”
“Are you about to tell me he’s some sort of international spy, or politician in hiding?” You tried to joke, but the joke fell flat.
Sara’s head looked to the side before back at the screen, “When Aemond was young, he had a temper. A real bad one. Never got along with his nephews.” She took a steadying breath, “When Lucerys was thirteen and Aemond was nineteen, he attacked him. It was probably years of pent up anger after the accident, a fight had been brewing, but he didn’t stop. No-one could stop him, Y/n. It was bad. Really bad.”
Your stomach roiled.
“Y/n, Lucerys nearly died.”
Your mouth gaped open as you could scarcely get air into your lungs.
Oh gods.
Oh gods.
“Breathe.” Sara cooed through the computer, “Girl, you need to breathe.”
You sucked in a sharp breath, hand rubbing your chest, “What the fuck?”
“I know. I know. But they were young, I mean, Aemond was a lot older, but still. They were boys. And Aemond would never do anything like that to you. Not that he will ever find you.”
You counted your breaths as Sara spoke to you, trying to get the room to stop spinning.
“Y/n, y-….I-…t wi-…ll be fine-…. I-… ca-…n…-“
You growled at your screen, standing up in anger and frustration, anxiety pulling cruelly at your gut. You paced in front of the desk as you waited for your friend to come back into view.
When she de-pixelated and came back, you leant heavily against the table.
“You got your phone with you?” You asked, rocking back and forth on your heels.
“Yea.” Sara lifted her phone to the screen.
“Okay, I’m going to give you my address. When do you think you can come?”
A cry flew from your lips.
The cottage was bathed in complete darkness, generator slowing to halt outside, the soft hum of electricity disappearing. Your heart lurched into your throat as you stood in the darkness. Skype screen blaring a ‘Lost Connection’ notification at you.
You took shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself.
This wasn’t unusual.
Just last month a squirrel had been trying to burrow into the electrical box for warmth and chewed through a cable. Luckily for you, Douglas had come over to fix up the wiring and helped you on your way. But with all that had been happening, it gave you a right scare.
Your heart did not slow in your chest, nor did you calm with the way your ears pricked at any noise inside or out. You stumbled through the darkness of the cottage to the kitchen, searching beneath the sink for your emergency torch.
Grasping it in your hand, you clicked it on, lone beam of light shining a path for you through the house to the front door. You crept slowly forward, the sound of your loud breathing in your ear as you got to the door.
You would have to go out and flip the switches manually, and make sure the damned squirrel wasn’t back.
Throwing on your wellies, you unlocked the four deadlocks you had installed on your door one by one until you opened it wide, the valley blanketed in the darkness of the night, clouds shrouding the moon and stars. The shadows of the forest around your house made you more on edge, every trunk or branch causing your eyes to linger that moment longer to decipher what it was.
But they were just that.
Trees.
You trudged around the side of the cottage, shoes crunching on the ground below as you made your way to the back. The icy air nipped at your skin, and you tugged the jumper that Lucy had knitted tightly around you.
They were right, winter had come early this year.
You would have to thank her later.
When you reached the electrical box, you tugged it open, shining the torch on all the different switches inside.
The main switch was flicked off.
For fucks sake.
The broadband must have blown it out.
The cottage was old, and the electricals likely older. But the solar panel were new, and you had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps the different generations of technology were clashing. You briefly wondered how costly it would be to have someone come to rewire the house for you.
As you looked at all the other switches, making sure they all looked in order, and the wires coming from out the back were all in tact, you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.
You never liked coming out here in the dark.
It was scary, and although there was nothing out here to hurt you, unless there was a miracle lone pack of wolves that came strolling by, which you knew could never happen, since Lucy had told you wolves were hunted to extinction there. So it was just you, the trees and the moon.
The sound of a twig snapping in the woods made you spin on your heel, shining the torch out at the trees in vain. The light didn’t reach very far, illuminating just the front row of trunks, leaving the rest to be bathed in its dense darkness. Your heart thumped in your chest as your eyes scanned the woods.
It’s fine.
It’s nothing.
I’ve just worked myself up.
Gods.
It was probably just a deer or something.
You remembered the day you woke up to a whole herd of deer outside your cottage one morning, quietly munching on the grass outside. You had nearly screamed with joy, but kept the excitement inside, tiptoeing to sit in your window nook and watch them graze.
Holding the box open with one hand, you popped the small torch in your mouth with the other, holding it in your teeth as you flicked all the switches off, and then back on again.
You looked to the house.
Still dark.
You groaned, and did it again.
Again, nothing.
No hum of the motor kicking back on.
“Third times a charm.” You mumbled with the torch in your teeth, flicking the power back on.
The steady buzz of electricity came back, and the lights from the house illuminated a path for you back inside. You all but slammed the box shut and sped back inside to the safety of your cottage, spinning quickly to shut the door behind you, rapidly locking it tight with the deadlocks.
One, two, three, four.
You sighed a breath of relief.
See? Nothing. Just country electricals and wild deer.
You toed off your gumboots, hanging your keys on the hook beside the door.
You needed a glass of wine.
That would do it, a glass of wine and maybe some baking.
“Took me a while to find you.”
Ice ran down your back. Your heart leapt out of your throat as you spun on your feet, fear crashing over you.
You blinked.
And there he was.
Standing in your lounge room.
He had found you.
Aemond’s jaw ticked.
You were so in shock, so terrified that you couldn’t move, entirely rooted to the floor in place as your breath was caught in your throat. Your mouth opened as you tried to suck in air, head feeling light, but you couldn’t even speak. Couldn’t even let the scream out that clawed at the back of your throat.
He had found you.
Aemond took a step towards you, dressed in all black, his long silver hair pulled away from his face in a braid, “I told you, I would see you soon.”
Instincts kicked in, and like a startled deer, you ran. Tearing down the short hallway to get to your room, where you knew the old shot gun Macnair had left behind was hiding beneath the bed. But Aemond was quicker, and you heard his loud steps before you felt him, grabbing you from behind as you kicked your legs back and screamed, trying to get out of his grip.
“Did you really fucking think you could get away from me?” He grunted, holding you impossibly tight, “That I’d ever let you go? It was just by chance that I saw you today, I didn’t even think to go to the markets.” He explained, and tears prickled in your eyes.
You were right, you were being watched.
“But there you were. The Gods brought us back together again, Y/n. I was about to give up. But it was fate that our paths crossed again. It was meant to be.”
You thrashed against him, his arm locking around your chest and neck tightly. You turned your head and bit down on his arm, hard, tasting blood fill your mouth. Aemond hissed, tearing himself from your teeth as he dropped you to the ground, knees collapsing beneath you as you scrambled along the floor to get away.
“Fucking bitch.”
Pain rippled up your scalp as Aemond gripped you by your hair, throwing you back against the floor. Your head hit the wooden boards, eyes sluggishly blinking as the room spun and nausea curled in your stomach.
Your husband stood over you, sneering.
“You’ve been hiding out here for months whilst I’ve been looking for you. Having an affair with that other man who gave you the flowers.” Duncan, “Almost paid him a visit, but that can be done later. Spent all this time searching for my ungrateful cunt of a wife, but you didn’t hide well enough.”
His lone eye narrowed as he looked down at you, lips pulled back in a sneer. Strands of his silver hair had fallen from his braid and puffed with each breath as he stared down at you, chest rising and falling roughly.
You scrambled backwards, nails digging into the wood as he stalked forward, hunting you like prey.
“Money talks. And I have a lot of money. Which you would know, since you cleared out our joined account. Very naughty, Y/n.”
“Fuck you. Get out!” You screamed, kicking a leg at him.
Aemond laughed, dodging your kick, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re my wife.”
“I’m not your fucking wife, you psycho.”
“No?” Aemond paused, cocking his head, “Then why are we still on the marriage register? Hm?”
Your back hit the side of the bed, hands swiping underneath desperately in search as you kicked at him again. Aemond swatted your legs away with ease, smirking down at you meanly. But he couldn’t block your kicks forever, and your foot hit him squarely in his groin.
Aemond grunted, doubling over in pain.
You took your chance, desperate to escape as you crawled forward, away from the bed, dizzy and horrified, all instincts telling you to run, not fight.
Besides, you didn’t even know how to use the gun, let alone if it was even loaded.
You stood, side stepping him as you moved to run out the bedroom door.
Your head hit the wooden frame with a crack, smashed into it by Aemond’s large hand. Stars bloomed behind your eyes, pain shooting through your skull. You tried to catch yourself on the door, your nails digging painfully into the wood as you cried, the hand gripping your hair, pulling you back into the room.
Aemond threw you onto the bed, looming over you, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment? To see you again? How hard it was to find you? And you’re acting like such an ungrateful little bitch.”
You grunted and cried, trying to get away, desperate to get yourself off the bed as he pushed you back on it.
“Get off me!”
“But a husband needs his wife,” He leered down at you, pupil wide, “I’ve been dying without you, Y/n. I’ve been bereft ever since you left me. Abandoning me like a coward.” Aemond shook his head, “You could never really leave me. You’re mine.”
“I hate you!” You screamed at him.
Aemond smiled down at you softly, stilling for a moment. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you looked at him, “No you don’t.”
His smile dropped from his face in an instant, shadow cast over his scarred cheek as he looked at you blankly, “And if you do, I’ll make you love me again.”
His hands slid down your body, and began to tear at your pants, busting the button from your jeans, sending it flying across the room, then ripping the zipper apart.
Sobs flew from your lips as you pushed up at him, desperate to make him stop, fear escalating within you, “Stop! Aemond. Stop!”
Your fingers tangled in the bed sheets as you kicked at him, knuckles going white as you tried to drag yourself up and away from him on the bed, nails pulling sharply as you used every ounce of strength you had left. The room still spun as your head throbbed with every movement or jolt of your body.
Long fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your jeans and tugged them and your underwear down your legs as you struggled and cried and clawed at him.
“Been a while since you played this game with me.” Aemond chuckled darkly, “Do you remember when you used to pretend you didn’t want it? When you’d say ‘Stop! Please, no!’ and cum around my cock all coy?”
You blinked, memories erupting inside your brain. But those days were consensual, that was fun, something he had even introduced you to. But now? This? This was different. This was not a game. This was not play.
You kicked at his chest, heel clipping his shoulder sharply, a grunt falling from his lips. Aemond slapped a leg away, other hand gripping your thigh tightly. You cried out in pain as his fingers dug into your skin meanly, pain rippling up it.
Your hands tried to pry his fingers away, but the glinting of his wedding ring caught your attention.
He was still wearing it.
He ripped open his belt, and terror struck inside of you.
“Aemond, no. Please. Stop! Aemond stop, please!”
But all the man did was smile down at you crudely, “Gods, I’ve missed your begging. So sweet and small when you’d get on your knees and beg for my cock.” He pulled his length from his slacks, hard and angry, a drop of arousal smeared across his tip, “You’re so fucking beautiful. And you’re mine. My wife.”
You felt like you were going to throw up, thrashing beneath him as he crawled atop of you.
You dug your nails into his arms, trying to swipe at his face and neck, your teeth bared, ready to bite down onto whatever limb came into their collision course.
“Stop.” He growled, slotting himself between your thighs, overpowering you completely.
You sobbed beneath him, begging him to stop, screaming at him to get off, grunting as you twisted beneath the sheets, your head still spinning with small stars that continued to multiply in front of your eyes, the corners of your vision shrouded in black.
In one final attempt, you went for what you knew would hurt him, what you knew would stop him, slow him down.
Give you time.
And so with the heel of your hand, you thrust it upwards into his face, connecting with his prosthetic eye, clipping the painful scar tissue that would sometimes wake him in the middle of the night in tears.
Aemond’s head withdrew with a sharp and pained cry, one palm pushing into his eye socket as he tried to calm the agony. You pushed against his shoulders, trying to move out from underneath, but Aemond was quicker, and his enraged gaze landed on you. The hand that had been pushing into his face, curled into a tight fist.
Your head whipped to the side, and a cool blanket of darkness washed over you.
You laid in it for a while, with no thoughts, no terror, no fear, just that darkness that curled around you quietly.
It was nice for a moment, almost comforting.
Just the feeling of not being there.
But then the blanket faded away, and pain bloomed in your face, iron on your tongue as you blinked in confusion.
There was movement and a weight atop you. Something sliding against your core.
And then, pain.
You whined, hands shoving against the chest above you as Aemond speared you on his length, thrusting sharply and dryly into you as he reached his hilt, the tip of his cock pushing painfully against your cervix.
You gagged quietly, head throbbing as the room spun, your arms weakly pushing at him, feeling as though they were made out of lead. Each movement of your body sent pain rippling through your skull, and bile into your mouth.
“Take it like a good wife.” Aemond growled, pulling his length out of you before thrusting it back in sharply.
You cried loudly, pain spreading through your core as you felt him tear at your walls.
He was always larger, much larger than anyone you had had before, and when you were together, he would have to spend ample time to prepare you, but you would always be wet to help.
The only wetness you felt now, was from your own blood.
Aemond began a harsh and rough pace, with long sharp thrusts that jolted you up the bed on his length, cries of pain bleeding from your lips as you cried, turning your head away from him.
You still tried to push at his chest weakly, nails scratching at him through the dark shirt he wore, but it was no use.
He grunted above you, picking up his pace, wrapping his hands around your neck for leverage. He squeezed, not tightly, but as a warning, and your eyes shot open to look up at him, hands clawing at his to try and get him to release you. The more you dug your nails into his skin, the more he tightened his hands until you were wheezing beneath him.
“This doesn’t have to be difficult, you just need to give in, baby. Come on. Be a good girl for me. Be a good girl for daddy.” He groaned, one hand leaving your neck to pull up the soft woollen jumper to reveal your breasts to the room.
Your nipples stiffened in the chill of the air, fireplace not having been lit yet and the cool of the early winter air seeping into the cabin.
“Fuck.” He hissed, hand coming to squeeze your breast roughly, pinching a stiffened peak between his fingers, rolling it through forefinger and thumb.
You whined in protest, hand trying to move his away.
Aemond lightly slapped your face, “Behave.” He accentuated with a hard thrust, another warning, sending pain shooting through your gut, “I’ll even let you cum. Be a good girl for me and I’ll let you cum, hm? Is that what my pretty wife wants?”
You shook your head weakly, tears overspilling from your eyes and down your cheeks, a sob working its way through your lips.
Aemond bent down and licked the trail of tears from your cheek, “Fuck.” He moaned, thrusting into you faster, “Forgot how fucking tight you were. Gods. Gonna have to make up for time lost aren’t we? You’ve been such” Thrust, “A naughty” Thrust “Girl.” Thrust.
Your core clenched around him instinctually, Aemond adjusting his hips upwards so that his length would brush against the soft spongey spot within. His pace faltered, and a smirk pulled at his lips. Warmth spread through your gut.
“There she is.”
“No. Please, stop. Aemond, please. I’m begging you.” You wailed, hands gripping his arms as your nails clawed into him.
Your husband smirked down at you, “Not so cocky now that you’re mine again, huh? Where’s that bratty attitude from on the phone?”
Aemond continued to fuck at you from the new angle, one hand on your neck in a promise, the other pulling a limp leg up his hip, revulsion barreling through you as you found yourself growing wet from the angle, your body betraying you.
The sound of your slick was loud in the room, adding to your shame.
Aemond only tutted at you, “See? Only I can make you feel like this. Duncan would never be able to make you cum the way I do. No-one can. You’re mine. This pussy, is mine. And what I do with it is for me alone.”
The light in the room was too bright above you, making your head spin even more, the clapping of his hips against yours loud in your ears as his thrusts rocked your head and body backwards, a familiar coil beginning to wind in your stomach.
It was all too much.
Even the smell of him overwhelmed you.
“Can feel you squeezing my cock. You gonna cum for me, baby?” He cooed, mocking you.
“P-Please st-op, Aemond. It h-hurts.” You sobbed.
“Oh it hurts does it?” The sneer was back, Aemond’s head leant down beside your ear as he pushed to his limit, your walls gripping him tightly, and whispered, “Now you know how it felt when you left me.”
You weeped.
“I hope it fucking hurts.” Aemond leant back, fucking into you with new found vigour, sitting back on his haunches as he pulled your hips onto him, the coil getting tighter and tighter.
It was horrifying, to find your body finding pleasure from his assault, but you couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard you tried. He knew you too well. Knew your body too intimately. Knew everything that made you tick, twitch, or moan. He had spent hours, years, learning how to expertly map out your body, and he knew your body better than you did.
A slick thumb pressed down on your bud.
“Come on, baby, cum for me. Wanna feel you cum on me. If you cum for me, I’ll forgive you, okay? You cum for me and I’ll know you love me back. Come on, be a good girl, cum for me.”
His thumb swirled roughly against your bud, your hands tightening around him, unsure if you were pulling him toward you or pushing him away. Your mind hazy and confused, the world having been turned upside down.
You came with a cry, back arching off the bed as Aemond praised you through it, fucking into you harder and faster. Warmth spread through your limbs, your eyes scrunched tightly shut, bright lights behind them as your skull throbbed.
Aemond fucked your limp body, thumb leaving your clit as he held your hips with both hands, drilling into your wetness with a painful force, pulling agonising pleasure from you.
You weeped below him, keeping your eyes shut as you just wished for it to be over.
For him to just finish.
“Gonna fill you up. Gonna fill my pretty wife up so we can have a baby. Hm, doesn’t that sound nice? Start a family.”
You sobbed loudly, hiding your face in your hands as you turned your head away from him, the taste of blood still thick on your tongue from where he had struck you.
His pace became sloppy, thrusts uneven as he began to lose himself to pleasure.
“Fuck!” He hissed, thrusting into you sharply as he came, hot ropes of cum coating your walls as he thrusted weakly through his climax.
You chest stuttered with sobs, head spinning, but exhaustion taking over.
You were so tired.
So tired.
You just wanted to sleep.
Wanted to fade away back to that darkness again. Back to nothing.
“Shh,” Aemond hushed you from above, dipping his head to press a gentle kiss against your wet cheek and forehead, “It’s okay now. I’m here. It’s okay.”
You sobbed even harder.
Aemond pulled out of you with a hiss, a small whimper falling from your own lips as you felt pain strum through your brutalised walls. He flopped back onto the bed, dragging your body up beside him as though you weighed nothing, black blooming before your eyes as you knocked your head against the pillow, a wave of sickness rising inside.
But you didn't fight it.
There was no point.
No escape.
Nowhere to go.
Nowhere to hide.
You couldn’t run, even if you wanted to.
And so you laid in his arms as he held you whilst you cried, curling into him as the tears kept coming. He cooed at you softly, rubbing a gentle hand up and down your arm in a way he always used to.
It was so stomach turning, the different sides of Aemond, and if it wasn’t for the concussion that you certainly had, his actions alone would send your head spinning.
Because this Aemond, the soft Aemond, was the one you had known. The one who used to hold you to him, and whisper words of praise. But that was a long time ago, and the Aemond who held you now was a different man.
Someone you didn’t even know.
This Aemond was not the man you married.
Aemond pressed another kiss to the top of your head again, “It’s okay, cry it out. I know you’re sorry. And it’s okay. I'll forgive you. Alys was a mistake, but she’s gone now. She won’t be a problem anymore, okay? It’s just you and me.”
You sobbed louder, and he pulled you closer to him, tangling his legs with yours.
“I know, baby." He cooed sweetly, but it was insincere, hollow, cold, "I’ve missed you too. I love you so much, Y/n." Aemond exhaled hotly at the top. ofyour head before his voice fell to barely a whisper, "So much, you don’t know what I’m willing to do to keep you with me.”
A chill rolled down your spine.
You knew now what he was willing to do.
And with the added news of what he did to Lucerys, you wouldn’t put it past him to harm anyone that came between you again.
A wave of mourning crashed over you.
Mourning your past.
Mourning your future.
And mourning the person that you would become with him. There was no escaping this.
Him.
You inhaled his scent deeply.
He still smelt as he always did, but there was a lingering smell of pine in his clothes. The pines from the woods surrounding your home.
How long had he been out there?
How long had he been waiting?
“You’ll love me again, I know it. I’ll never leave you again. We will be happy together. Here.”
Your breath caught in your throat, eyes wide against his chest.
“You’ve chosen the best spot, baby. You always were clever, we can start our family here. Somewhere quiet, no-one around. Just you and me, and eventually the children. Like it was meant to be.”
A shiver rolled through you.
“Marrying you was the best decision I made in my life.” He kissed the top of your head again, smoothing your hair down with his hand lovingly, “I’ll make you see.”
You laid there as you cried, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say. Having no real power over the situation, having no real way to escape or get out. If not for Aemond's sheer will, the four dead locks on the door assured it as well. He hummed softly as he let you cry, pain crashing through you in waves.
Aemond paused in thought, his thumb coming beneath your chin as he tilted your head to look up at him.
Your vision was fuzzy from the tears, and the edges were seeped in black, but you could see it. The crazed look in his eye as he gazed down at you with a hungry possessiveness.
“Do you remember our vows?” He asked, watching as you blinked at him, your lip wobbling as you tried to stop the endless stream of sobs that worked their way up your throat.
His thumb brushed gently over your bottom lip, a sharp sting sparking in it as his finger brushed over the split.
And then he smiled at you, in the same way that he had the day of your wedding, lips pulled wide, teeth revealed.
Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked at him.
The man you had loved, the man you had married and planned a future with.
The man you had been on the run from.
His mouth parted again, smile becoming softer.
“Til death do us part.”
Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know on the general taglist post here :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3
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Kiddo
Girl that’s spicy 🌶️
Girl that’s sweet ❤️🩹
Girl that’s dark 🌚
Girl that’s angst 💢
Modern!Older!Aemond x Modern!Younger!Reader
Series warnings: Age gap, obsession, smut, oral, innocence kink, size kink
Chapter One 💢
Chapter 2 (coming)
Chapter 3 (coming)
#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#aemond x reader#aemond x you#modern aemond#aemond#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x y/n#house of the dragon aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond one shot#aemond targaryen angst#dark aemond x reader#hotd aemond#prince aemond#hotd x reader#hotd fanfic#hotd season 2#hotd#so hot 🔥🔥🔥#house of the dragon
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I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]
Text Divider by @saradika-graphics
SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.
WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.
WORD COUNT | 9.6k
A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes
Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.
By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife.
If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!
‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.
Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.
Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age.
Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved.
And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love.
He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.
And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens.
There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.
How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?
As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.
After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.
It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.
When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.
Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did.
His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.
He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.
His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to.
He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.
It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.
“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.
“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.
In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.
He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.
After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride.
Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.
Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.
When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought.
Until now.
There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband?
Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.
But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance…
Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him.
These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them.
That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was.
He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?
And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.
She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).
He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out.
Duty. Duty. Duty.
If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.
His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.
Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.
Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.
There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.
The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.
Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.
She tried with him, Gods bless her.
She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.
More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get. Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.
She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.
He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.
The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.
The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.
She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.
The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately.
How she wished it was her.
A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals. Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.
And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.
“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.
Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.
Did he find her so disagreeable?
All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.
“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.
Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.
“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”
“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”
He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”
“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”
Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.
“Might I ask what is so amusing?” she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.
“My Lady, we were just–”
“Princess,” she corrected.
“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”
“Making presumptions about my marriage?”
“No… we just…”
“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now.
“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.
“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”
She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”
She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.
Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?
She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.
She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.
“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.
She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.
She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.
He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.
“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut.
“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger, it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.
“They were being crude, and insulting you.”
He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face.
Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.
She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.
He turned to face her with a hand on the door. “Thank you,” he mumbled.
She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.
He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him.
Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these, he needed a champion too.
That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife.
Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.
Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.
She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.
Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor.
They have come to enjoy each other's company.
Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.
I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.
Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit.
Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.
He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife.
His, his, his.
Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right.
He needed her to see that he wanted to try.
He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron.
But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.
He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive.
Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him?
But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?
And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there.
His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.
His hands, all over her.
It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.
Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked.
Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.
Oh yes, their marriage had grown.
This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either.
Yes, they could make something out of this.
“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige.
“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”
Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do.
Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.
She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own.
He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.
“Go on.”
He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened.
“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.
He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.
“I shall treasure it, thank you.”
She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.
Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.
As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.
While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.
But now, there was more.
Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care.
He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.
The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.
She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears.
My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.
You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.
It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.
When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.
And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.
She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into.
But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.
And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–
Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up.
“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.
“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.
“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”
Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.
“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.
“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”
“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?”
She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.
He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.
“Hm. Perhaps.”
Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.
As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.
Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”
“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.
“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.”
She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full.
Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind.
“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.
“Hm. Thank you.”
The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.
When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.
Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.
“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.
She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”
She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.
She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.
“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”
His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips.
“Thank you, for everything.”
The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.
Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.
There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.
Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did.
Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.
One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago.
These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria.
The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries.
An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said.
She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.
Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.
Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.
Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored.
He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.
He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.
A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself.
He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.
“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.
Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.
Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.
It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.
Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?
And then, she came to him. His wife.
With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.
It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.
It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.
The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.
He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim.
She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.
He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.
He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.
He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.
He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”
He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed.
She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.
In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally.
It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.
Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.
The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.
His flower. His wife. His very own.
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Wishlist. // DILF!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader MODERN AU //🎄 SPECIAL
WARNINGS: MDNI, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, lactation kink, breeding kink, fluff, dad!aemond and mom!reader, afab!reader, breast play, nipple play, slight teasing, + not proofread.
WC: 1.4k
« part one // part two »
A/N: your fav dilf and your children are back in town, tis the season to be jolly 🤭 I really wanted to bring this duo back haha, happy late Christmas, sorry for the await! This can also be read as stand alone but reading the prev two fics might help! // divider credits @cafekitsune
“Aenys! Daenys! Be careful, don't run around or you'll slip!” You yelled as you spotted Aenys and Daenys running around with decorations in their hand around the Christmas tree, trying to hang them up.
Daenys trips over the decoration and starts crying, you immediately put down Aelora, your third child down in her high rise chair before rushing over to Daenys and picking her up, patting her back as she clings onto you.
“Shh, there, it's fine, Mommy's got you okay? Don't run around next time.” You tell her and Aenys immediately rushed over to you, “Is she okay?” He asks and you nod, before leaning down and placing a kiss on his forehead.
This year's Christmas was more hectic than before, having a toddler and a kid running around to decorate the tree while managing your one year old isn't exactly easy.
But luckily for you, Aemond had just arrived from work.
“Papa!” Aenys runs over to his father immediately and Aemond picks him up before showering him with kisses, “How was your day Aenys?” He asked him and Aenys started babbling off until he mentioned how Daenys had fallen over just now.
Aemond, being the concerned father he is, immediately rushed to see you holding her in your arms, “You okay darling?” He asks her, holding Aenys up with one arm while caressing Daenys's hair with the other. She looks at her dad before she shifts her weight in his direction, indicating that she wants to be in his arms and Aemond immediately takes her from your arms, carrying both Aenys and Daenys on both of his sides.
You chuckle at how comedic it looks, Aemond was strong enough to carry them both which impressed you, “Aren't they heavy? They're both growing now.” You ask and he smiles and leans to press a kiss to your lips, “Yeah they are, but I want to cherish every moment I can carry them in my arms.” He tells you and you smile.
The evening was spent with giggles and warmth and soon it was time to put the kids to sleep, they kept on babbling about how excited they were to see Santa leave them presents and wondered what they'll get, rambling on how Santa hopefully knows what's on their wishlist and gets exactly them that, you chuckle as you tuck them to bed, placing kisses on their faces and moving to the living room.
You can finally relax, you immediately go into your shared bedroom with Aemond, who already seems to be there, “Aelora fell asleep already?” You ask and he nods, “She seemed very tired.” He tells you.
You sit next to Aemond on the bed, leaning against the headboard as Aemond works on his laptop, you lean your head on his shoulder, watching him work. “Have you gotten the presents for the kids?” You ask curiously and he hums, “Mhm, I can't wait to see their reactions in the morning.” He tells you and you giggle, “I'll place them under the tree at midnight.” You tell him your plan and he closes the laptop, finishing his work and puts it aside on the bedside desk. “What if they catch you?” He turns his full attention to you now, resting his hands on yours. “Oh you know they will not wake up until morning once they fall asleep, sometimes I worry that they're such heavy sleepers.” You tell him playfully and he lets out a small laugh. “Hopefully they like the presents.”
“Speaking of presents, I haven't gotten mine.” Aemond suddenly says and you smile at him, knowing exactly what he wants, “I've even written it down on the wishlist, it seems I was scammed.” He pouts and you chuckle, “Well, Santa can't give you a whole human can he?” You joke around.
When he was asked to put something he wants for Christmas on the wishlist, he wrote down your name on it, making you blush and scribble out that from it.
“Hmm.” He hums as he gazes into your eyes and you look at him back, he leans in slowly before connecting your lips together, they move in passion as the air fills up with tension and desperation, he pulls away breathing heavily.
No words are exchanged as you both hurriedly take off your clothes, and Aemond pins you flat against the bed, showering your face and neck with kisses before gripping your tits with his hand, pinching the nipple.
You gasp when you feel his warm tongue against the bud as he sucks on your breast, he feels your milk fill in his mouth as he swallows it down greedily and pulls away, “Fuck you're still producing milk?” He asks before switching to your other breast and showering it the same attention, “H-hm? Yeah, haven't weaned Aelora off yet.” you tell him and he leaves your breast with a pop, “Not complaining, I fucking love it.” He kisses your lips once again.
His hand caresses and travels further downwards your body to your cunt before dipping into your sweet wetness, “Fuck, you're so soaked, all for me yeah?” He whispers in your ear and you swallow thickly, goosebumps arising when you feel his hot breath near your ear, “Y-yes.” You answer.
His pinches your clit, making you gasp, before slowly rubbing small circles onto it, cause your breath to pick up and pulse begin to race at the arousal. His fingers dip in towards your entrance gently as he places kisses to your neck, “Look how it's engulfing me.” He comments as he watches his finger sink into you before he starts to move.
He curls his fingers before moving them in and out in a certain pattern, hitting your gspot multiple times already, making you wonder if he had its location memorised the way he can find it so easily.
Soon you reach your first orgasm of the night, biting your lip to not be too loud, suppressing your moans in an effort to not wake your baby next room. You should really make your room soundproof, you remember the days when Aemond clamped his hand over your mouth just to keep you from being too loud.
You whine subconsciously when you feel him pull his fingers out and move down, spreading your legs wide before grabbing your calves and placing your legs on his shoulder as he positions his cock against your entrance.
“Literally the best fucking present I could ask for.” He growls as he sinks his cock into your cunt, grunting in pleasure at the pleasure of your walls clamping down and gripping onto him.
He tries to take it slow at first, but it changes the moment you clench around him, unleashing all the frustration he held back and immediately set the pace at a faster rate, causing your body to jolt up and down the bed as you grip on to his hands which were currently holding your waist as in means hold in place securely.
You soon begin to see stars at the way he's moving, your mind spins, feeling the way his cock keeps hitting all the right spots, “Will you give me another?” He asks, panting and you look at him in a daze, “Hm?” You mumble, not understanding what he's asking for.
“Another child, another babe.” He tells you, “You'll let me impregnate you? Fill your womb up with my seed? I fucking love watching you swell with my child, knowing it was me who put it in you.” His words make you more aroused, the thought of having another child with him doesn't bother you and you greedily nod your head, your mind thinking of nothing else besides wanting to be filled up by your husband.
“Fuck—!” He finishes with a grunt, and slowly rides his orgasm out, hitting your sweet spot at the same time, causing you to finish as well.
He immediately plops down next to you and pulls you into his arms, placing kisses on your forehead as you both catch your breath.
“Best fucking Christmas ever.” He pants and you chuckle, “You said that last year too.” You tease and he lets out a loud laugh, “Well, it just gets better every year.” He replies back.
“Aren't we forgetting something?” You question, mind wandering off somewhere else, trying to remember what you were planning on, grabbing your phone and looking at the time, noticing how it said 1AM, you and Aemond look at each other before your eyes widen in realisation.
“Oh right! The presents!”
You both say in unison and rush putting on your clothes just to place the presents underneath the tree.
Needless to say, it was a great Christmas for everyone.
— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡
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MINE AND MINE ONLY.
Modern!Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader
Aemond has gotten you pregnant six months ago, and seeing him with his infant niece during dinner with his family sparks something inside of you only he can satisfy.
WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; p in v, face sitting, slight anal play, slight breeding kink, pregnant sex, slight lactation kink
WORDS: 4.9 K
NOTES: Sorry, I’m kinda in baby fever right now don’t ask me why. 😭 This also is my gift for hitting 1850 followers a few days ago, which means I’m finally where I’ve been before deleting my old blog. Thanks for everyone following me on this journey. 🫶🏻
The days between Christmas and New Years usually are meant for people to take some much-needed downtime from the stress of the past days or weeks – unless you are a Targaryen or married to one.
It’s the fourth year in a row you’re spending one, sometimes even two, days at the large Targaryen mansion with every member of their family present.
What started as an opportunity to celebrate the New Year early with her family four years ago, since Viserys and Alicent wanted to celebrate New Year’s Eve on a yacht somewhere in the Sea of Dorne back then, has quickly turned into a tradition that no one could escape.
Not even the six-month pregnant you.
As an excuse to not travel to the family’s vacation home on Dragonstone, Aemond has begged for you to allow him to tell his mother that your back pain has gotten so bad you couldn’t sit in the car for four hours.
The fact that he didn’t fall to his knees while doing it was everything.
But you have told him no, seeing that your back pains have eased two weeks ago, and it is one of the rare occasions he gets to spend with his whole family, not just his mother’s side.
If he wants to or not.
“And how are you spending New Year’s?” you ask, lounging in the burgundy Lawson chair.
Helaena sits in the chair next to yours, fidgeting with the stem of her wine glass. Every now and then you spot her lilac eyes flickering to your protruding bump, accentuated by the tight slip dress you wear.
“This year we’re embracing a night in,” she answers, nursing her alcohol-free wine. “Cregan doesn’t want to leave the children with his parents, since Lyanna is still breastfeeding, and Edrick doesn’t want to go without his little sister.”
You nod along to her words, smiling softly at the mention of her sons‘ protectiveness, and glance past her to Aemond, Aegon and Cregan. The men are standing close to the fireplace, glasses of whiskey between their fingers. Normally, they would be tipsy by now – some more than others – if it wasn’t for the infant cradled in Cregan’s strong arms.
Helaena follows your line of sight, the turning of her head prompting you to look at her again.
“What are your plans?” she asks.
You pucker your lips slightly, looking down at the glass of water you‘ve rested on your belly before meeting her eyes.
“Aegon has invited us to a party in White Harbor, a formal dinner with some of his friends. We wanted to go, because the place is stunning and it’s overlooking the iconic harbor fireworks, but it’s such a long drive, and Aemond doesn’t want to risk anything by us taking the plane,” you sigh, “so, we’ll probably stay at home or just go out for dinner.”
Ever since you’ve handed him the gift box containing four identical, positive pregnancy tests, Aemond has taken over a protective aura and has found it incredibly difficult to keep his hands off of you.
It’s a miracle he was able to talk to his brother and brother-in-law for so long without checking in on you once.
But speak of the devil.
What you aren’t expecting when Aemond makes his way over to where you’re conversing with his sister, is the little infant in his arms. Her head rests against his shoulder, while one of his large hands supports it and neck, and the other supports her bottom.
He’s swaying her gently as he walks over, a proud smile on his lips as he can’t tear his eyes off of his niece, coming to stand next to Helaena’s chair. The sight makes your heart swell with love.
Cregan trails behind him, and your eyes briefly fall to the abandoned Aegon still standing at the fireplace and balancing their three glasses in his hands.
“Honey,” the Northener’s gruff voice rings out, “your mother said that Edrick’s made a mess. Could you change him while I clean up?” Still standing offset behind your husband, Cregan pats Aemond on the shoulder once. “Our girl’s in good hands, and Aemy here can already practice for what awaits him soon.”
Helaena raises her eyebrows, before snickering at her husband’s remark. She bows her head once, smiling at you, “excuse me, Y/N.”
“We’ll talk later,” you assure her.
She brushes her hand over your swollen belly once as she rises, Cregan’s hand on the small of her back urging her out of the living space.
Aemond carefully sinks into the chair, and changes the position of the sleeping infant so she’s cradled in his arms.
“What have you been up to?” he asks, finally moving his head to look at you.
You were wearing a knitted sweater over your dress when you two arrived a few hours earlier, but with hot flashes attacking you every now and then, you have long opted to slip out of it and hang the sweater over a chair.
And the outfit change clearly is only now noticed by him.
His lilac eyes flickered between yours and your full breasts, and you can literally see the gears turning in his head.
“You’re not wearing a bra,” he states, full on staring at your breasts.
Fine, maybe you have also done it to tease him a bit.
A blush creeps onto his cheeks, running down his neck, and he slightly shifts in his seat, turning his gaze away as he clears his throat.
Pressing your lips into a thin line to stop them from curling into a smile, you quickly shush the urge by taking a swig of your water. “Wasn’t keen on spending the evening unable to think of anything else than how sore and uncomfortable I feel,” you tease. “Are you complaining?”
Aemond raises one hand in defeat, “certainly not, just pointing it out.”
You teasingly reach and bring your index finger to his chin, tilting it up for his eyes to meet yours again. “Then you better stop staring, we're not the only ones here.”
You glance briefly at the gathered party around you, watching Alicent chat with Rhaenyra and her husband, while Aegon seems to be deep in a conversation with Daemon, no doubt talking about the latest match between the Casterly Rock Lions and the Oldtown Saints.
“Fair enough,” he answered with a low chuckle.
The soft coos of his niece catch your attention, and you lean forwards to gauge at the little bundle. She’s stirring lightly in her sleep, grimaces and smiles alike gracing her scrunched features. Aemond brushes her cheek with his knuckles in feather light touches, until her coos are interrupted, and wide, blue eyes stare up at him.
Lyanna smacks her lips slowly, bringing her small hand up to her mouth. “What is she doing?” Aemond whispers, not daring to pull his eyes away from her in case she starts to cry.
“She’s hungry,” you answer with a chuckle, grinning as you notice his helplessness.
It’s so brief, but you spot his eyes flickering towards your full breasts, and you have to stop yourself from hitting his shoulder. One wrong word.
“You know there are barely four months left until your life looks like this, too, right?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.
“I do, but they have not yet told us about this at the prenatal class.”
“Oh, come on, she’s not your first niece, and she’s not even crying.”
The sigh of relief Aemond releases as he spots Helaena’s silver hair in the far distance has you shaking your head, bringing your index finger up to your smiling lips.
“How did you three get on?” Helaena asks, noticing that her daughter is awake.
Your husband rises to his feet, and hands his niece over to her. “Easy, she’s just woken up and seems really hungry,” he notes, as if he has figured it out all by himself. “And how did you fare?”
Helaena releases a dry chuckle, brushing her free hand up and down Aemond’s biceps. “I’ll tell you another time, don’t want to scare you.“ She briefly glances over at you. “Just know that Creg has to bathe him right now, because the wet wipes were useless.”
The grimace on Aemond’s face at his sister’s words has you choking on a laugh.
Lyanna starts to whine and wiggle in her mother’s grasp, getting her attention. “Sorry again, it’s feeding time, obviously,” she states, muttering the last word under her breath, and shoots you an apologetic gaze before scurrying off.
You hold out a hand, and knowing what it means, Aemond takes it to help you up from the chair.
His heart melts at the sight of you before him, and he wraps an arm around you to pull you against his side as he brushes his hand over the gentle swell of your belly in tender affection. There were shy kicks meeting his hand, making him grin.
You return the embrace, and lean yourself against his frame, your head resting on his chest. “It’s different when it’s your own child, you know,” you say, the small glimmer of a smile blessing your features.
His head dips forwards, and he presses his lips to your temple, mumbling the words against your skin, “I can’t wait to meet him.”
—
Aemond has his arm slung around your waist as everyone has gathered in the vast living space to watch the children perform a play they have practiced.
Alicent, ever the proud grandmother, clings to Viserys as they watch in awe what the children of Rhaenyra have been up to. An oblivious Edrick appears in the middle of it all, but before Cregan can scoop him up, the little Viserys has taken his hands to include him in their mischief.
“Have I already told you how good you look today?” Aemond whispers, his head dipping forwards so his lips are level with your ear. He rubs your bump gently, gazing at you with half-lidded eyes.
You shiver from his touch, your body tingling from the attention your husband gives you. “You’re not paying attention,” you scold softly, nodding towards the children in the middle. A teenage Jacaerys, as well as Daemon’s daughters from his first marriage, stand before you, your view of the play slightly concealed.
“I can’t help myself,” he whispers huskily, “you’re just too distracting, Mommy.” A smirk tugs on his lips as the name leaves them, and the sight is only topped by him leaning in to brush his lips over your ear, before they press to the sensitive skin behind it. The very spot that always makes you putty in his hands, and with your hormones in full swing, it does a little more than just melt you.
“Aemond,” you whisper, though he can also hear the trace of a moan in it, “easy.”
His teeth graze your earlobe, and the ring of his baritone voice sends a shiver down your spine, “we should go to bed early tonight.”
You can’t help but to chuckle at his words. It’s his subtle way to ask for something without directly asking, though you know exactly what he means. You lean into him, pressing yourself against his side.
Biting the tip of your tongue, it was impossible for you to stop your lips from pulling into a mischievous smirk.
“Do you think your mother will notice if we leave now?” you ask, innocently.
You’re greeted with a wide grin when your eyes meet Aemond’s, and the arm he has wrapped around you tightens just more, keeping you against his frame.
His lips brush your ear again, trailing down to press a kiss to the side of your neck. “If she does, she can tell me later,” he raps into your ear, “besides, we wouldn‘t be gone for too long, sweetheart. Just long enough for a little… alone time. Who could blame us for wanting to savor the last weeks where it’s only the two of us, mh?”
Aemond looks around one last time, noticing how everyone around you is mostly focused on the children’s show.
Bringing his hand to the small of your back, he gently guides you through the crowd of his relatives, before you’re on the way to his childhood bedroom.
It’s furnished in a minimalistic style, making it obvious that Alicent has spent some time decluttering her children’s rooms to make them more presentable for whenever guests stay over. The room basically is Aemond’s, and the rest belongs to Alicent.
Walking in behind you, he locks the door. You look around briefly before his firm chest is flush against your back with his arms around your waist, resting on your bump. He presses his lips to the curve of your neck, prompting you to tilt your head to the side, and a shuddered breath to escape your throat.
The feeling of his hard, clothed cock against the curve of your ass drives you to insanity, making you eager for more. He grinds against you as his fingers travel over your curves, and greedily fist the fabric of your dress.
“Let me help you undress, Mama,” he rasps against your skin, goosebumps prickling in its wake.
When he sinks to his knees behind you, you whimper quietly, immediately missing the heat of his breath and lips on your body.
“Aemond,” you breathe, looking down at him as he pushes your dress up.
The dumbfounded look that crosses his features with the skirt of your dress rucked up just shy beneath your bump has you chuckling, realization settling in.
“You went commando?”
Biting your bottom lip, you can basically see his excitement building, the bulge in the front of his slacks quite obvious despite him kneeling. “I was feeling… adventurous today,” you hum, a glint of mischief in your eyes.
He can’t help but to grin at your comment, and, on his way up, Aemond starts to press several kisses to the outside of your thigh, his fingers following in their trail.
Standing to full height again, looming over you, he keeps his hand beneath your bump, his fingers caressing your pubic mound.
You squeeze your thighs together in a desperate attempt to soothe the aching at the apex of them, since his fingers aren’t touching you where you need them most. An anticipating moan slips past your lips, a shiver shaking your core.
“I hope you’re prepared for me to be just as adventurous,” he hums, “... and thorough.”
His fingers hook under the thin straps of your dress, tugging them off your shoulders to push the elastic fabric down your curves and onto the ground. It’s pooling around your ankles in a white puddle, leaving you completely bare to him with just a few touches.
You shudder under his intense gaze, practically devouring you with just his lilac eyes, and try to break the tension by pulling him in for a kiss.
You turn around mid-kiss, your protruding belly a barrier between your bodies. Before your hands can entangle into his strands, Aemond catches them and intertwines your fingers. He creates a small distance between your bodies, taking a few steps back and pulling you with him.
His steps are deliberately slow, careful, and you’re encouraged to climb his lap as he sits down at the edge of the bed. Both his feet are firmly planted on the ground, supporting your swollen body.
He groans as you trap him between your legs, his hands roaming your curves almost immediately. The knowledge that he was the one responsible for the changes of your body, and that everybody else knew that as well, does something to him, making him all the more hungry for you.
It was even more addicting to see you sit astride him like a goddess, ready to claim what was yours already anyways. Him.
Feeling his clothed member throb beneath you, the urge to grind above him is as inviting as never, and you’re more than ready to give into the urge. Your wetness soaks his slacks, and the groan Aemond releases at the friction has you whimpering with him.
Your lips meet for a fervent kiss, and while your hands rest on his shoulders, his are eager to explore the swell of your belly. His tongue finds its way past your lips, swirling around yours in a way that turns the kiss into all teeth and tongue.
Dragging your teeth over his kiss swollen bottom lip, he tilts his head upwards and nudges the tip of his nose against yours. You lick over his lips once, but when you lean in to connect your lips again, Aemond stops you with his hand around your throat.
“I want you to sit on my face,” he rasps, his voice husky.
You haven’t sat on his face in weeks, or rather ever since the round ligament pain kicked in and made even the simplest daily tasks difficult for you.
Your eyes widen. “But– I–”
“No, you’re not too heavy,” he interrupts, cocking one eyebrow at you.
There’s not even a chance for you to reject before he lies down and hooks his hands beneath your thighs, hoisting you up and pulling you towards his face. You sit on his chest, barely seeing his chiseled features from under your bump.
As the position you are in truly settles in your mind, a bright blush starts to cover the apples of your cheeks. His angelic looks don't help either, strands of silver hair splayed out around his head like a halo, and his piercing lilac eyes fixed on you and you only. “But you tell me when it gets too much, no?” you ask, coyly.
Aemond rubs his hands over your bare thighs in comfort, nodding. “Always.” Deep down you know it’s a lie, because he has told you on more than one occasion that he’d gladly leave the world suffocated by your delicious pussy, but you trust the feigned security he offers.
“No promises about how long I’ll last, though,” you tell him.
A gentle pat to your thigh is what has you eventually inching forwards until your knees are on either side of his head.
With your bump being quite protruding, you can’t even see him anymore, you only hear his groans and growls when you cautiously settle in the new position.
The attempt to slightly hover your pussy over his face is fruitless the moment your husband’s hands fly to your hips, grabbing you and pulling you down onto his face. Just his nose perfectly teasing your clit has you moaning out loudly already, even though he hasn’t even used his tongue yet.
And then it follows.
Aemond greedily laps at your entrance as his hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place and playing you like a fiddle. It circles around your clenching hole, teasing it but never one dipping it inside.
You clench around nothing, and bring one hand to your bump while the other just rests above his hand on your hip, squeezing it. Chasing the friction and warmth of his tongue, you rock your hips back and forth as much as his grip allows, coaxing whimpers and mewls to leave your lips.
“Gods be good,” you whimper, the grip of your thighs around his face tightening. “I–I forgot how good you are at this.”
Seemingly keening at your praise, you’re almost disappointed when he pulls his hand off of yours to cup your ass cheeks, yanking you impossibly closer. The groans that vibrate against your pussy send shivers up your spine that make you lose yourself in the pleasure, not focusing on where his hands are.
At this point, Aemond was feasting at you like a man starved, all but devouring you with newfound vigor. His nose flicks against your clit with expert precision every time he tilts his head or you move your hips, drawing you closer to your orgasm.
His index finger comes into play, teasing your throbbing folds for a split second. His true intentions, however, only show the moment it starts to circle around your other hole.
“Fuck, Aemond, I-” you manage as he carefully dips his finger into your hole, the added stimulation almost immediately tightening the coil in your belly. A muffled groan of appreciation shakes your core as he feels your unused hole tighten around his finger.
You roll your hips against Aemond’s mouth on the race to completion, any thoughts of being too heavy for him long gone, and replaced by nothing else than raw need and desire.
It’s almost too much. Straddling the fine line between overwhelming and just the right amount. His nose rubs your clit, his lips lap hungrily at your swollen folds, and his index finger fills you pleasantly – he is redoubling his efforts.
You keep dragging your hips back and forth in rhythm with his movements, fucking his face on the brink of your release.
“Oh God, you-you’re so good– Aemond, I’m–I’m–” you ramble, breathy whimpers filling in between the words.
Hearing him slurp and groan beneath your trembling frame brings a blush to your face and stokes the fire in your belly, the sounds fanning through the room like your moans and whimpers.
When the coil finally snaps, you throw your head back in ecstasy and clamp your thighs around his head, hot, white pleasure licking its way up your spine. His name topples off your lips more than once, accompanied by desperate mewls and whines. He is relentless, licking you through your orgasm.
You don’t wait long enough for the aftershocks to fully subside, the overstimulation of his tongue dragging through your folds becoming too much, and cup your pregnant belly as you heave your frame off of his face, shifting backwards down his body.
“Fuck, I–I need you,” you all but beg, eagerly tugging on the collar of his black shirt.
Aemond seems to share your enthusiasm, and is quick to sit up again, meeting your lips for a deep kiss. Only when you cup his cheeks do you feel that they’re covered in your arousal, the taste of you on his tongue clouding your mind.
Your belly is between you again, but Aemond manages to swiftly undo the zipper in the front of his slacks nevertheless, and shoves them down just enough to free his aching cock.
“So desperate for my cock now, mh?” Aemond pants against your lips, a smug smirk tugging on the corners.
His hand wraps around his stiff member, fisting himself raw twice, thrice, before another pat served to your thigh encourages you to raise your hips. He aligns himself with your soaked entrance, and you feel his tip prodding gingerly at it.
As you sink down on him, your hands tightly gripping the collar of his shirt, you release a shuddered breath. Your husband, on the other hand, escapes a relieved groan, his head tipping back for a moment.
With your limbs still tingling from your previous orgasm, you bow your head forwards, lowering yourself on him until he is balls deep inside of you. “Mh, fuck, you didn’t even bother to take off your pants,” you taunt, “so desperate to be inside me.”
Aemond’s words die on his tongue as you start to sensually roll your hips over his, the added weight of the bump not allowing you to bounce up and down on him with the vigor you had used before your pregnancy.
But your husband doesn’t seem to mind, his eyes journeying into the back of his head at the sensation.
Moving his hands to grope and grasp at every inch of your body, they eventually settle on your full breasts, tweaking and pinching your nipples between his nimble fingers while you unravel astride him. It prompts you to arch your back, all but shoving your breasts into his face.
“So fucking good,” he grunts, embracing it and wrapping his lips around your pert nipple while his arms snake around your body.
He licks and sucks at your little bud like he has done with your pussy before, and, just judging by the smacking and humming sounds he makes, it’s possible there ooze a few droplets of milk out of it.
Aemond places his feet firmly on the ground, and starts to buck his hips up into yours, seemingly impatient for his own release as he meets the sensual rolls of your hips and bullies the spongy spot inside of you with more determination.
Loud, wet sounds from where your bodies meet echo off the walls, indistinct to you with all you can focus on being his lips at your heavy breasts, and his cock deep inside of you.
You bite your bottom lip and stop the rolling of your hips, making it evident that you were close to your orgasm. The tingling at the base of your spine makes it impossible to move any further and you rely on him to take over.
Aemond pulls back and watches you gleefully as the force of his thrusts makes your body squirm and jerk, eagerly anticipating you to topple over the edge for the second time.
“You’re gonna cum on my cock already?” he asks, almost mockingly.
You frantically nod, breathing a yes.
His hands come to your hips, and with his fingers digging into your flesh, he drags your hips back and forth, your clit rubbing against the hem of his shirt with each movement. You’re not able to gasp more than yeses and pleases, clenching tightly around him.
The intensity of his thrusts increases while you have stopped moving, toes curling as the taut string inside of you snaps without a warning and white stars cloud your vision.
“Mh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whine, clawing at his shoulders as you ride out your high, grinding and rolling your hips against his. Your walls clamp around him like a vice, and he chokes on a husky groan. “Oh God, I love you.“
And even though your orgasm subsides slowly, Aemond refuses to slow down, keeping his heedless pace and pursuing his own completion.
He has his lips around your other nipple by now, sucking and nibbling on it, the vibrations of his groans coursing through your veins. “Daddy, mh, cum for me, please,” you whine, desperate for his cum.
Your body, however, contradicts your words and moans, your thighs squeezing his in a desperate attempt to stop him from pounding into your overstimulated pussy – but to no avail.
“God, please.”
His pace is as reckless and merciless as before, his cock all but forcing its way in and out of your quivering walls as he doesn’t listen to your desperate pleas.
Pulling back from your nipple with a lewd pop, a string of saliva connects the dark areola and his swollen lips as he gazes up at you with half-lidded eyes. “Hush now, Mommy,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss you. The nickname coaxes a smug smirk on his lips. “Taking me so well, such a good girl for Daddy.” With just his praise, a warmth overtakes your body that drowns out the burning, your chest swelling.
You sling your arms around his neck, burying your fingers in the silver strands of his hair in a way that is destined to ruin the little updo he had put it in this morning.
“Mh, fuck, I’m gonna–” his words are cut off with a stutter of his hips, and he feels his throbbing cock spill deep inside of you.
You ride him through his high with lazy rolls of your hips, biting through the overstimulation, and clench and unclench around him as you milk him for every drop of his seed.
If he hadn’t gotten you pregnant already, he surely would have knocked you up after this.
Aemond languidly fucks up into you now as the last spurts of his warm release fill you to the brim, grunting and groaning until the euphoria fades.
He collapses on the bed, a blissed out expression on his face, and reaches to trace his fingers over the swell of your bump up to the curve of your breasts. Rolling the darkened buds between them, he smirks as he watches you squirm, his softening cock still buried inside of you.
“You know,” he starts, folding one arm behind his head. His voice is softer than before, but has a teasing edge to it. “I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone knew by now what we’ve been up to.”
You laugh breathlessly and plant your hands on his chest, rubbing your thumbs over it. “But at least they don’t have to worry about you getting me pregnant by accident,” you tease.
“True enough,” he chuckles softly, “Fuck, I’m–I just can’t help myself. Seeing your body swell just because of my seed fucking does something to me.”
His words make you blush, and you appreciatively run your hands over your bump.
You lean forwards and cup his face, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. He smirks against your mouth, and subconsciously bucks his hips into yours as he feels you clench around him.
With a groan rumbling in his chest, he pulls back. Something dark flickers in his eyes, his intentions evident when he speaks again.
“Once our boy’s born, I’ll make quick work of making you a mother of two.”
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Can't help falling in love
summary: 5 times Aemond was in love with you + 1 time he finally confessed his feelings
warnings: friends to lovers (at the age of 9, 10, 15, 17, 19), a pinch of angst (Aemond healing after losing his eye), but overall so fluffy and sweet you may want to skip dessert
words: ~ 5500 (I got reeeally carried away with that love confession)
1.
Aemond is weeks away from his tenth birthday and he feels as miserable as ever. That feeling is an iron weight upon his heart, his mood irritated and face features grim more often than not. He is still without a dragon — and it’s the only thing he can think of, day and night, steadfast and stubborn in his obsession that most of his family finds to be blown out of proportion. It might have stang him less if only it wasn’t for the constant teasing and pitiful jokes that added to his distress and the never-ending heartache. He learns to keep a straight face and act as if he doesn’t really care, but deep down he does, way more than he’ll ever admit.
His training sessions are a way to channel his anger, and he lashes out at a straw man, again and again, clinging to the thought that, at least in these moments, he is not entirely powerless. He keeps his focus on the target, attentive to Ser Criston’s advice — “Soften your knees”, “Keep your feet light, your hands heavy”, and for a couple of hours he forgets about his misery.
It’s when the training comes to an end, the dreaded realization sinks in again, and Aemond is lost in his thoughts, mindlessly twirling the wooden sword in one hand, his gaze wandering around the yard.
And then his eyes fall on a bright green spot — and all of a sudden, he sees you. A girl of his age, the hem of your green dress a bit dusty, boots covered in dirt, a few strands of hair fallen loose, a coy smile on your face. You meet his gaze and wave at him excitedly.
Aemond looks dumbfounded. A girl in the training yard. Waving at him. He blinks once, twice — and in the next moment, you're standing merely a few steps away, glancing curiously at his sword.
"It looks so hefty! Is it heavy? What is it made of?" a string of questions, your voice sweet and joyful.
There’s a brief pause and maybe you mistake his stiffness for arrogance as you are quick to add:
“Oh, my manners!” gasping but showing no actual regret. “Forgive me,” you curtsy, your smile growing even wider. A timid smile appears on his face in return and he finally comes to his senses.
“It’s made out of red oak. It’s not very heavy, you get used to it,” Aemond raises the sword, letting you take a closer look. Within another blink of an eye he finds himself talking to you, your questions endless and maybe a bit naive but he genuinely enjoys it.
That’s until you both hear a loud cry:
“Lady Y/N!” your nanny comes running in, out of breath and scowling. “I told you not to wander around...,” she chokes on her words at the sight of the young prince. She curtsies, too, but it isn’t nearly as cute as when you do it.
She sprints decisively in your direction:
“It wasn’t very polite of you to interrupt the prince’s training, you little menace!”
And then Aemond, to his own surprise, moves to stand in her way.
”Y/N didn’t interrupt a thing,“ he disagrees, lips thinned into a tight line.
The nanny stops and looks at Aemond dubiously, switching her gaze from him to you.
Ser Criston is the one to resolve the conflict — he comes from behind, with a polite smile plastered on his face.
”Young lady can watch from the balcony. The guests are very much welcomed,“ he calls for the maid to escort you and your nanny up there. While you’re away, he looks at Aemond with a grin:
”Already wooing the ladies, my prince? Let’s hope you are as good with your sword as she thinks you are.“
He does make Aemond work for it but the prince fights back, winning one bout after the other. He keeps glancing at you and you wave at him every single time.
Aemond is too young to know what love is, too shy and guarded to even entertain the thought of it. But when you look at him, with your childish grin and your eyes bright with mirth, he doesn't feel lonely anymore.
2.
It's been two weeks since Aemond lost his eye and he hasn't left the bed once. The pain is still blinding, burning and constantly making his only eye water. But what hurts even more is the humiliating disability. The triumph of claiming Vhagar died down, and now the prince was faced with the harsh reality he needed to adjust to and the process wasn't an easy one. The fever has only recently gone down, leaving his body weak and freezing from the lack of movement, but he couldn't bare the thought of stepping out of the room.
His mother wouldn't leave his side and even Aegon often came to visit, clearly blaming himself for not being there for his little brother. Yet their presence barely brought Aemond any comfort and most of the time he would pretend to be asleep to avoid any conversations. He knew they only meant well and he was being cruel but he couldn't help it as his pride was shattered and he gave in to sadness.
That is until one night he wakes up to a weird sound. He's only half-awake when he hears a vigorous tapping that clearly comes from the outside. Except it's not from the other side of the door — but rather outside his window.
He's startled by this guess and suspiciously walks closer. It takes him a few seconds to focus his gaze and discern a human's silhouette — and then another few to realize that it's you standing on the window sill. He feels like his heart will jump out of his chest as he rushes to open the window.
You climb through and clumsily drop to the floor. But before he can get worried, you are on your feet again, eyeing him with concern.
“Oh, Aemond,” your gaze and voice are both so soft, it makes his lower lip quiver. You carefully approach him and put your hand on his shoulder, gently sliding it on his back in a soothing motion and then cuddling him. He welcomes your company with a sigh of relief. You smell of oranges and you give the best hugs.
"They told me no one was allowed into your chambers," your hushed whisper burns his ear. "The silliest thing I've ever heard!" you pull away from him, still lightly panting, cheeks flushed and hair messy. "I knew I had to find a way to come see you."
You examine his face, frowning at the scar that's still healing.
"Does it hurt?"
He only nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he won't be able to hold back a sob. You move closer, resuming the gentle motion of rubbing his back.
Ever since that day in the training yard, you kept in touch, regularly sending each other letters, chatting about everything and nothing, sharing your little secrets and observations. You recently mentioned that your parents allowed you to come see him again, but with the tragic change of events, Aemond completely forgot about the preplanned visit.
"I will take his eye," you say out of the blue, caressing the unharmed side of his face, your voice laced with anger. Aemond thinks he might've heard it wrong.
"...Whose eye?"
"Luke’s! I shall take his eye, as payment for yours," you tell him with zero hesitation. For a girl of your age, you’re way too eager to plan such a thing, yet he somehow has no doubts that you can actually do it.
Aemond shakes his head:
"You shouldn't," his voice quiet but firm. "The King was very adamant about that, no payment is needed."
"Well, maybe he is too old to think straight," you retort. "You are his son and you lost an eye! Justice must prevail," you tilt your head at him, clearly thinking that you’re in the right.
And he knows that you are but he also knows no justice will be served. It’s the last straw for Aemond — he looks away in shame as tears, hot and angry, start falling down his cheek. You waste no time hugging him again, letting him cry on your shoulder, and the two of you stay like that for what feels like an hour.
And then, in the comfortable silence of your embrace, he hears you asking, very seriously:
"Are you sure I can't take his eye?"
At that moment, he can't stop himself from letting out a laugh — a weak one and barely audible, but still, he laughs, for the first time in two weeks, and you are the sole reason for it.
Your cheek is pressed to his, your fingers running through his hair, and Aemond realizes he can't lose you.
He begrudgingly persuades you that taking Luke's eye isn't worth the trouble.
3.
By the age of fifteen Aemond becomes quite accustomed to the eyepatch and it gives him a boost of confidence. Losing an eye only made him train harder and his persistence pays off when he’s the one to win, time after time, no matter who his opponent is. His hair grows longer, now silky smooth and with no sign of his boyish curled ends, his face features sharpen. He learns to walk with his head high and hands clasped behind his back, mastering the intimidating look that makes most people want to stay away from the one-eyed prince.
His tricks could’ve never worked on you, though.
You come to visit him a few times a year, and he eagerly awaits your arrival. All the days in between, you keep talking through letters, them getting longer as you get closer. He keeps those letters locked in a hidden compartment of his table. And sometimes, for no specific reason — or maybe for the reason he can’t yet formulate — he is drawn to reach for them, which always ends with him rereading the letters for hours. Some of them he knows by heart and yet it never stops him from having the pleasure of seeing your handwritten stories and little jokes that were only meant for him.
Today is no exception and Aemond is so enthralled by reading, he almost misses the knock on the door. The sound brings him to reality but he is in no hurry to react. The knocking comes again, and the prince groans, annoyed at the maid's persistence. He carefully puts the letters back and goes to the door, armed with his cold gaze.
And then he opens it — and it's you standing in front of him.
Aemond barely has time to register what's going on when you launch yourself at him, your arms immediately enveloping him in a tight hug, your laugh ringing in the air. He hugs you back and, while you can't see it, he's grinning from ear to ear.
“I swear you’re getting taller every time we meet!” you look up at him, beaming, and he lets you in. “I soon will need a ladder just to hug you properly".
"I’ll be sure to let my body know of your disapproval," he sneers and you stick out your tongue.
"While you are at it, shall you also work on your friendly face? I overheard the maids being frightened to go into your chambers," you try giving him a scolding look but end up giggling at his reddened cheeks.
"I am friendly enough!"
“Yes, nobody glowers quite like you,” you snicker and flop right on the floor, the move always making him smile. Aemond tried persuading you to sit on any other surface that’s actually meant for sitting but you insisted that his fluffy rug works just as well, so he eventually gave up, deciding to join you. He never complained since.
Before he knows it, he’s immersed in the conversation while you enthusiastically share the recent news and everything that’s happened to you on the road. Only about half an hour in, he notes a small bag you're clasping in your hands.
“You come bearing gifts?”
“Oh, I almost forgot I had it,” you laugh, abashed. “I decided I should bring you something to replace this crumpled-looking thing".
It takes Aemond a minute to realize that you're talking about his eyepatch. But he has no time to protest as you silence him with a gesture of your hand:
“I took it upon myself to count for how long you’ve been wearing this one already,” your tone gets serious. “I must say, that number is disturbing.”
There's a moment of silence and then he clears his throat, his voice unsure:
“Very kind of you to think of that, I shall replace it later on.”
He reaches his hand to take the bag but you quickly cover it with yours, fingers brushing over his, and he freezes.
“Are you still not convinced that I can take a look at it?” you try to make eye contact but he averts your gaze.
“Aemond, I was with you and I think I’ve seen enough back then — none of it scared me.”
“It is not a sight for the faint of heart,'” the prince mumbles, his bravado faltering.
“Well, I don’t remember fainting the first time. You should have more faith in me,” you try to reason, holding his hand.
Aemond ponders for another minute — or maybe ten, he isn't sure, and you patiently wait, not wanting to press him any further. Then he finally makes a decision and, after taking a long, sad sigh, he removes the eyepatch and looks at you, the sight of him is the very definition of insecurity.
You stay silent for about five seconds before concluding:
“Oh, it healed so nicely!” with no hint of uncertainty in your voice. Your smile reassures him a little as you peer at the sapphire, looking very pleased.
"The gem compliments your eye very well," you give him your verdict, taking the new eyepatch out.
"We might have a different understanding of what a compliment is."
"This is me trying to say that I really like the way it looks," you chide him lightly. "And I consider myself to be quite understanding, thank you very much. Will you stop pouting and let me put it on?"
At this point he surrenders, giving you permission, and you move closer, giggling with excitement. You gently fix his hair, making sure it’s all combed back, and then lean to put the eyepatch on. You have a habit of biting your lower lip when you're too concentrated on something, and Aemond can't help but gaze at that part of your face while your teeth graze over the pillowy surface.
He’s never let anyone this close — and not just in the sense of physical proximity. The moment is very intimate, and the softness of your movements tugs at his heart. He is suddenly very aware of the very short distance separating you two, and he holds his breath. You are oblivious to his stare and soon lean back, satisfied with the result and glaring at him with something akin to fondness.
He wishes he could paint a picture of you right at this moment, so tender and caring and sitting by his side.
He also wishes he could kiss you — and that thought scares him to death. And yet, once it appears, it never goes away.
4.
Aemond is seventeen and his life has been pure torture since you stopped visiting him. He hasn't seen you in over half a year (seven months and eleven days, not that anyone's counting). It's not your fault as your father has unexpectedly fallen ill and you couldn't leave his side. The prince exhausted the maester with questions, asking for advice to write back to you, worried sick that your separation would be stretched for way longer than he could handle.
Luckily, the Gods took pity on him, and he was glad to learn that your father got better, and you will come to the King's Landing soon. Your visit coincided with Aegon's birthday, but Aemond didn't care about the feast, his mind only occupied with the thought of seeing you. He was both nervous and excited to the point of not even hiding it, which led to Aegon teasing him relentlessly. Helaena, on the other hand, wholeheartedly supported Aemond's sympathy for you.
“She will be delighted to see you, too, I am sure of it,” his sister tells him the day before the event.
“But the reason for it might be of a different nature,” Aemond remarks, and Helaena gives him a compassionate look.
“You will never know her true feelings unless you ask,” she encourages. “The two of you are so close, I consider Y/N part of the family.”
Aemond knows that he’s of age and his mother hinted that, despite him showing no interest in courting, some ladies still found him attractive. He dismisses the idea but then finds himself thinking of it from time to time. When the realization forms in his head, it’s nerve-wracking but oh so compelling — he thinks he would’ve really wanted to marry you. He just doesn’t know how to tell you about it.
The day of your arrival comes, and Aemond wakes up at dawn in anticipation, determined to confess his feelings. He tries to come up with a speech, but it feels wrong and sounds weird, and he decides it will be better to improvise. He all but runs to the courtyard to be the first one to greet you. However, when you step out of the carriage, smoothing your dress, and your eyes meet, Aemond stops dead in his tracks and the world around him stands still.
His confidence might’ve blossomed — but not nearly as much as your beauty did. Somehow in those recent months, you’ve matured into a woman that takes his breath away.
It’s not a drastic change, it's all in the details: the contours of your face are more defined, the cheekbones prominent, your hair knotted up high in a perfect style and even your pace is much slower and gracious. You walk towards one another, both suddenly cautious. But when you are a couple of meters apart, a well-known smile appears on your face and you hold your arms out to him and he finally hugs you again, after all this time. Aemond relaxes, inhaling the familiar scent of fruits that you undoubtedly munched on your way here.
“You look exactly as I remembered you,” you say as you slip from his embrace.
“And you are a sight to behold,” he breathes out, taking you in, and your cheeks heat up at the compliment. You’ve never been shy with him before, so this is also new. He wonders what might’ve caused this change.
As the two of you walk around the castle, it feels a bit awkward at first, and you keep glancing at him with emotion he can’t read. But Aemond is too happy to see you to give it much thought, and within an hour you ease into the conversation, too. By the time the evening comes, the tension disappears, and you are laughing at his sarcastic remarks again, and he savors every second of it.
The feast in honor of Aegon is lush and crowded, but you stay by Aemond’s side, enjoying each other’s company, and he only has eye for you. When the music gets too loud, you sneak out and soon find yourselves in his chambers, just like in the good old days. Aemond is in the middle of telling you about Aegon’s recent foray to the Flea Bottom, when you say:
“It’s just the two of us,” your fingers sink into the fluffy rug. “You don’t have to wear it with me. You know it, right?”
He wears the eyepatch with everyone, only taking it off before going to sleep. Moreover, he actually cherishes it because it’s a gift from you. Aemond hesitates:
“I thought you quite liked it.”
“I only gave it to you because yours started to look like it was pulled off a dead man’s body!” you laugh.
Before he can think of an answer, you lean closer — your shoulder brushing his, your hand touching his face, the same gentle warmth he remembers so well, — and remove the eyepatch yourself. The sight doesn’t bother you in the slightest as you confess:
“I accept you the way you are, Aemond,” and then, a moment away from him opening his mouth and saying the thing that’s been on the tip of his tongue for the duration of the day, you add: “That’s what friends are for — and you are my best friend.”
And just like that, with this word alone, his plan goes out the window.
A friend. Aemond can’t even be upset at the reveal, because, honestly, being your friend feels like a blessing in itself and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. How could he be so selfish and foolish to even think about risking it all, risk losing you?
So he keeps his feelings to himself, locking them away deep in his heart, and doesn't argue with you.
Maybe he should have.
5.
By the age of nineteen Aemond reaches the conclusion that he wants to take the risk. Otherwise, he thinks he might actually die as his heart can not hold all his feelings anymore. In two years' time, there isn’t a single thing about you that he hasn’t come to love, and keeping it a secret becomes harder with each day.
Aemond is ridden with doubts to the point where he can't hide it any longer and he decides to seek advice — and the prince can't think of a better person to talk to than his mother. Unbeknownst to him, Alicent was the first one to notice. Years ago, when you were kids, she quickly sensed the effect you had on her son, and it brought her joy as she watched the two of you get closer with time.
So when Aemond bursts into her room, anxiety radiating off of him as he starts jabbering away, his pacing erratic and voice trembling, it takes her about a minute to realize what's going on.
“My dear, I think you must talk to Y/N,” she approaches him, an understanding look on her face.
Aemond cuts his speech short, eyeing her with wonder:
“You don't seem surprised.”
“Your affection for her is as bright as a fire blazing,” Alicent chuckles. “I believe Y/N is the only one who doesn’t see it.”
“Should I tell her...?” he doesn’t dare say it out loud, not yet.
Alicent briefly takes his hands in hers, squeezing them.
“You should tell her the truth.”
Her encouragement gives him a dash of hope, lifting a weight off his chest. Aemond knows in an instant that the letter won’t cut it, and you must have the conversation face-to-face. Fortunately, your next visit is in a month, so his suffering won’t last for much longer.
Aemond almost reaches the door but then sharply turns to his mother again, his cheeks flushed:
“Will you give me your approval?” and this time, he looks straight at her as he wants to see her genuine reaction.
Alicent smiles, quick to reassure him:
“Yes, Aemond. Your betrothal would only make me happy.”
The prince feels elated, almost euphoric, as he finally goes to meet you and runs the remaining distance from his chambers to the yard. But when he sees you, the smile disappears from his face because he notices that something is wrong.
You look visibly upset, your eyes watering and fingers fumbling with the dress, even though you try to force a smile in return. The hug you give him is weak and you keep looking at your feet.
“What is the matter?” he’s never seen you this sad, but you brush him off.
“It’s just a headache, no need to worry.”
Yet that’s exactly what he does, offering to call for the maester, or to prepare you a warm bath, or bring you some tea...
“A cup of water would be nice, thank you,” he leaves you in the hallway to go and get it himself, the task only takes a couple of minutes. When he returns, you stand with your back to him, your shoulders are shaking — and he hears quiet, muffled sobs. If it wasn’t for the nearby table, he would’ve thrown the cup away, his focus on you alone. As he rushes to envelop you in a hug, you don’t fight it, instead nestling your face against his chest, not hiding your tears anymore.
Aemond gives you some time before asking again:
“This doesn’t look like just a headache. What is the cause of your anguish?” now he’s the one running his fingers up and down your back.
You let out a sound that’s a mix between a groan and a whine.
“My father says I am to be betrothed soon. He says I am of age already and... and he wants me to meet some of my cousins,” you sniffle. “I told him I have no wish to get married but he refuses to listen,” you bite your lip, not wanting to cry again.
Surely, that’s not how Aemond wanted to ask you. But he decides to take his chance.
“Mayhaps there is another way out that could make you feel better.”
“Please don’t tell me Vhagar will burn them down,” you jest but the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. Aemond thinks your idea isn’t that bad — but he has to try his first.
“If he insists you should marry but doesn’t have a particular candidate, maybe you can pick one yourself?”
“I’ve met all my cousins — and half of them are imbeciles, the others are too old to survive a wedding,” you scoff.
“Then pick someone you are not related to,” Aemond suggests.
“Do you have a particular candidate in mind?” when you ask with a tinge of annoyance, you don’t think he will answer. And then you look at him — and see him grinning before he says:
“Me”.
You glare at Aemond with eyes wide and mouth agape, the expression frozen on your face for a good minute.
“Are you laughing at me?” you manage to say.
“I wouldn’t dare,” his nerves are as tight as a wound-up string.
In the blink of a moment, your face lights up. You're looking at him indecisively, searching for words, agitated. But Aemond mistakes your confusion for rejection.
“At the very least you will marry someone you know,” he tries to reason — but it backfires, wiping the joyfulness off your face. Taken aback, you inquire:
“You pity me?”
He doesn’t grasp the poor choice of his words yet.
“You pity me and that’s why you want to marry me?” you give him a look of disbelief, your eyes glossy, and he can't get his head around what just happened.
“Oh, it was so silly of me to think that...,” you choke back a sob, putting your hand over your mouth.
Never in his life he thought he would be the reason for you looking so heartbroken. Aemond covers your hand with his palm — and you let him, as he tries to gather his courage.
“Y/N, I only meant to say that I —”
And then you recoil, snapping your hand back.
“Aemond, don’t,” you take a step back from him, then another one. “You have said enough. Please, let me be,” you turn away and leave the hall in a hurry before he can utter another word.
... 1.
He finds you at your usual spot, under the blossoming cherry tree. You’ve always said you liked the color of it, little white flowers reminding you of early spring, your favorite time of the year. You don’t know that Aemond insisted on planting that tree specifically for you. Just so he can sit nearby and, as you were basking in the sunlight with your eyes closed, he would get a chance to look at you with all his unconditional love and have those moments engraved in his memory.
Come to think of it, he had so many memories of you — and every single one of them was bliss, and he can recall them so easily like it was yesterday.
And so he does.
“When we first met, you wore a green dress,” his voice startles you, but you don’t turn to face him, sniffling with your arms folded. “It was the color of forest trees. Black lace around the hem of it, the matching hair ribbon that you kept losing,“ he keeps his distance, his hands shaking.
"Yes, I remember it pretty well," you sigh, avoiding his gaze, baffled by his sudden outburst.
"The second time was when you climbed through my window, almost gave me a heart attack," there’s a hint of a smile in his voice that you catch even without looking. "Blue dress, you tore a huge piece of it and couldn’t care less. You were the first person to make me laugh in two weeks even though it seemed impossible. But not with you."
He sees your eyebrows furrowing, hands sliding down to rest on your knees.
"Helaena’s name day came next, your dress was bright pink. Luke tried to make fun of it and you threw a cup full of water in his face. To this day, it’s one of my fondest memories."
You dare to look up at him, perplexed, your eyes wet from crying.
"Three months after was the light-blue dress, then the peach one and the brown one. Then the white one which didn’t survive the horse riding lesson, and Helaena gave you one of hers. Light green, too long for your liking, even though you pretended otherwise to please her," the corners of your lips tremble, your face softening.
"Then for a year you only wore violet, much to your nanny’s dismay as she thought it made you look ill. And I thought you were the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, no matter what dress you were in," he can’t take his eye off you.
Your face expression melts into a stunned one.
"I didn’t realize it back then. Or maybe I didn’t know how to call it. I just knew that your visits only brought me happiness," he takes a step toward you, uncertain, but you don’t move from your spot.
"When you were fourteen, you picked the autumn colors — orange, dark yellow, deep red. Your started braiding your hair, tried to braid mine," you can’t hold back a smile. He was fussy when you first voiced the idea but he ended up loving the process so much, he would allow it just to feel your fingers flowing through his hair.
"I think you actually enjoyed it", you mumble, and Aemond smiles, too.
"I did. I enjoyed every minute that I got to spend with you."
You stand up then, feeling your pulse quickening.
"The day you brought me the eyepatch, you wore emerald green. I was terrified to show you the scar," he pauses, catching his breath. "You assuaged my fears with your kindness. But then I was terrified to learn that I wanted to kiss you".
You think you are dreaming. Is it possible that you fell asleep under the tree? You don’t want to get your hopes too high, but when he looks at you like this, your own fears start melting away.
“Then was the black dress, the grey one, another white one. The golden one you wore to meet Vhagar,” when he saw you that day, he almost forgot how to breathe. You showed no sigh of apprehension as you fearlessly approached the dragon. He was absolutely besotted.
“And then came the agony of not seeing you for over seven months,” he closes his eye for a second, overwhelmed. He almost misses it when you speak:
“Seven months and twenty-five days. Not that I was counting,” his eye snaps open, instantly on you again.
You gravitate toward each other without even noticing. Aemond’s heart skips a beat when you’re at arm's length, your eyes shining and lips slightly parted. Even in the state you're in, you look so beautiful, it's mesmerizing, and the words are stuck in his throat. You are the one to break the silence:
"Aemond, please don't give me false hope," your heartbeat is too loud, you don't hear your own voice. He does.
"I do not wish to marry you out of pity," Aemond takes the last step. "I want you to be my wife because I'm in love with you," he wipes away the remaining tears off your face, his fingers linger, making you shiver. "I've been in love with you for quite some time. For a few years, actually," his voice gets low. "For what feels like an eternity," Aemond murmurs.
"Why haven't you told me?" you pout, nervously toying with the collar of his shirt.
"I was afraid you didn't feel the same. I still am but maybe... Maybe I am wrong?" his gaze is fixed on you, one of his hands following the contour of your waist, your body warming at the touch.
"Tell me that I am wrong," he whispers, begging.
You look at his lips, the soft curve of them that you’ve dreamt of for so long.
Aemond always thought yours were the most kissable he’s ever seen.
You don’t know who closes the distance first — but his mouth is suddenly on yours and the sensation leaves you disarmed. Kissing him is like being swept with a wave of tenderness, and you’re floating in it, his lips so fervid and supple — truly perfect — your head is spinning. The kiss is not awkward nor modest as you hastily cling to each other, his hands gripping your waist, your chest pressed into his.
Aemond feels like he’s drowning, and he wants more of you — all of you, and then your fingers tug at his locks, eliciting a groan from him, and it is simply a miracle that his heart doesn’t explode. You move in impeccable sync, in the passionate harmony that erupts from years worth of mutual pining. His lungs burn but he resists the urge to break the kiss and stretches it out the best he can until you are breathless, too.
"Never knew that you were so fascinated by my wardrobe choices," you tease, and his hum turns into a chuckle.
“You know what my favorite memory is?” you ask, your forehead resting against his.
“When we were thirteen, and you were teaching me how to hold a sword. I tackled you to the ground and scraped my knee,” you both smile at your then enthusiasm. “And you set everything aside to spend the rest of the day with me even though it was hardly a wound. And I remember thinking,” you hook your finger under his chin, “that there’s nowhere else I would rather be than with you, with this favorite boy of mine.”
The air around you tense, and you are enchanted by each other.
“Did that help to prove you wrong?”
“I may need some convincing,” his breath fanning over your lips.
“You can take your time,” you laugh — and then the sound of it is muffled by his athirst mouth.
His favorite memory will be this.
And every other moment with you that's to come.
author's note: I'm sorry if this came out messy and rushed. I tried my best to write a shorter fic (this is short for me lmao) and idk how I feel about it. I much rather prefer them longer because I'm a sucker for stories about two people getting to know each other and falling in love BUT I get it that others don't want to read long ass fics (which kinda breaks my heart but I'm being so very brave about it)
anyways, I hope this was bearable, thank you for reading!
💙 the longer version of this fic might have looked like this (yes, this is a shameless plug! because I adore this one to pieces!! bite me)
💞 my masterlist
🎵 the title is a quote from Elvis Presley's song (duh). there are quite a few covers of it but one of my favorites is by Twenty One Pilots. there's also a female version — by Ingrid Michaelson — and I think both of them fit the story really well.
P.S. I'm also on AO3 (lol, who isn't), in case you prefer to read fics there.
English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!
#aemond targaryen#got the idea out of the blue (oh the things I do instead of sleeping...)#wrote it in two days#pretty sure it's once in a year kind of miracle#my expectations are low though and I will probably never write anything like this again lmao#anyways I think I should get back to actually adding the tags and shut tf up#here’s a SPECIAL tag that I call 'the woman Aemond is in love with stands up for him'#I already used this trope twice and WILL use it again watch me#my stuff#aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond x you#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond one eye#aemond one eye x y/n#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen fanfics#aemond targaryen fics#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen fanfic#hotd fanfiction
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These Tender Hearts Beat as One
Aemond x widowed!female character
Summary: Aemond reunites with his childhood friend, a former ward of his mother || Word Count: 7k || Warnings: too much fucking backstory lol, p in v sex, breeding kink
Aemond could always tell when his mother was stressed. Out of all her silver-haired children, her second son had seemed the most adept at knowing before she even knew herself. All that remained was for him to discover the root of her worries, and calm her ever-heightening nerves if he could.
When Aemond was stressed, angered or oftentimes merely bored, nothing truly compared to the feeling of riding Vhagar, splitting through the air above King’s Landing to stretch her large, tattered wings. His beloved dragon appreciated the exercise in any case, restless from her days fought in wars, it was some consolation for him that flying was just as therapeutic for her as it was for him.
But when his dear mother was stressed, it was rooted in self-destruction, picking ceaselessly at her fingernails ‘til they were bloody and sore. And though he bit his tongue, not wishing to replicate the behaviour of his grandfather, sometimes it felt near impossible not to say anything, not to ask what was on her mind. So that whatever was swirling around her head with panic, could instead be shared out, and therefore less weight for her to carry.
Had Aegon done something perhaps?
Was there more trouble with Rhaenyra?
Or perhaps his father had said something to upset her, which seemed the most likely. Even in his sickly state, he was still capable of unknowing cruelty.
Even at five and ten, Aemond understood this.
His mother remained quiet, and it was not ‘til he sought out the company of his dear friend, that the truth became clear.
She had been his mother’s ward for little more than three years, and already Aemond had witnessed her enter the Keep as a clumsy, loud child and blossom into what many would consider a young woman already grown, though she was little older than Helaena.
Her age in comparison to him had never once strained their friendship. In fact, at first, when Aemond was still freshly scarred emotionally by the trauma of losing his eye, he had remembered clapping his lone eye on her and scowling, thinking of her little more than a quarrelsome child.
And, as Aegon had put it, ‘aggressively annoying’.
Which, at the time, was true enough. And yet it did not deter her from trying, Aemond would allow her the compliment of that.
She was much like him, a child created and born as a sort of secondary plan in case the first did not come to pass. A mere second daughter, and not only that, but bumped even further down the chain by her three older brothers, the eldest already wed with several children of his own. It was made abundantly clear by her own parents that she was merely another nuisance and therefore when placed into the care of the Targaryen royal family, the look of relief on their faces somewhat angered him, coupled by the manner in which they left with a goodbye that rivalled his own father’s attitude towards his children.
His empathy for her situation had drawn him to her, despite his stubbornness in wanting to pretend he did not crave friendship, especially from a girl. And her own stubbornness surprised him when he discovered she did not blindly seek the acceptance of any similar-aged child, she set her sights on Aemond alone and did not relent until eventually, he came to her instead.
He found a camaraderie with her that he had yet to find with his other siblings, feeling very much like friendship with her was more natural and spontaneous, where the ones with his family were calculated, planned and rooted in a cold necessity to keep up appearances.
Not that she cared much for appearances.
Her Septa berated her for what seemed like every other day for turning up to her needlepoint lessons with dirtied skirts and stray petals in her tangled hair, all from chasing one another through the bushes of the Keep to find some entertainment. Yet, even in the face of punishment, her smile never faltered, and insisted that it was all a bit of fun.
She somehow managed to inject her bright personality into his otherwise darkened life.
Because of her, there was beauty in everything. There was serenity in sitting in the Godswood and watching the petals settle in the breeze that ran past his neck and made him shiver. There was a startling allure when he introduced her to Vhagar for the first time and her hand ran across her darkened scales, seeing her expression lift in sheer wonder, experiencing her bewilderment as if it were the first time. And there was virtue in the innocence of their relationship, and how his heart began to swell with a childlike sense of belonging in her.
The unconditional power of her friendship he was sure was all he ever needed. In the way she always uttered, dragged away for her lessons in etiquette, but beaming at him.
‘My friendship is always yours,’ she would say, like a mantra.
‘Just as mine shall always be.’
He thought for a long while that he was the most hideous person in this world, not least since Aegon had dragged him to the brothels only a few years before. And yet when he shared a chaste kiss with her under the Weirwood tree. Clumsy and impractical and yet all magical all at once, he thought that when he was older, stronger, he would ask her to be his wife.
Aemond could feel the anxiety seeping off her as soon as he stepped into her chambers. Like she had a lot on her mind but not the courage to open her mouth and say it.
“What is it?”
His heart lurched into his chest when she lifted her head, swallowing her feelings and taking a deep, shaky breath.
“My sister has succumbed to a fever. She is dead.”
Aemond sighed, as if absorbing her grief. But when he took one step forward to comfort his friend, she shook her head, “there is more.”
Her tone of voice alone was enough to set every nerve on edge. Aemond stood as if stuck to the flagstone floor, and realised that the once clumsy, small girl he had once known was acting very much like a young woman now. Worlds apart, despite being stood before her.
“I am to honour the planned betrothal with Lord Lefford, under my father’s orders.”
It was the only moment Aemond remembered wanting to vomit with nausea, he had not felt such churning in his gut even on the day he lost his eye.
She sat, looking at him as if to gauge his reaction to the news, knowing perhaps in her own heart the feelings that were shared between them. And Aemond felt his churning nausea turn to anger, at how easily she had allowed her will to be broken by a command from her father, which in his opinion, she need not obey. She was, after all, a near half a decade younger than her sister, and the man in question older than her own father.
How could she have given up like this so easily.
“You will go through with this?”
He did not mean for his tone of voice to appear accusatory, but when he saw that wide-eyed helpless expression, he knew immediately it had.
“I can hardly argue with my father, Aemond.”
He felt his fists clench hard in his hand, fingernails creating crescent shaped indents in his flesh that reddened, his reply is stiff, “you simply act as if you have no choice in the matter.”
“Not all of us get one.”
“You cannot leave.”
“I must,” she insists, her voice breaking somewhat at the look of disappointment and betrayal on his face, “please do not make this more difficult than it already is, Aemond.”
“I am not the one making this difficult,” he replies flatly, his head throbbing with an incoming migraine, “If you are as much my friend as I am yours, you will not leave me.”
She could feel herself stepping towards him, drawn by some invisible force for comfort that he was not yet providing. She knew he could be capable of being cruel, but to be on the receiving end after all they had gone through was heart-breaking.
And though she was a year his senior, standing so small before him, she felt so much a child.
“Aemond, please-” she begged, reaching out for him and wincing when he pulled away, his brows drawn together in disgust.
“Marry him and I shall never speak to you again.”
Her hand dropped to her side as if limp, as if all life had drained from her body as well as the colour from her face. Her lip quivered, “you can't mean that.”
He looked in her eyes, the raw grief of watching her slip away filling him with an unmistakable bitterness, though for what? Her? Himself? Their friendship? He could not put it into words.
“I mean every word.”
That is the last memory he has of her, looking every bit as broken as he'd intended her to feel. In the days that followed, as her family arrived once more to steal her away, Aemond felt the gnawing grip of regret when he chose not to see her off at the courtyard, watching from his window as she scanned the space around for her good friend's presence and didn't find it.
It was then Aemond began to hate himself for every bit of cruelty enacted against her from him. Her carriage disappeared into the distance until it was nothing, leaving a pit of pain in his heart.
Not a day passed that Aemond did not at least think of her and wait for any correspondence to arrive, with his name etched into the paper in her curved, feminine handwriting.
But as he'd feared, she had taken his words to heart, and no letter ever arrived, and eventually, it felt no use counting the days and moons since he'd last seen her.
The guilt would eat away at him for years, the memory of her pained expression etched into his vision. Even as he grew into a man, it would never fully fade, though he was quick to tell himself that he shouldn’t care, that she was no longer the same girl he had loved so much, not since she chose her own fate.
In an attempt to fill the hole she'd left behind, he busied himself with the sword, intent with some level of obsession at becoming the most skilled swordsman in Westeros.
Aemond would train for hours at a time, the dull ache deep within him pushed away by the strain of sparring drills and intense workouts with the sword. Though even in the midst of training, his thoughts would always be in the back of his mind, taunting him with the guilt that he felt, the shame of how he had treated her at the end.
By itself, it was not enough, but even burying his nose in books did not blur that heavy ache. But it did not mean he could not at least try.
Which is why he sighed in annoyance as he sat by the fireplace in his chambers, a large tome opened in his lap and two knocks rapped at the door.
“Enter.”
He did not tear his attention away as the maidservant entered with a short and quick curtsy, hands clasped, “Your grace, Queen Alicent has requested your presence.”
That alone was enough to draw his attention away from his reading. His mother did not request him for a small matter.
He had wondered if perhaps Aegon had managed to slip out of the Keep again, for yet another one of his excursions into Flea Bottom, and send him to retrieve his brother.
Perhaps his mother finally thought enough time had passed and he was much of a man to suggest a marriage proposal. For some reason, the thought made him ill.
“Thank you, Ser Criston,” he heard his mother say in a muffled tone once he was announced.
Aemond raised his gaze to his mother, relieved to see her calm, and dare he say, happy.
“Aemond,” she greeted softly, her smile gentle and her touch on his arms comforting, “do not look so forlorn.”
“You wished to see me.”
“I did,” Alicent beamed, clasping her hands at her front, “Come.”
He could not help but give a puzzled expression as he walked beside his mother through the winding halls of the Keep, wondering perhaps why her behaviour was so different than usual. A sort of anxiety fed through her, but not the self-destructive kind.
“We are to receive some guests today. I would like you to greet them.”
Aemond quirked a brow, confused and somewhat annoyed in equal measure, “I am not accustomed to greeting-”
“They have travelled a long way, so remember to be courteous,” Alicent added, flashing one of her tight-lipped smiles, which only served to confuse Aemond further. His mother led him to the top of the staircase of the empty, echoing foyer and instructed quickly, “do be a gracious host, Aemond.”
He did not have a mere moment to question her, before he was watching the back of his mother disappear down the very same hallway they had just walked together. All he managed was a baffled shake of his head, as if by some miracle this was all some mad dream he had conjured. He questioned why on earth his mother would allow him to greet these esteemed guests alone, out of all her antisocial children.
But ever dutiful, he descended the stairs, hearing the low voice of Ser Westerling greeting whomever was arriving in a warm, formal tone, with their silhouettes casting blurred shadows onto the flagstone floor. Aemond’s feet were planted firmly on the step without even realising it.
This esteemed guest was no stranger to him.
Though the years had matured her gracefully, Aemond is sure he would recognise her anywhere, as she looked every bit the same as that day he regretted seeing her carriage leave King’s Landing. She stood tall, her cape fastened at her front with her house crest nestled in the middle, her dark skirts framing her womanly figure as her eyes trailed the details of the Keep that had changed since she had last been there.
Aemond stared wordlessly, the emotions so long buried resurfacing as if they had never left. His breath felt hot, his mind struggling to accept what his lone eye beheld before him. That she was here after so many years separated, in the very flesh, and yet he was unable to utter a single word.
She wandered about the space, commenting to the young woman beside her, who carried a child no older than three in her arms, how it had all looked so much larger in her youth. So he took this moment where she had not yet noticed him to look upon her with wonder, frozen entirely in place with the unexpectedness of her return. His mind raced with the thoughts of what this meeting could mean, for him, for her, and for their future; and he could not deny the strong tug of guilt in his chest for how he had treated her all those years ago, and how her renewed presence only made them more real.
Clearing his throat as he approached, the lady beside her noticed him first, “Prince Aemond,” she greeted with a curtsy, prompting her also to lay her eyes on him once more.
“Your grace,” she smiled warmly with a quick curtsy, with such a formality that made his heart ache.
He craned his head to bow lightly at her, “My Lady,” he replied with some stiffness, before gazing once more into her friendly, soft eyes and allowing his shoulders to relax, “I wondered perhaps if you would recognise me.”
Her laugh made his stomach flip, “I do not think I could ever forget you. Though I must confess, I wondered the same for myself.”
Her smile could not be described as anything less than perfect and a feeling that he harboured for her so long ago began to creep back in before he could stop it, “my Lady, I must apologise right away.”
But she shook her head, looking down at her hands, “it was a long time ago.”
He did not wish to upset her further by mentioning such an incident that had harmed his pride since, but knew that her memories of it were just as vivid as his own, “And I have not forgotten. You did what was expected for a lady in your position, and yet I was too selfish to understand that at the time. Please forgive me.”
He could not take the desperation out his tone, no matter how hard he tried. And still, she smiled sadly at his words.
“You must know that I did not wish to leave you.”
“I do,” he replied quickly, the memories of his guilt burning a hole in his throat, trying to hide the bitterness he felt towards himself, “I must confess - I have missed you greatly.”
Her hands clasped at her front, she blinked slowly and swallowed thickly, “I have missed you too.”
The silence stretched between them. Years of separation and longing had left them both yearning, but lacking the courage of knowing what to say. Aemond cleared his throat, his hands behind his back with anxiety, seeing that her ‘favoured’ husband was still not yet present.
“Are we to receive your husband as well?” he asked with some stiffness, or perhaps bitterness.
She cocked her head ever so slightly, eyebrows pulled together in confusion, until a small smile of realisation graced her features, “I regret to inform you I am recently widowed.”
In any other situation, Aemond would have been mortified at her reply. But with her smile came a rush of realisation himself, and hope swelled in his heart, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, hoping to all the gods that she could not see the way his thought ran wild in his head, and made his breeches tighten, “Widowed-”
“Indeed. I am sorry to disappoint you, my Prince. In truth, I have just come out of mourning,” she nodded, biting back another coy smile, showing in her mannerisms that it was no great loss to her.
“I am sorry for your loss, my Lady.”
She shook her head softly, “my husband left a suitable will, so that my child and I live comfortably and so there is no need for me to pursue future marriages should I not wish to.”
Her careful wording was not lost on him, and Aemond could not help the sense of glee at this new and recent change in her life, the bitter anger at having lost her to some decrepit old man years previous seemingly dissipating. And yet despite this, he attempted to keep it hidden, not wishing to seem disrespectful to her late husband.
“Might I present you my daughter,” she added, taking the child from the woman beside her into her own and resting the shy young girl on her hip. The child’s wide-eyed innocent expression unapologetically took all of Aemond in, as children often do, and he was reminded very much of his dear friend when she was small.
She was the image of her mother, save for the slightly lighter hair, with every feature of her etched into her daughter’s youthful face. And the reality of such similarities made him feel both joy and sorrow all at once.
“She is beautiful.” His voice was quiet, seeing the child in her arms was shy and reserved, unlike her mother, but thankful somewhat that her little one was not in the slightest alike to the man she had been forced to marry. Looking into the eyes of her child felt much like staring at the girl he once knew, and with that, a rush of affection.
Aemond thought, that in different circumstances, this child could have been theirs, a shared expression of their affections for one another. That all those years ago, had her father not coerced her into honouring her late sister’s betrothal, that she and Aemond would have their own children by now.
Before he could think too long, the small girl whined in her arms and she put her down immediately, the little patter of childish feet nearly had Aemond break into a grin, watching her run off with the nursemaid chasing behind.
“I am afraid she is a curious little thing. Like mother like daughter I suppose”, she smiled brightly.
Aemond nodded, the rush of memories bringing a wistful smile to his face, “Like mother like daughter,” was all he managed to reply, watching the mischievousness unfold. Yet, once the child and the nursemaid had left them alone, she chuckled softly, feeling his heartbeat slow in pace with hers.
“May I confess something to you, without fear of judgement?” Aemond asked, his heart thudding as she nodded in return, “You may think me foolish, but I must confess that my mind still lingers on the memories of our time together, and I have found no way to erase the feelings they carry with them - your return to King’s Landing has only reinforced them,” he confessed, looking into her warm gaze, “for now, when I look at you, I cannot help but feel just as I did then.”
He watched her swallow thickly, and take a deep, meaningful breath, like what she was going to say would be heavy, “and, what feelings are those, might I ask?”
His heart felt as it was beating so fast it was cracking his ribs, throat closing with anxiety. The feelings he had tried so hard to hide with a mask of bitterness now overflowing with terrifying intensity. Yet, to say such feelings out loud to her, someone he had trusted so much in his youth, made it feel all the more real. And as he stared into her eyes, he wanted nothing more than for her to share them, despite their years of absence from one another.
“That I love you - and have from the moment I met you.”
The words came out quickly, and as soon as he uttered them he felt his cheeks grow hot, knowing her response was either one way or the other and that he, a man so long disconnected from his own feelings, hiding them with his pride for so many years, was now opening up his vulnerability.
He wanted her to love him. So desperately.
She sighed quietly in relief, “I have loved you as well. And I was saddened to have left you - and will forever be vehemently sorry for that.”
Though his relief was palpable, but he shook his head first, “You were right then, and always have been, that you had no choice or opinion in the matter. Therefore, I will accept no apologies.”
Her eyes glistened with emotion at his words, and when Aemond stepped forward and took her cheek in his palm, her breath hitched in such a way he was sure they would spill forth in tears. But the strong person she had always been, she held them back.
“I feared - you would not desire me,” she confessed quietly.
Aemond smirked, “It may take more than a few years of separation to extinguish what was once there. I have loved you since that day beneath the Weirwood Tree, and I will love you until this life ends and the next one begins.”
She gave a watery smile at his sweet words, “though I have been wed once already with a child?”
He was silent for a moment as he considered her question, and not a bit of him even wondered whether it were possible, “my love is no fickle thing,” he smiled, “in time I hope I may become as close as a father to her as I may become a husband to you.”
He watched as her unshed tears formed a constellation on her eyelashes, but a relieved smile graced her delicate features. Aemond could not remember the last time he had been this close to her, able to detect the delicate scents brushed through her hair and the way her cheeks warmed at the close proximity between them, and undeniable tension.
The thought of kissing her, having her to himself, made something arousing tighten in his breeches, to his embarrassment.
He drew in a breath, leaning forward to capture her lips, but both drew back a pace suddenly.
“My Lady! Would you care to join us for supper this evening,” Alicent smiled brightly, as if knowing some great secret seeing them both stood straight and blushing. And she had to take a moment to think and stammer out her reply,
“Oh - yes, I would be delighted-”
“Wonderful! I shall see you to your chambers,” the Queen beamed, giving Aemond a sideways glance as the two women he most respected in life walked alongside one another.
He felt as if the entire evening was a true test of his will and determination. Aemond is certain Alicent meant no ill will by inviting the woman he unequivocally loved to supper with his family; but as he sat beside her, remembering how close he had been just a few hours before, it was almost as if everyone around him was aware and simply dangling the situation in front of his face.
And he cursed any god that existed that Aegon was not drowned in his cups that night, as he usually was. On this night, he was frustratingly lucid and hyper-aware.
Helaena, at first, was impartial to the sudden get-together, but as soon as she and Helaena saw one another, it was as if no time at all had passed. They were, of course, the same age when she had been his mother's ward, and as well as with Aemond, had formed a close friendship.
The princess was of course eager to catch up, and even invited her up to dance, to which she happily obliged as Aemond watched from his spot at the table. It was nice to see Helaena happy for a change.
A sorrowful thought had occurred to Aemond that both his friend and Helaena were pressured into marriages and motherhood far too young. And seeing them very much acting like young girls with one another, only exacerbated this feeling.
They talked quickly with excitement, planning to have their children meet up with one another and play in the gardens. And while they were engrossed in conversation, Aegon slid next to his brother, with a knowing smirk on his face.
“She is just as animated as I remember,” the young prince smirked, raising his eyebrows at Aemond over the rim of his cup.
“I will hear none of your depravity about her.”
Aegon threw him a faux-offended expression, “I had not even got there yet. Do you have such a low opinion of me?”
Aemond ignored him and sipped his own Dornish Red.
“You wish to marry her.”
“And you are perceptive.”
“Gods, I love it when you compliment me.”
“And insufferable.”
“What makes you think grandfather will allow you to marry her anyway? He's a dry old cunt, he will not care if you love her or not. He would have you wed to some plain-faced twat from who-knows-where.”
For one infuriatingly brief moment, Aemond had to concede that Aegon was probably right. And with one restless finger tapping against the table, he glanced over at his mother and grandfather suspiciously squished together on one end of the table, leaning towards each other and whispering in low voices, with Otto Hightower looking at his beloved friend from beneath his brow.
They were talking about her. Discussing her. And by the expression on his grandfather, analysing her.
Aemond felt his heart beat faster at the prospect that they were speaking so secretively about her without her knowledge. It seemed a stark contrast to the way the two women on the other side of the table were laughing and smiling brightly, something so rarely seen on Helaena’s face nowadays.
“She is no maiden, that is for certain. Though if you are lucky, perhaps only the first three inches of her have been tainted by Lefford’s withered old cock.”
Aemond wrinkled his nose at Aegon’s depraved quip, despite his somewhat polite request for him not too. Perhaps he’d expected too much courtesy from his elder brother. Or perhaps, more likely, with the exciting renewed presence of Lord Lefford’s widow, Aegon felt the need to perform, and exaggerate his usual unfortunate traits of his personality.
“‘Tis almost as worse as our dear sister being wed to me.”
“I am certain there is nothing worse than that,” Aemond replied quickly, behind the rim of his cup, failing to keep his gaze from forever drifting to the figure of her from across the candles and ornaments.
Aemond found himself captivated by the way she moved, the subtle grace in her gestures that spoke volumes of the woman she had become. Gone was the innocence of youth, replaced by a quiet strength and resilience that only seemed to enhance her beauty. He couldn't help but notice the way her laughter rang out like music, filling the room with warmth and light. It was a sound he had missed more than he cared to admit, a reminder of simpler times when they were just children with the world at their feet.
But now, as he watched her twirl across the dance floor with Helaena, there was something undeniably magnetic about her presence. It was as if she had blossomed into a flower, her petals unfurling to reveal a depth and complexity that left him breathless.
He attempted not to move too quickly once the festivities were over, afraid of showing her in his actions his desperation to be close to her as he offered his arm, “might I see you to your chambers, my Lady?”
She gave a shy smile that morphed into one of amusement, and Aemond is sure he felt something akin to that stomach-flipping sensation when he was flying out on Vhagar when her hand rested on the inside of his forearm, “Very well.”
Aemond chose to ignore the low snicker of his elder brother, showing him his back instead, with the woman he loved on his arm.
“You are aware I know this Keep better than I do my own home, and am perfectly capable of finding my chambers myself?” she said with a teasing lilt.
Aemond couldn't help but chuckle softly, the sound echoing in the empty corridor. "Forgive me, my Lady. It seems my chivalry gets the better of me in your presence."
Her laughter rang out, filling the silence with warmth. "Chivalry or a desire to prolong our conversation, Prince Aemond?"
He felt a surge of joy at the playful banter, grateful for the opportunity to spend even a few moments alone with her. "Perhaps a bit of both, my Lady. Though I must admit, the thought of your company is a temptation I find hard to resist."
She looked at her feet, as if to hide the rising warmth to her face, “I must confess, it is nice to once again be somewhere familiar, with the company I admire most. When my husband was alive it could often get rather lonely.”
Aemond fell quiet for a moment, swallowing thickly, trying to navigate his feelings in the midst of a difficult situation, “I hope that he was kind to you.”
She glanced up at him, her eyes revealing a depth of gratitude that stirred something within him. "He had his moments," she admitted with a small smile, "but kindness was not his strongest suit. Still, I suppose I cannot fault him entirely. He provided for me in his own way."
Aemond could sense the underlying weight in her words, the unspoken struggles she had endured beneath the facade of mere cordiality. He didn't need to ask to know that her late husband had been less than supportive.
"You deserve far more than just provision, my Lady," he said earnestly, his gaze unwavering as he spoke.
Aemond could almost feel his heart sink as he had realised they were stood before her chamber doors, her hand slipping from his arm, and yet a fire stoking fierce then at the thought of an invitation inside.
She clasped her hands delicately, her warm eyes meeting his with a gentle intensity. "I couldn't help but notice Queen Alicent and the Lord Hand engaged in such ceaseless conversation," she remarked, her voice soft and thoughtful. "I do not wish to presume—"
Aemond, catching the subtle implication in her words, swiftly interjected, "I cannot claim to know their exact sentiments." His gaze met hers, offering reassurance without a hint of desperation. "But I refuse to allow something as trivial as their approval to deter me. I've already endured the pain of losing you once."
There was a quiet determination in his voice, a resolve that mirrored the fire in her own eyes. In that moment, they shared an unspoken understanding, a mutual agreement to pursue their feelings despite the potential obstacles that lay ahead.
She nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Your courage is admirable, Prince Aemond. But we must proceed cautiously. The court is a web of intricate politics, and our actions could have far-reaching consequences."
Her words were crafted in such a way that reminded him of her personality in their youth, understanding of the repercussions and yet boldly standing tall in the face of them. And with her small, mischievous smile, he knew all the same that whatever she uttered was only done so to extend her cordiality.
"I understand," he replied, his tone tinged with determination. "But I cannot ignore what my heart tells me."
"Nor can I," she admitted softly, her gaze meeting his with a mixture of vulnerability and resolve.
Silence settled between them for a moment, the weight of their unspoken desires hanging in the air. Then, with a subtle shift in her demeanour, she turned towards her chamber door. Without a word, she reached out and gently pushed it open, leaving it ajar. A silent invitation hung in the air, enticing Aemond to step inside.
Aemond's heart skipped a beat as he watched her gesture, his pulse quickening with anticipation. Without hesitation, he took a step forward, drawn irresistibly towards the open door and the promise of privacy within.
With a shared glance filled with unspoken understanding, Aemond turned towards her chamber doors, crossing the threshold into the privacy of her chambers, where their hearts could speak freely without the constraints of the outside world.
She spoke quietly, her face illuminated warmly by the soft flicker of candlelight. "I hope you do not think less of me for this," she murmured, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "You can imagine, for me there is no great ceremony in it."
Aemond's heart swelled with tenderness at her words, his gaze filled with an understanding that transcended mere words. "I could never think less of you," he replied softly, his voice brimming with sincerity.
Aemond slowly closed the distance between them, their expressions never wavering, his steps deliberate yet gentle. He reached out, his hand cupping her face tenderly, as he gazed into her eyes with an intensity that spoke of his deep affection. In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them suspended in a timeless embrace. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across their intertwined figures, bearing witness to the union of two souls bound together by love and longing.
Her lips parted to whisper, “I do not wish for you to do all of this out of guilt-”
She caught herself when his thumb traced her cheek, waiting for him to answer, “I do not make this bid out of remorse. I wish to be with you, and I wish to make you mine.”
Aside from the crackling heat of the fire within the hearth, her breath was all that was audible between them, coming heavier from between her lips as his thumb feathered down her cheek and to her bottom lip, caressing the skin there. After that, he felt her eyelashes against his cheek flutter when he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers with a tenderness usually unbecoming of his personality.
Years of longing had each of them pressing closer to each other, lost in the sound of their soft kisses, and Aemond felt his clothing below his waist become tight with need once he caressed her tongue with his and pried her lips apart like the petal of a flower and tasting the sweet nectar within.
Her hands that had found his shoulders slid over the sleek leather to his front, tenderly and gingerly pulling the buckles apart to loosen his doublet. Her actions, instead of spurring embarrassment, renewed a deep-rooted vigour beneath, and Aemond’s new task was to pull at the laces of her dress behind her, and pull the fabric that had hidden her body from him.
He felt her shiver, pulling the heavy dress from her shoulder to pool at her waist, pushing them as fervently off her as he was able, “was he at least good to you,” Aemond asked in a whisper, his breath hot at her neck while she pulled at the laces of his breeches.
“I do not wish to speak of him,” she answered with determination and confidence, but a breathless, wanton whisper herself, wanting nothing more than to consummate years of harboured affections masked by friendship, “I only want you.”
Her words had his heart stutter in his chest, pulling her now almost bare form atop him as he sat back onto the bed, with her hair loosened like this and her shoulders blossoming with gooseflesh, he found that he was incapable of keeping his hands at his sides and explored the shape of her feminine body beneath the shift she wore.
Even the sheer motion of her brushing against his hardened member and her breasts filling his palms could have been enough for Aemond, but there was no returning at this point. She sighed against his lips as his fingers dipped beneath the hem of her shift to ruck the thin fabric up around her hips, squeezing the flesh of her thighs to pull her closer onto his lap.
Warmth bloomed at her cheeks, but it did not deter her as she reached between them and smiled at Aemond’s loud moan, stroking his rapidly hardening length in her palm, focussing her attention towards the velvety tip.
She lifted herself in his lap, fingers threaded at the hair at his nape as if to anchor herself to him, and both sighed with the utmost relief of their union once he pressed himself into her, and she sank her warmth onto him, enveloping him with her body. Her lips parted at the stretch, somewhat prepared and yet the intrusion still stealing the air from her lungs.
Foreheads pressed together, Aemond's hands gripped her at her waist, pushing his hips up into her as hard as he could to sink deeper inside her, “I have dreamt of this - for so long - being with you like this -”
A faint sheen glimmered on her collarbones as she slowly moved her hips on him, Aemond's legs parted somewhat, widening hers and opening her up more so he could rock up into her with her rhythm. The closeness of their position had the blunt head of his cock massage that sensitive patch within, her eyebrows knitted together in sweet pleasure.
“That's it -” he cooed quietly, almost watching the way she moved with admiration and curiosity, her tight, silky walls squeezing his length with every thrust of herself down. He felt her arousal coat the base of him, and the sound of their ever-quickening coupling filled the otherwise quiet chambers.
She held onto his shoulders, the amber glow of the fireplace picturing her expression in the most arousing way Aemond had ever imagined. Pulling her shift down her chest, he groaned lowly at the sight of her breasts and took one in his palm and mouthed at the other, taking her stiffened nipple between his lips in a way that made a shuddering moan slip past her lips.
“Gods - I would adore to watch you swell with my child - would you like that -”
All she could do was nod feebly, words unable to occupy her mouth where soft, sweet sounds of pleasure were pouring out. Aemond smirked, grazing his teeth over her bud.
“yes, you would like to serve your husband - give him children, wouldn't you - fuck-” his voice strained at the effort it took to hold himself back, his hands sliding down the column of her back to her plump backside, palms gripping tight and guiding her rhythm onto him, over and over.
She moaned loudly, the motion of being pulled back and forth and yet still impaling herself on him driving the fat head of his cock into the deepest and most forbidden parts of her.
“Aemond -”
“And once you have one - I'll fuck yet another one into you - keep you fat with child” his breathing grew ragged and shaky, “- take it - like a good little wife should-”
“Yes - yes-” she breathed quickly, the words slipping out without realising what they were for, her blind acceptance of being his wife, or the rising waves of pleasure coursing white, hot through her body.
He felt her squeezing him and hastened both of her rhythms, dragging her back into his lap and pushing up into her wet heat ceaselessly. Both the numbing ache of her peak and her bud rolling against his body in quick succession had her hands gripping around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck as her limbs flooded with warmth.
“That's it, ābrazyrys -”
“Gods, Aemond-” she squeaked, completely overcome and possessed by the heights of pleasure rolling through her, the endless rhythm of him fucking up into her only prolonging it.
Her tight walls squeezed him so deliciously that Aemond's heart leapt into his throat, completely surprised as he pulsed thickly and spilled within her, his lone eye tightly shut. His own fulfilment had his hips twitching, shallowly pushing his seed into her, and hoping that it took.
Even once he was completely spent and exhausted, softening inside her, neither moved, and he simply felt her tender fingertips at his shoulders in light soft circles, massaging him. And thought, that this is how it always should have been, had he fought for her.
Her breath fluttered against his skin, herself tired in exertion from their shared pleasure.
“I was a fool - for allowing you to slip from my grasp.”
She sat up, to look down at him, her face flushed, hair in messy waves, looking every bit as beautiful as the day he'd lost her.
But she smiled, her finger tracing the pattern impressed on the leather of his eye patch, “you may have been a fool,” she started.
Her finger hooked beneath it, and lifted it away, her expression unchanged as her thumb stroked the indent of the scar at his cheek. Aemond felt his heart soar in a way that almost felt terrifying.
“I never slipped from your grasp,” she uttered gently, “my heart was always yours.”
Aemond brushed her hair from her features, her words sending waves of ecstasy thrumming in his veins.
“Just as mine shall always be.”
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