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targaryenrealnessdarling · 3 months

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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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youraverageaemondsimp · 7 months

Text

DÉPAYSEMENT // xi.

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut, fingering, p in v sex, tiddy succin, nipple play, fluff and angst, feelings of helplessness, anxiety(?). + not proofread A/N: HERE Y'ALL GO!! sorry for the slow ass updates it's just been so hard to write since I had writers block hit me in the face with multiple stressful situations irl as well. <;- <- prev // next ->

masterlist.

“Aemond?”

You question as soon as you open your eyes, waking up due to sunrays hitting your face, hand searching for the side of his bed only to find it empty, this causes you to jolt awake and sit up suddenly.

You sigh out of relief finding him sitting near the table, he seemed to be surprised by your sudden rise, looking at you with concern in his eye.

Lately you've been having terrible visions.

Of him dying.

Losing in the battle.

You're not sure if they hold any meaning, but they are extremely vivid, detailed, almost like a memory, you swore it was if you witnessed his in person.

But the only thing, is that they were not repetitive.

Each and every vision showed a different outcome, in some, Aemond would try and dodge his uncles attack, only for him to slip and fall into the waters below.

In some, he would successfully kill his uncle, but caraxes would end up attacking him, resulting in vhagar to fight it, and then they all end up falling in the water.

In one vision, where he successfully escaped without dying, vhagar is the injured one, unable to fly on her wings anymore and then plummet down into the water with aemond on her back.

Though the death was different, they all ended the same.

Him falling into the water.

You were scared.

“Ñuha rūklon (my flower), are you alright?” his question retreats you from your thoughts, and you swallow heavily nodding, not knowing what to say.

And before Aemond could converse any further, there was a guard knocking before entering and announcing that Queen Alicent had requested Aemond's presence in the small council.

He frowns, wondering what has happened now.

He gets ready to leave, composing himself and making sure his attire was appropriate before kissing you and leaving.

A habit he had developed, though it be for even the smallest things.

And now you were left to deal with the loneliness, and instead of dwelling on those dreams and visions, you got yourself up and had the maids dress you up, wearing a dress with a color that compliments the sapphire valyrian steel necklace aemond had gifted not to long ago.

Your fingers graze the sapphires as the maid places it on your neck, hooking it in behind to secure it, the sapphires were cool to the touch and calming, it had been the only piece of jewelry you'd wear nowadays, developing an unexplainable attachment to it.

You sigh in content as the maids do your hair, partly braiding it and brushing through the rest. You decided you wanted to go to the library and read today, instead of going on a walk to the gardens.

And so here you were in the library, reading through the contents of the books, history books to be exact, and you did not know how many hours had passed, you found this one particular book had no markings, nor a title, and just began reading the doom valyria.

And as you got through the contents, reaching to where it was recorded that Rhaenys was De-inherited by the small council and how Viserys was the one to get the throne you boiled with rage, but still continued reading.

It's not like you never read the history before, but these were in much more detail of what happened, since it's only been a few years since the events occurred, and you expected the book to end there, but it didn't, and it kept going.

Until you reached the page titled, the dance of the dragons.

What?

You skimmed through the contents, shaking as they were in exact detail of what went on, even recording Aemond's visit to harrenhal.

And then you flipped the pages once more.

Your heart dropped.

“Aemond Targaryen fell into the waters of the God's eye, his body was found in the depths of the water, along with vhagar.”

No.

No. No. No.

This can't be it.

“Daemon Targaryen has allegedly fallen as well, though his body was never found, except his dragon, Caraxes, only his body was found near the shore.”

You let out a sob.

“Y/N?” you heard Aemond's voice and looked up from the book, tears welling up in your eyes, dropping the book off your lap and immediately going to hug him.

Crying onto him, clinging to his body as you let out loud sobs.

“What has happened, Ñuha rūklon?” he asks, caressing the back of your head, comforting you.

“Don't go.” you mutter.

“Hmm? Don't go where?” he asks and you pull back, sniffing, he holds your face with both of his hands, tilting your head to look up at him, wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“To harrenhal, to God's eye, to fight your uncle.” you say and he frowns, “You won't survive.” you tell him and he shakes his head, “I know I will.” he says firmly, “I have a plan.”

“Aemond please, you won't make it out alive- you're doomed to fall into the waters, you're going to fucking die and I won't want to lose you!” you scream, voice echoing through the library and his face darkens.

“It will put an end to the war.” he says sternly, withdrawing his hands from your face, “I will not die, I will return to you, it is a promise.” and tears fall further from your eyes, “Please, Aemond.” you beg him.

“This is the only way, I was informed that my uncle had been terrorizing the locals of riverrun, asking for me, not knowing I had returned to the keep, and I have to leave on the morrow, before he does any further damage.” he tells you and your breath hitches in your throat, panic arising in your throat.

Is this how it's meant to be?

Was his death inevitable from the beginning?

Why were you bought here then?

You feel his warm lips press against your forehead, hand on your head, caressing the hair, and you stare at him, “I-”

“Shh. Don't. It is my promise to you.” he shushes you before you speak anything, holding your hand and leading you out of the library, taking you to his chambers.

The pages of the book, that was on the floor, flipped as the wind blew against it, and the text in the book flickered and altered, its contents changing, but you didn't stay long enough to see that happen.

You would never know what was actually written in it, and the book disappears into thin air.

The walk back to his chamber was painfully slow, though he was dragging you and walking swiftly, the world around you moved slowly as you tried to process what had just happened.

But then you realised one thing.

You were never mentioned after the fact that you were a mistress he took in.

Is this because your role was small? You had not really contributed to the war besides being with Aemond and telling him the future, and nobody knew that you were from the future too.

Why were you even bought here in the first place?

If it was truly your fate to save them, that wouldn't have been written in the books, which means you failed to do your job.

“Aemond.” you call out to him as soon as he shuts the door behind you, after entering his chambers.

Will there be another way?

“Aemond,” you call out once again and he turns to look at you, “Please-”

“Enough.”

You immediately shut your mouth, biting your inner cheek, you sigh in defeat, shaking your head and turning away from him.

You feel him wrap his arms around you, nose nuzzled into your neck, breathing in your scent, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I know you're worried, but trust me. I have a plan.” he tries reassuring you, but the dreams and the text combined has made you lose any further hope.

“Can I come with you?” you ask, turning to face him.

“To harrenhal?” he questions and you nod, “I want to be with you, Aemond.” you tell him and he thinks about it for a moment.

“You'll be in danger.” he replies, “It doesn't matter.” you intersect. “I can't put you in danger.” he sighs, “Then don't fight.”

“I need to put an end to this, killing him will weaken rhaenyra to the point she has no other choice but to surrender.” he explains to you.

“Then take me with you.” you try to bargain.

He closes his eye, sighing frustration, he grabs you by your shoulders, firmly and tightly holding them, “I can't, I'm sorry.” he apologizes.

You go silent, unable to do anything.

Will he truly survive?

He notices your silence, and his hand cups the side of your face, tilting your head upwards, he leans down, connecting your lips with his in a passionate kiss, you close your eyes, basking in this momentary of false calmness and kiss him back, wrapping your hands around his neck, deepening the kiss, while his other hand wraps around your waist.

You pull away slightly, taking a breath before reconnecting your lips with his, but this time more wildly and fiercely, moving with hunger, his grips on your waist tightens, pulling you flush against his body as the hand on your cheek travels to the back of your head, tugging on your hair as he returns the kiss with the same amount of hunger.

He pulls away, breathing heavily before picking you up and throwing you on the bed, hiking up your skirts and holding your legs apart, causing your core to be revealed to him.

The cool air causes you to shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin.

You push yourself up the bed, giving space for him to join you and so he does, climbing onto it with his knees, his hands travel to your bodice, pulling the material, causing you to loosen up and spill your breasts out.

He grabs them with both his hands, squeezing them, the small amount of flesh spilling from in between his fingers, causing you to gasp as they feel extremely sensitive, his thumbs graze your nipples, and then he leans down, to take your breast in his mouth, suckling on the nipple.

His tongue flicks up and down the bud, before he engulfs it entirely, making lewd sucking noises and you moan, hand tangling in his hair as you push him further. His other hand plays with your nipple, twirling it in between his index and thumb finger, before he pulls meanly while simultaneously biting your other nipple, making you squirm and shut your eyes tightly.

He leaves your breast with a pop, and his hand moves down towards your core, and he sighs in content when he finds it wet, he brings the wetness up towards your clit and rubs slightly and you buck your hips involuntarily.

His movements are painfully slow, almost as if he's trying to torture you, you sit up on your elbows, giving you view of what he was doing to your cunt, you watch as he dips his fingers down and prods at your entrance, pushing one finger inside, and you throw your head back at that.

His mouth finds your breast again, and you feel him insert another finger inside before pumping them in and out, and curling them upwards from time to time, you gasp when as his thumb presses against your clit, amplifying your pleasure, and soon you can feel the familiar band tighten in your lower abdomen.

You let out a loud moan of his name as you reach your peak, and his mouth leaves your breast, muttering a small 'fuck' as he pulls fingers out.

He undoes his breeches with one of his hand and climbs on top of you, he wraps his cock with the same hand that was fingering you and smudges your juices all over himself, pumping his hand up and down to find some relief as he was painfully hard.

You spread your legs wider to accommodate him, and he uses that to insert his cock into your cunt and you whine at the delicious stretch he's providing, almost feeling as though he was splitting you in half, he sighs in content as he pushes himself further inside, until he's your cunt is fully engulfing him.

He draws his hips back before pushing them forwards, thrusting into you, causing you to jolt up the bed as his hair curtaining around your face, you hold his face and pull him in for a kiss, all the while he thrusts into you.

He pulls away and changes position, settling on his knees, he grabs you by your hips and pulls you on to him, before he thrusts in like a wild animal.

“You're so fucking beautiful like this.” he groans when he watches your face, looking up at him innocently as you whimper and whine, all while the act that was happening was anything but innocent.

And soon you can feel his thrusts grow sloppy, indicating that he is near, his hands moves over to your clit before he pulls and pinches it and rubs it with fervent speed, the band in your stomach tightens once again and you peak, back arching, a loud moan falling from your lips.

He spills himself inside you with a grunt, his eye closing at the pleasure of his own peaking coursing through his body.

He stays like that for a while, before finally pulling out and lays next to you, pulling you close into his arms.

Your eyes automatically started drooping as you felt tired, Aemond pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I will return to you, my love.”

“It is my promise.”

———

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lyraoftheevergreens · 25 days

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More To Love

Daemon Targaryen x Plus-size Wife

Daemon Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Smut! Minors do not engage! NSFW

Summary: His wife y/n Stark is beginning to feel insecure as she continues to gain wait with each child she bares him. He is the only one who can comfort his sobbing wife when they are forced to return to Kings Landing for a name day celebration for the princess.

Authors note: I suck at summaries. I wish I could just put “Daemon fucks the sad away. Like the good husband he is.” From one big girl to the next I hope you all enjoy this <3

Warnings: smutty smut smut, oral female receiving, p in v, Self degradation, Minor spelling and grammar errors. Semi edited

Word count: 2,280

Daemon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, wielder of dark sister, rider of Caraxes, father to Baelon II, Aenar, Naerys, Aelor, Rhaena and Elaena. Husband to Y/n Stark. He married you when his brother ascended the throne, while it was no secret your family, house Stark, supported Rhaenys is claim to the throne. Your father had you marry Daemon to hopefully stop any retribution from there vote against Viserys. While your marriage was one of political duty it didn’t stop you from loving him nor he loving you. You left the north to join him in Kings landing, where you were to wed. You were just as wild as him, nothing was ever gonna stop him from falling in love with you. You had the distinct Stark characteristics of long brown hair and grey eyes. He could stare into your eyes for the rest of his life 8 years of marriage and already the two of you had 6 children and possibly another on the way. The two of you had decided it would be better to raise your children at Dragonstone without the input of others after having your first two, as well as the murmurs and rumors. You received much judgement for choosing to nurse your children rather than a wet nurse do it. It also didn’t help that you allowed your children to share the bed with you Daemon. People of the court were constantly murmuring about your family and they way you and Daemon are raising your children. They thought it repulsive that your children sleep in marital bed. It’s not as if you perform marital acts with your children present, they were far from any of that when it occurred. Then you became pregnant with Naerys, once you began to show the murmuring became worse. “How could they let there children sleep in such filth, now this child will have to sleep in it to.” “And the king allows this to happen in his castle.” “Have you heard, the dress makers had to make her new gowns again.” “How could the prince lay with someone so large.” “I suppose he has no problem lying with someone of her size when he lay with whores.” “I would not be surprised should he return to the pleasure houses, one could only lay with cattle for so long.”

Once you told Daemon what you had heard the two of you were gone to Dragonstone taking all your belongings and staff and you left. You and Daemon made sure the lust for one another would never die as you two continued to grow your family. Taking you on caraxes to Essos, leaving your children in the care of their maids. Or simply slipping into other bed chambers of the castle (empty ones, you two weren’t one to fuck on other people’s beds), or the beaches of Dragonstone to spend alone time together.

The king called for a feast to celebrate Rheanyra’s 13th name day. Daemon decided to leave for Kings Landing on Caraxes to ensure your rooms were prepared in time for your arrival with the children. Naerys is the oldest of your girls and most stubborn, like her father, refused to go on the ship with you and her siblings. Both you and Dameon felt it wasn’t a good idea for a child of only 5 years to fly on her own on via dragon back. Ultimately you and Daemon decided to allow her to fly with him on Caraxes. You knew your husband would protect your daughter with his entire life. He strapped her to him to ensure if she fell asleep she was still safe with him. He made sure to help you and the children on to the ship and to see you all off before leaving himself with Naerys. Your children loved seeing there father leave on Caraxes, they flew a bit to close to the ship causing it to rock knocking your boys to the floor, they laid there for a moment causing you to laugh as well as you held on to the knight your husband had assigned to you for the trip, Ser Ander.

Once arrived at the Kings Landing port you were met with your husband and daughter. Your daughter ran into your arms and told you how amazing flying on Caraxes was. Your boys told their father how much they enjoyed Caraxes rocking the ship and how they can’t wait for there dragons to be able to rock ships. You all left in a carriage to the Red Keep, and once arrived you were greated by Viserys, Aemma and Rhaenyra.

“Y/n, we are so glad you and the children have arrived safely.” Greated Viserys with a smile as he hugged you.

“Thank you your grace, we thank you for your invitation.”

“Please Y/n, you are my good sister, call me Viserys.”

“I will try my best, Viserys.”

“Aemma, how are you?”

“I’m quite lovely. Your self?” She asked as she rubbed her bump, you hadn’t known she was with child again.

“Lovely as well. Rhaenyra, how have you been as of late? Are you excited for the celebration?”

“I am, thank you.”

The exchange between Rhaenyra, Aemma and you felt strange in whole. You feel them judge you from their looks. You had put on a considerable amount of weight from the last time you were in kings landing and you could tell they judged you for it. While Aemma had been with child just as many times as you, you had the weight gain to show for it as she did not.

“Come let me show you to our rooms.” Daemon must have felt your unease as he thankfully interrupts the awkward exchange. The twins were to sleep with you and Daemon and the boys and Naerys in the chambers next yours and Dameon’s. Once alone you began to speak freely to Daemon.

“She’s with child once more? Poor Aemma, I pray that this babe is healthy.”

“Yes it’s quite tragic. I remember the two of you always being with child around the same time.”

“Yes, and that’s why it saddens me because we have 5 beautiful children they have one.”

“I know my dear-“ Daemon was interrupted by your children running in. Your youngest boy running behind being only 3 years of age.

“Kepa! Look they have it here! Aenar show him!” With that your second son hands his father his favorite Valyrian dragon book. All your children loved when Daemon would read to them.

“Yes there are plenty of books, perhaps we can go to the library on the morrow.”

“Yes!” Your children were so excited. They loved their father so much and it helped that he was a good one at that. Always reading to them, taking them to tend to there dragons and teaching them how to wield a sword (wooden sword).

The day had turned to night and you were nursing both twins when your husband had entered the room after seeing your other children to bed. “They are all asleep.”

“Oh good, thank you my love.” You thanked your husband and he walked over and kissed your forehead before sitting in the chair across from where you sat on the bed. He watched as you nursed his children and something began to stir inside him. Once done he took one babe and you the other and placed them in the children’s bed the maids had put in the room for the twins to sleep with you and Daemon. You had both drifted off the sleep, your head on Daemons chest and his arm around your shoulders holding you to him.

You woke the next morning feeling bloated and nauseous. The fact that none of your clothes were fitting quite right didn’t help either. You had not bled for two moon cycles now. A part of you suspected you were with child once more but you wanted to believe it wasn’t true. Daemon had entered the room after taking the boys and Naerys to the training yard, finding you sat on the floor crying.

“What has happened ñuhon dōna ābrazȳrys?”

(My sweet wife)

“Daemon.” You choked out in between sobs. He went to the floor with you holding you into his chest. “I’m with child. Again.”

“This is amazing!” Daemon said kissing your forehead.

“Tis not. I’m going to get wider, my skin will have more marks.”

“Yes but you always get smaller again. And I have scars on my body do you not love me?”

“Of course I love you, but your scars are from battle, mine are from the stretching of my skin.”

“Your skin that covers your body. Your body that grows our babes. Our children.”

“Daemon admit it. I do not get smaller, with each babe I birth I do not shrink back down in size. I will never be the size I was when we wed.”

“That is perfect for me. 6 children you have given me, soon 8-“

“There are no more twins growing in my womb.”

“We will see.” He says with a smirk. “I do not care for your size. Just means there is more to love. You are my wife, my wolf, my life and I love you. I love the marks on your skin, it’s proof that you birth my heirs, my children.”

“My marks can be hidden with gowns Daemon. With each child I birth I go up in size. I have birthed 6 children, soon to be 7 and I’m already in need of larger garments. I am huge, I’m ugly.” You sat on the floor crying into your husband’s chest when he speaks up. “I will not have you talking about my wife like this.” He picks you up with ease from the floor and toss you on to the bed. “Daemon!” You shout his name. “No, this is my wife you are discussing. Mother to my children. I will not have you slander her so.” He rips your night shift off you and you lay there bare before him. He is now on top of you and you begin to cover your growing breast when he grabs your wrist and pins them above your head, he holds them there with one hand. He kisses the palms of your hands,” these hands care for our children, they care for me, massaging parts of my aching muscles.” Kissing down both your arms. “These arms hold and comfort our children. They wrap around me at night with love, and sometimes pleasure.” He then takes one of your breast in his mouth, flicks the bud of your breast with his tongue while his free hand massages the other, he then repeats the same releasing you from his mouth to say,” these breast that kept and continue to keep our babes fed, these breast that I worship so, I thank the gods every time they grow larger.” He covers your growing abdomen in kisses,” this, this is where our babes grow, you keep them safe inside you. Our proof of the love we have for each other, proof of my love for you in the children we create.” He lowers his head between your legs and flicks your pearl with his tongue. He licks a big stripe up your core as he stays between your legs for quite sometime your a moaning mess when he releases you,” this cunt that squeezes my cock tight, that births our children,” he kisses down your legs, his hands now gripping your thighs, “these I love to hold apart while I have you screaming with pleasure while I devour you, to prevent you from squeezing my head with them. Your legs though that run to our children at the first cry. I love every part of you, small or big, you are my wife and I will worship every part of you.” With that he brings his mouth back to your pearl and uses his fingers to thrust in and out of you, his free hand massaging your breast. “Daemon please.”

“Please what my sweet wife.”

“Your cock, please.”

“As you wish ābrazȳrys.” With in second Daemons fingers were replaced with his thick, hard member thrusting into you at a pace that had you seeing stars, you moaned in pleasure as he fucked into you. “Keep moaning my sweet girl, let the whole castle know your husband makes you feel this good. Let them know how I worship you so.”

“Yes, Yes! Daemon.” You screamed and moaned for him, giving yourself away to the pleasure your husband gave you.

“Yes my dear, release your self on my cock, my good girl.” With that you were a moaning screaming mess as you reached your release, your nails clawed at his back, as you wiggled under him in pleasure, he fucked you through your release eventually reaching his own from feeling your cunt flutter around his cock. He growled into your shoulder as his seed filled you. He pulled out of you after a moment and layed next to you pulling you into him. His hand grabbing your ass and striking his palm to it,”I almost forget, this,” he grabbed,”this I absolutely love, I love to feel my stones smack against it as I fuck your sweet cunt. Or when I take you from behind I get to watch it shake as I pound into you.”

“Daemon!”

“What! It’s true! I love every part of you y/n. You are my wife, no matter your size i will worship you till I draw my last breath.

“I love you too.” You kiss his chest and he speaks once more. “Truly I thank the gods everyday for your growing tits and ass. I suppose it’s true what they say, you don’t know that something is missing from your life until you have it.”

“I assume in this case it’s tits and ass?”

“Not just any, your tits and ass my sweet wife.”

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astrumark · 1 year

Text

── GIVE ME THAT LITTLE BIT OF SATISFACTION ★.

PAIRING: aemond targaryen x female reader.

SUMMARY: aemond needs your assistance after a battle, in more ways than one.

WARNINGS: blood, curse words, smut with plot, use of coconut oil as lube, hand-job, p in v, tits sucking, multiple orgasms, creampie, a hint of sub aemond? oops? :3

WC: 5.3K

NOTES: obviously this is my take on what happened after rook's rest. the show's approach next year will definitely be different. but it's fun working with the book's events and its lack of minor details (you can fill it in however you wish!).

Your eyes flutter open with a jump, a firm hand gripping your shoulder. You didn't remember when you had fallen asleep, or what hour it was, but certainly wasn't the time for your shift yet. It takes a few seconds for your cloudy vision to focus on where you were, now noticing the older servant in front of you, and you look at her dazedly.

"The prince has just arrived, and requests your presence," Annabel explains.

Aemond. Immediate relief washes over you as your face softens. "Very well."

You leave the servants' quarters as fast as you can after fixing your appearance, and as you walk through the halls, you notice the castle is way too agitated. Tension and seriousness ripple in the air, and you start to feel uneasy as well, mind fumbling with numberless possibilities.

It's one of the gold cloaks that finally speaks a little louder, talking fervently about the victory of the greens at the battle of Rook's Rest. It had been quite a few days since their army had marched, and news was often shared about their progression. Usually, you tend to avoid it, since most of it makes you feel sick in your stomach.

Besides the armored man, there is no more commemoration or sense of victory. Not on this side of the castle, at least. Lords were probably planning on throwing banquets, but people like you are too aware of the damages of the war, and how at the end of the day the smallfolk suffer the most. Countless common people would die in the name of greedy royalty that know no limits to their ambition, families ruined beyond repair, a ravaging hunger was plaguing the poorest, and the coffers would soon be emptied, money being spent on battles other than improving the realm and making life easier. It's obvious how no good could ever come regardless of the result of the war.

You find Annabel again, shouting order after order, the middle-aged woman was the one in charge of the servants for a good while now and was a reliable source of information.

"What happened?" You approach her.

"A lot happened, child." Her tone is somber.

"Did someone die?" What a foolish question. Not just someone, but hundreds.

"The queen who never was and her dragon."

You grimace, reminiscing about the princess back when she was visiting the Red Keep. Although such casualties are expected during the war, it is still difficult to grasp that the imposing woman is dead. It's fearful how one's life could be ripped from them so suddenly. A paralyzing concern floods you. Aemond being back does not mean he is unharmed.

"Has the prince been hurt?" Your voice falters, your heart pounding with fear.

Annabel's gaze flickers to your face, and you could see her disapproval, almost making you wish to recoil. But she would never say a thing about your unusual closeness with the prince, being unlike her to intrude in personal affairs. You are aware she doesn't like Aemond or any of the royals, but then again very few did. You have grown to understand it was not only because of his eye, or lack thereof, but because he simply did not inspire sympathy. Aemond is stoic, defensive, and difficult to relate to. You were only one of the very few lucky enough to know better.

"The prince is fine," Annabel says and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. "However, it is said the king is in critical condition, it is not known if he will recover, and his dragon is unable to fly, one of his wings was damaged during the fight."

You gasp, in your slumber you have forgotten about the man, not being concerned about him in the slightest. Anyhow, you feel your mind almost melting as you process the shocking news and the aftermath of it. If the king were to perish, that means Aemond would be regent until his nephew is of ideal age. Seven. "Poor Sunfyre."

Annabel tries to scold you, but the amusement behind her blue eyes is hard to conceal. "You are pitying the dragon, not the king?"

"Well, people have the free will of choice, and are aware of the consequences their actions might have… a dragon can only obey their rider's command, isn't it right?"

"We cannot say. These magical creatures are beyond our comprehension."

You ponder. "That is true."

After the quick conversation, you make your way to one of the huge kitchens, assuming the prince would probably fancy a bath. Warming up buckets of water, you carry them to Maegor's Holdfast with the help of three other servants.

A strong smell of blood and smoke fills your nose as you enter his quarters, and your eyes widen. The expensive rug is stained and marked by large boots, and even more astounding is the prince's appearance.

Aemond is lounging on a chair close to his study table. His face and hair are covered by blood, ash, and dirt, and splatters of dried blood stains his black and gold armor. His braids are loose, and you can even notice some twigs tangled in his silver strands. However, the prince's hands are the most distressing, gloves discarded at some point and almost fully covered by the red liquid. With a frown, you deduce it must be from his brother's injury. He looks haunting, almighty, and ruthless. There's a scowl on his face, though his eyes seem perturbed.

You notice how the servants' hands seem to tremble slightly as they pour the water into the bathtub in the next room, their eyes never daring to look up while adding some essential oils and chamomile herbs to the water as well, however, you cannot share their fear. All you wish to do is reach out and comfort him. Leaving one of the buckets outside the bathroom, you can see from the corner of your eyes the one-eyed man dismissing the other servants with a wave of a hand, and they seem eager to oblige. You kneel in front of him.

"I am glad you are well," You squeeze his knees. "And tremendously sorry for your brother."

Aemond does not respond, and his gaze is piercing as he stares at you as if memorizing each detail of your face. You don't look away either, a comfortable but powerful silence pairing between the two of you. His fingers slowly graze your cheek, and you do not mind the blood, eyes closing with the delicate caress.

"Help me undress, will you?"

You nod, aware he was never one to talk in deep about his emotions and thoughts, to allow himself to be vulnerable. Nonetheless, you've been noticing this quietness getting worse ever since Storm's End, and although concerned, you would not push him. Especially because you weren't even aware of the extent of your relationship. That he has a certain tenderness for you is clear, but the amount of liberties you could take with the royal is not as much.

Carefully undoing his heavy armor, the pieces fall to the ground with a whump, and the clothes underneath are a lot easier to deal with. His defined body slowly comes into view, a few goosebumps arising on his bare skin with the sudden lack of materials. Aemond's nakedness is of no surprise to you, though you could never help but admire him. Grabbing a cloth you wet it in the bucket nearby and start to clean his face first, hoping to get rid of the thicker layers of dirt before starting the bath.

Your touch is light, afraid to harshly rub any scratches, big or small. "Are you hurt in any way?"

Aemond shakes his head. "None of the blood is mine," He says. "It's from the princess and my brother, and their dragons. I believe some from Lord Staunton and his garrison as well."

You shudder with discomfort and drift your attention to cleaning his hands, the cloth immediately being painted red, you discard it for another as you move to the other hand. You've always enjoyed tending to him.

His hair comes next, and you take off his eyepatch. Undoing the braids is quick, long accustomed to it, though his strands are now sticking and smelling terribly, like a pan that spent too much time on fire, simply nose scrunching and suffocating. Aemond moves his head side to side with a growl after you are done, the bones of his neck cracking.

The prince sighs pleasantly as he enters the tub, and you grab a bowl to wet his hair. The silver strands get soaped quickly as you massage his scalp with both hands, his good eye close, and the sapphire twinkles.

After washing it, you fetch another soap bar, one that the merchant guaranteed you was special, something about adding more oils while making it. There was no harm in trying, and you were surprised by how such a thing made his hair healthier, not as dry which means fewer cuts, and more tamed and lustrous. His strands instantly become more emollient as you run the soap along the length.

Aemond seems completely unbothered as you get to scrub his body, the fine hairs covering his arms and legs so light it's barely visible. It's, in fact, a moment of relaxation and customariness, a routine for both of you. But the water is already dirty and gray by now, and you cannot help but recall it's not only ashes and dirt but also the mixed blood of people and beasts alike. Some perished.

You do not notice the silver-haired staring at you until he speaks. "You do not seem very pleased."

You raise your eyebrows. "Is there something to be pleased about?"

"Is there not?" He squints his eye. "We have just won a battle."

"Congratulations."

"Your sincerity is appreciated." His voice is dripping with sarcasm. "You know you can speak freely with me." He studies your face.

You bite your lips, focusing on the task at hand and adding more soap to the scrubber. The prince would never understand your point, so you would rather avoid a useless discussion. Especially today.

Unfortunately, he doesn't give up, cocking his head. "What is restraining you from doing so? Are you disgusted? Would you prefer me to not have killed all those cunty traitors?" His voice is low, dangerous. "Would you prefer to have that whore sitting on the throne? Is that the reason for your unpleasantness? Do you believe she's more suitable than my brother? Than me?"

You look at him sternly, the scrubber falling to the water with a splash. His face is now a lot closer to yours, but he does not intimidate you, never did, and probably never will. But he hits a nerve, and your mouth moves even before you could notice you were speaking.

"I would prefer your family to resolve the succession issue in another way other than submitting the kingdom to a devastating war with horrendous consequences, for all of you certainly, as proved by your nephew's death and older brother's injury now, but mostly, innocent people that have nothing to do with your schemes." Your voice holds a cold rage. "That is my opinion if it's of any importance to you, but I highly doubt it."

Aemond scoffs, shaking his head and averting his eye for a minute. His finger rests on top of his mouth, and there's still blood underneath his nails. He inhales to control his annoyance. He looks like he's going to say something, but then changes his mind, closing his lips and opting for another choice of words.

"You would not understand it, as a commoner." He looks at you up and down, not with the usual desire, but with a hint of superiority now, clear in how the corner of his lips twitches upward dismissively.

You are quick to respond. "Nor would you, as a prince."

Deafening silence. You have a good point, the drastic difference in your backgrounds would never let you completely understand one another's views and priorities. Aemond sighs.

"You are lucky I am fond of you." A truce.

You chuckle. "And I do not dislike you entirely."

The prince smiles, tight-lipped, but it is lovely, showing off his beautiful dimples. The rest of the bath goes calmly as you resume the chore. You wrap his hair in a cotton towel, and his body in a linen one. You leave the prince to dry himself while you make your way to the bedchamber, gathering loose mud green trousers and some shea butter.

The one-eyed stands in his full glory as you spread the product all over his lean body. Back, arms, chest, and stomach, then his legs. When you get up from your kneeling position, his hand wraps around your neck swiftly, bringing your body forward and kissing you.

You return it immediately, deep and eager. However, it's also contemplative and cozy, almost lazy as you taste one another. Your hand rests on his forearm, the softness and warmth of his lips never failing to get you weak on the knees, and he smells great now, fresh. Your eyes seem unable to open as you get lost in the small kisses and teases.

"Do not resent me, beauty." He says as you part.

You smile against his mouth, you thought it was precious when he got like this, clingy in his way. It was only on these rare occasions that he let his pride and loftiness aside, and would do everything to prevent you from being upset with him. Seeking your comfort in such an intense manner it was flattering.

A verbal answer doesn't leave your lips, you just kiss him again, and it's enough. "Get dressed and sit down." You motion to the dressing table, throwing the trousers at him.

You comb his hair delicately, adding some sunflower oil to his scalp before braiding his damp hair, he prefers it this way, claiming it was the only way it wouldn't get tangled up in the morning. You start from his very root, sectioning small amounts of silver hair and crossing them over in between your fingers, slowly but surely creating a beautiful and tight pattern. It's not a fast process, but you delight in it and you suspect so does the man in front of you, almost purring as you work. Tying the end of it, you rub his shoulders affectionately, his skin always warm beneath your palms.

"I am sore," Aemond complains. "A massage would be great."

You grin, pecking his cheek from behind. "As you wish, my Prince."

He is truly very tense, and you cannot fathom how distressing all that he witnessed is. You suppose it was a life-changing experience, in the worst way possible. It was clear how his eye hardened considerably in a short time. You would have surely run to the hills in his place, but he doesn't. He breathes and keeps his composure, hiding away all his fright, pretending to be indifferent, that he accepts his duty and the price of it gladly. But nobody would, less they lacked emotions.

Aemond lays down on his stomach, folding his arms above his head. Grabbing a bottle of coconut oil from the table, you take off your shoes and raise your dress to your knees before crawling on the bed to sit on top of his butt.

His body jolts as you drip a generous amount of oil on his large back, his muscles flexing. His body is so magnificent you could easily imagine a greater force meticulously creating each detail of it. Aemond moans the moment your hands start to caress his lower back. Your first touches are gentle, tracing circles up and down with your fingertips, mapping where you can feel some knots. Your hands move from his sides, to his shoulders, and up to the back of his neck, pinching it slightly.

"Fuck," Aemond grunts, voice muffled by the mattress. "This feels nice."

You add more pressure, stroking his back up and down, and after a few minutes back to tracing firm circles, this time with the heel of your hand. The prince is unable to contain noises of pleasure. Laying one of your hands on top of the other, you start the process of pushing his spine, once again beginning down and going up. A few cracks are heard.

Then, you add gentle pressure with your thumbs on his knots, his grunts are now a little bit more uncomfortable, but it's necessary. After you are done, you softly knead his back up and down, and then start switching between circling and stroking.

Aemond's moans along with the feel of his skin start to alight a desire in you, your lower stomach tingling in a known and annoying manner, womanhood pulsating with each new sound. It doesn't help how your filthy encounters had been becoming less frequent, the prince growing too busy with the war, and often you would feel bothered and insatiable.

It's unconscious the way you start rubbing on him, trying to relieve the ache you feel, and you do not realize what you are doing until he grips your thigh, halting your tentative movements at once.

"Stop teasing." He warns.

You stammer, a bit embarrassed. "I'm not, I–"

Suddenly you are pinned down by the prince, your positions switched as you utter your confusion by the suddenness. You should've been used to his strength and fast reflexes by now. "Do you deem your behavior acceptable?"

You swallow, trying not to smile, and feign innocence. "I have no clue what you are talking about."

"Oh, yes? You are unaware you were rubbing yourself on me like a bitch in heat?"

"I would never do that, my Prince."

"You would never…?" He chuckles, feeling amused.

"During my work? No." You shake your head in denial.

"So, if I touch your cunt right now, you would not be wet?" He cocks his head.

You bite your lips. "Not at all."

"Forgive me for not believing your words, but I shall need proof." Aemond's hand sneaks under your dress, fingers moving slowly from your shin to your thigh, his eye never leaving yours, daring.

You giggle when his finger parts your folds, rubbing the dampness between your legs. You buck your hips, in need of more friction.

"Liar." Aemond disregards with a click of his tongue, his pupil blown out as he circles your bud.

"Aemond." You gasp, eyes closing.

"Do you think you deserve it?"

"Yes, I've been taking care of you so well..." You try to negotiate.

"But I deserve so much more attention, don't you agree?" He kisses and licks your collarbone, finger never faltering, teasing.

"More?" Your breath is labored, and your voice is weak. His hand leaves your heat.

"I have killed a whole other dragon. It is not frequently one can say it. Yes, I believe I am due special treatment." He faces you again.

"I see," You grin. "You want me to do all the work?" Your lips brush his. "Such an idle prince." You provoke.

"Watch your mouth," He warns, pecking you. "I am merely tired. It's been eventful."

"Conveniently for you, I am feeling generous today." Your hands trail his bare waist.

"You are?" He smirks, nose touching yours.

"Uh-huh, and very happy you are unscathed."

"Show me, then," Aemond kisses your jaw. "Just how grateful you are."

The kiss you share is lecherous, wet, and rushed. Aemond does not fight you as you flip your bodies over and climb onto his lap, an evident bulge in the thin trousers that contours all of his cock tantalizingly. Even the clothed friction makes you both shudder, and you gather all of your strength to not start instantly grinding on his shaft.

You pull his trousers down, and his manhood springs free. Big, thick, veiny. Dripping coconut oil on your hands, you rub them together. Aemond wets his lips in anticipation.

Your hand slides through his length with no difficulty with the help of the oil, and the smell of it is delicious. You start jerking him off, and the prince hums in satisfaction.

Aemond wasn't the most vocal in bed, you realized it soon into your affair, but with time you had discovered the exceptions, the things that would make him forget all about his inhibitions and scream in pleasure.

After stroking him for a while, you cup one of your hands, very slowly circling his tip with the palm of your oily hand, fingertips dragging up and down his length while you do so. Aemond breathes sharply, his stomach twitching.

"Seven hells, love." He mutters with a tight hold on the sheets due to his sensitivity. You smile.

You focus on your fingertips, running them up and down his shaft lightly. Aemond adored the delicacy of the movement, the gentle yet torturous pressure, promising and unforgiving, kind and cruel. Then you circle his head again, again, and again. Careful to not hurt him. Aemond grunts, his eyebrows pinching together and face completely flushed as he bites his lips harshly, trying to hold back his moans, but you know it won't last long.

"Stop, it 's too much." He whines, but the delighted sound that escapes his mouth tells you to do anything but, his body trembling.

"Aw," You coo mockingly. "We know you can take it, my Prince."

You add more oil to your hands, holding his length and rotating your wrist as your palm rubs over his tip and shaft over and over. He completely let go as he closes his eye, his grunts being replaced by enchanting high-pitched and broken moans. It's quite pathetic the sight of him, the mighty and fearsome prince so supple on your hands, forehead glistening with sweat and breath erratic. Anyone outside could hear him.

"My love, please." He begs in the middle of whimpers, all of his body hair stirred up.

"Please what, my dear?" You ask innocently.

Aemond squirms. "I need to come," He gasps. "Please, please, please."

"Since you asked so nicely…"

You change the movement, keeping it only on his sensitive head, your other hand squeezing his balls. His voice gets louder, face twisted in pleasure as a tear falls down his gorgeous face, violet iris shining bright. You can feel your cunt soaked and throbbing achingly with the view.

He comes in a silent scream, hips bucking as hot loads of his spend fall into your hand and his shaft. You spread some of it around his length, still jerking him off as you help him ride out of his peak, the prince's body spasming.

"That's it," You praise him. "Good boy."

Aemond's breath is heavy as you find his lips, and he struggles to follow your pace, but he tries anyway, messy and urging. "Now you are going to be even nicer and let me use your cock, won't you?" You whisper.

His eye is lidded as he stares at you and nods, and you cannot resist the urge to press two sticky fingers to his curved lips, Aemond opens his mouth with no resistance, licking your hand clean. He's so compliant, somehow still lost in the void between the extraordinary bliss and the present moment.

"Anything for you." He mutters.

You grin. "That is what I like to hear."

Even if not necessarily frequent, happening mostly when he was worn-out or glum, it was rather obvious how letting someone of your position have control over him in bed, one of the very few situations in which you could be so blunt and disrespectful to a high-born, aroused the prince more than he would ever admit, a time in which he could forget about his obligations and just be good to you.

It doesn't take long into your kissing until you can feel him growing hard again, hands eagerly grabbing the hem of your dark red dress and pulling it up around your waist.

"Stupid dress." He complains in between lustful kisses, struggling to get rid of the clothing.

You laugh and help him take it off, throwing your apron and the dress somewhere around his quarters. Aemond instantly latches onto your right breast once you are fully naked, tongue hot and wet twirling around your nipple, and making you shiver and mewl as he sucks it into his mouth as if he is starved, your hand pulling at his braided hair.

Too impatient and greedy, you push him back on the mattress, positioning his member on your wet and tight entrance before lowering yourself down on it. You both moan at the stretch. It is spellbinding the way he watches you on top of him, making you feel like the most desired person in existence, his hands on your hips tightly.

You feel so full and excited you could almost see stars, the position has always been one of your favorites, his cock being able to reach just the right spots in this way.

"Seven, you feel perfect inside me." You gasp, grinding back and forward, your lungs clenching with the sudden and powerful wave of pleasure, so strong it is maddening.

Aemond growls, his body jolting with the motion. "You are a fucking witch, woman."

"For knowing exactly how to deal with you? I might as well be." You grin viciously, your hands resting on his chest.

Your eyes close as you rock your hips slowly and sensually, strained moans already leaving your mouth, and your bud brushing over his pubic bone makes you tremble. It's doubtless the best sensation you have ever felt, his cock dragging against your walls marvelously.

"Fuck, you fit me so well," You say out of breath, fastening your grinding. "Always so good for me, aren't you?"

You lean over slightly, pressing yourself more to him as you begin to bounce on his cock restlessly, the sinful noises echoing in the chamber only increasing your pleasure.

Aemond whimpers, both by the change of the movement and your words. "Always good for you, my love." He repeats, choking out.

Aemond's hands come to grip your ass desperately, certainly to leave bruises later, but now it's nothing but motivating for you.

He suddenly sits you both up, mouth finding one of your breasts again, saliva coating it as he plays with your nipple with tongue and teeth with no care. The sensitivity makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Delightful yet torturous whimpers on your lips as you continue to ride him mercilessly.

Sweat covers almost all of your body, and you feel as if you were burning from the inside out, the prince not looking any different, his cheeks and nose terribly reddened. You don't even care about the slight throbbing of your legs getting tired, or for the man you were fucking anymore, simply focused on the building of that rapture that feels so close yet so far. Your hold on his shoulders is firm beyond pleasant, but you assume his mind is elsewhere, and not in how your nails are breaking his pale skin.

You needed this badly and you knew you wouldn't last long. The knot inside you tightens hazardously, and you furrow your eyebrows, your bouncing getting even more frenetic. However, as good as it feels, you are growing overwhelmed as you ache for a release that's taking too long to come, somewhat stuck in a sadic joy. You whine out of glee and anticipation, too fucking eager.

"Don't stop, love," Aemond says with a groan, letting go of your breast with a pop to give attention to the other, his sucking sloppy as you pull at his hair harshly. You moan.

Not even in a thousand years you would dare to. When the long-awaited white-hot pleasure slams your body, you feel like ascending to the seven heavens itself. It's astoundingly overpowering at first and then diminishes in ripples as your heart drums painfully inside your chest, cunt fluttering around his member.

Your breath is heavy as you slow down, shivering and a little weary. Aemond moans while watching you come on his cock, and fortunately, he seems disposed to help you as he lays down again, bringing your body flush against his. He seems very roused as he impales you with his cock from beneath, growling into your ears while his hands squeeze your ass possessively.

You whine due to overstimulation, his thrusts are relentless, and the squelching sounds more prominent with how much you soaked his cock not too long ago. You are unsure if you want him to finish already or just keep using your cunt as he wishes regardless of your comfort, and the sheer thought of it inflames you.

It's surprising how fast it comes back, that burning and expectation in your lower stomach, apparently even stronger now. All that was not him and his cock in your womanhood is long forgotten. Blood rushes hot in your veins, high-pitched mewls and low grunts blending.

"By the Seven, Aemond." You hide your face in the crook of his neck, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.

"Can you give me another one?" Aemond pounds into you harder, the smell of the shea butter and coconut oil from earlier consuming you. "I want to give you another one, beauty. I want to make you feel exceptionally good, yes?"

You try to respond to him but you just babble, teeth biting into the conjecture of his neck and shoulder, painting it red and purple, too dumbfounded to think or to measure your strength. But it seems your bites only incite the silver-haired more, his shoves faster and his groans broken.

One of his hands circles your waist securely to lock you in place, no falter in his thrusts. The wave of elation that suddenly crashes down over you is potent, numbing all your senses for a few seconds, but you are certain you must be screaming as you squirm. Your legs shake tremendously and your eyelids feel heavier.

Your second peak and the clenching of your cunt send Aemond over the edge. He bucks his hips, stilling inside you as he comes with a prolonged and deep grunt, head tilted back and lips parted. You didn't know what good action guaranteed you the privilege to see such a beautiful thing. Getting off him as he tries to regain his breath, a good amount of his warm seed drips in between your thighs, walls spinning as you feel quite faint.

Your back hits the fluffy mattress, your heart pounding in your ears and black dots cover your vision, which is slightly blurry. Shutting your eyes, you could not say how much time has passed as you recompose yourself and wait for your skin to cool down, but when you do, you are shocked to see the prince already soundly asleep next to you, mouth hung open as exhaustion had finally caught up to him after the latest events and your passionate indulgence.

Chuckling, you roll to your side as you watch him, his expression for once serene and breath even. You trace your finger gently across his straight eyebrow while appreciating the details of his face. The concern comes back to torment you as you wonder what the future has reserved for him, but you try to brush it off. You could only pray for his safety.

You recall the first time you saw him sleeping, it was quite unnerving, only the sapphire shining brightly while his good eye rested, but now the gemstone staring back at you was not only usual but comforting, a unique and enchanting charm in your opinion.

After getting up, you grab a cloth to clean the two of you, and although with a drowsy complaint from him, you manage to tuck the one-eyed in warm sheets. You put on your servant robes again and organize the mess you could deal with at the moment, gathering his armor as quietly as you can to be cleaned later. Pecking his pinkish lips slowly, you exit his quarters, feeling completely satisfied.

TAGS: @godrakin @m1ndbrand ♡⋆˙

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfic

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maidofgoldengrove · 2 years

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yet another hotd-verse outfit for Kat, this time more in line with what she’d normally wear, with colors more in line with house Rowan. The streamers are not as long or as detailed as they are for her dresses she’d wear at court, just long enough to be fashionable. Undergarments: White linen shift, stockings and garters, shoes. - A cream-ivory silk gown with full skirt, formfitted bodice and tight sleeves slashed to just above the elbow with gilded buttons along the forearm - A formfitted cream-light golden silk overdress with shorter sleeves. the sleeves are edged with a snowy white silk and has streamers in the same fabric. The bottom of the dress is hemmed with a darker golden patterned silk. - She wears a pair of gold and pearl earrings, a necklace of small pearls and beads of gold, rings of gold with various precious stones and a gold brooch with white enamel details.

#;;my art #v; where dragons fly #v; a cursed bride for the one-eyed prince #;;Gold emblazoned on snowy white {wardrobe}

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s-brant · 1 year

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Little Dragon

In a the aftermath of a fight sparked by the feud between him and her brother, Lucerys, Aemond and his wife are now trying to fix things between them. (or judas part three)

10k (18+)

Warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, knife play, choking, spitting in mouth, strong language, yandere (so basically canon) aemond, and some of the language used to describe past sex acts could be interpreted as dub-con, but everything is consensual.

Married life is not what she thought it would be.

Everyone told her their days would be spent in honeymoon-induced bliss that seems as though it will never end for the first year or so of marriage, but that wasn't their experience at all. When they weren't fucking, which was about all they did together, Aemond and Y/N were typically fighting for the first four months of being wed to one another. There were good moments, though. They bonded over shared interests that appeared the longer they lived in close proximity, and he began to open himself up to her little by little. It wasn't nearly as much as she wanted, but he still offered her more than he did most other people.

It was evident in the little things, such as how he would feel comfortable enough to take off his eyepatch at certain times when alone in her presence or how he would always, no matter how far apart they were when they fell asleep in his spacious bed, end up with an arm around her by the time they woke. But, then, there were the times when the wall between them would come down again and she was left wondering if her husband would ever speak freely in her presence.

As of late, it seems they are leaning more on the side of fighting rather than fucking.

Her temper has been running hotter than usual, so when she heard of an incident in the training yard between Aemond and Lucerys, who is visiting alongside Rhaenyra after a close call with Viserys' health that thankfully ended without complication, she was out for blood.

"Have you no shame, husband?" she asked as she walked after him, chasing and herding him in the direction of their shared chambers after having to watch her brother be tended to by the maesters. "I asked you to not harm him, and you ignored me at the first opportunity presented to you!"

This led to a screaming match that ended in him storming off to fly on Vhagar for the better half of the night before coming back to their chambers—soaking wet from the rain—ripping the sheets off of her, hiking her shift up around her waist, and fucking her until she was babbling and incoherent for him. It was a vicious fight masked by the actions of lust and passion. Her nails broke skin open on his pale back while his hand squeezed down around her delicate throat, providing her a heady little head rush that made the pleasure of his cock gliding in and out of her intensify.

The rainwater dripped off of him and onto her, turning the mattress damp beneath their writhing bodies. Not that either of them minded. By the time they finished, she was on the verge of passing out again and didn't do much other than sigh as he lifted her into his arms to move her around before setting her back down on the bed. Come morning, she found herself alone, but the bed was not cold or damp. Her side of the mattress was covered with a warm fur hide that had been draped atop the divan, and she couldn't help but smile to herself at that before she remembered their argument.

Aemond was never a cruel husband. If anything, he was the opposite. Their arguments did not mean he mistreated his lady. Yes, they would fight and fuck like animals, but, at the end of the day, she was his. In a world where he was granted nothing, not even a dragon's egg in the cradle as his siblings were, the Maiden had blessed him with her. Every other girl or woman balked in his presence, but not Y/N. She and Vhagar were the only things he ever had to himself, and he would never mistreat either of his dragons.

Hence, the fur hide.

As angry with each other as they were and, he knew, would continue to be on the morrow, his face softened when he came back from the bathing room to find her curled up in fetal position and shivering in her sleep from the wet sheets. She hardly stirred as he lifted her up, one arm under her bent knees and the other holding firm around her naked back, and walked over to the divan to fetch the warm fur hide. It took little effort for him to hold her as he picked it up and spread it out atop the bed, then set her down. It took him searching the room to find another blanket to cover her with, but, once he did, he sighed to himself at the sight of her and tried to resist the urge to reach down to brush her hair out of her face. What had she done to him?

He had little trouble falling asleep on the damp sheets and left early before she woke to avoid the consequences of the things they said to each other the previous night.

Since this morning, they haven't crossed paths much at all. For she was spending what little time she had left of their visit with her mother and brother, trying to conceal the turmoil within her caused by her marriage and, well...

"Are you certain, mother?" Y/N asked. "It is so soon, and I have only missed one of my courses thus far. It was just last month's, I am certain it will come again soon. I always feel sick to my stomach before my blood comes, and I have felt that way for days."

What she didn't want to tell her mother was that she already knew. Deep down, she knew the answer, yet she was too stubborn in their ongoing argument to want to admit to herself. Or him.

Rhaenyra smiled softly at her from where she braided her hair for her, something she would continue to insist on doing for her only daughter no matter how old she grew, and said, "Feeling sick to your stomach is an indication that you may be with child as well. Considering that you told me you missed one of your courses and you winced when Lucerys hugged you too hard upon our arrival"—It was true. When Luc threw his arms around her in a tight embrace, she couldn't help but grimace at the tenderness she felt in her breasts upon impact against him. And, the previous night, with Aemond, her nipples were uncharacteristically sensitive whenever he made contact with them, though she did not say that to her mother—"I do not think it out of the realm of possibility, my love...You should tell Aemond what you suspect."

Having told the handmaidens to leave them to their own devices, they did not have to bother with concealing their conversation from eavesdroppers by speaking in Valyrian. They simply sat together and spoke openly, and honestly, and Y/N was glad for it. It was the type of open communication she found difficult with Aemond due to his closed-off nature. It wasn't for lack of trying, either. She knew he tried as much as she did, but they both have too sensitive of tempers to get very far with civil discussion. Once they misunderstand one another's intentions, they lose control and allow emotion to guide them, not logic. Then, the truly hurtful things are said in the heat of the moment that neither of them means.

Since leaving her mother's rooms, she has wandered around the keep aimlessly to avoid the argument that will reignite once she sees Aemond again. So, she goes to the one place she knew she could flee to to clear her head. The Weirwood tree she once had a tendency to read under.

Yet when she finally sits down and settles into place with her back against the thick trunk, all she can think of is her husband. Although infuriated with him for the training yard incident in which he injured Lucerys, she cannot help but imagine what it would be like. She pictures him with a tiny, newly-born babe in his arms and feels her knees weaken at the thought. Then, her mind conjures images of their child a few years down the line, resting their head on his shoulder with their silver hair falling down his back to blend in with his. He may be perceived as an unfeeling man by most, but she knows he will be a decent father. A better one than her grandsire was to him, she's sure.

As fond as she is of him in the safety of her mind, hearing his voice out of the silence causes her to turn still.

"I thought I might find you here."

There's a brief moment of hesitation before she lifts her gaze to find his eye fixed on her quite intensely. After last night, she cannot blame him. They were two seconds from brawling one another in their chambers before he walked away to blow off steam by flying Vhagar late into the night, and what happened after he returned wasn't much less aggressive than the argument they engaged in hours prior. It did little to solve anything other than stifle their remaining anger.

"You were not there when I woke," she says without greeting him.

The unforgiving tone she takes with him tells him everything he needs to know. Despite their passionate, near-feral fucking last night, she has yet to forgive him for "accidentally" injuring Lucerys. Perhaps he made a mistake. Perhaps he shouldn't have taunted the younger man as they practiced in the training yard together, nor should he have let his retort turn him blind with anger, but it's too late to change that now. All he can do is try to navigate the rough tides of her temper in the aftermath, still shocked that he even cares. Never once would he have thought that he'd be so willing to bend himself to the will of his lady wife when he first spoke of betrothals with his mother years ago.

He doesn't dare to step any closer to her, though. Instead, he holds his hands behind his back and tilts his head as he looks down upon her face in the buttery daylight, fighting the admiration felt in the center of his chest at the sight of her silver hair glowing in the sun. Although he's trying to get back in her good graces, he still refrains from surrendering all of himself to her in order to do so. Sometimes it scares him; the urge he has to allow her to render him pathetic and subservient.

It confused him this morning when he fled to find his mother and sister breaking their fast together. Luckily for him, Helaena was leaving at the very moment he entered, leaving him alone with his mother in the privacy of her secluded rooms.

He paced back and forth in front of where she sat at the table, too distracted by his neurotic movements and ranting to indulge in her poached egg.

"You did not prepare me for this, mother," he said, not with any malice or anger, but honesty. When it came to his mother, he could never find it in himself to be anything but gentle with her. "She is driving me to madness."

A frown crossed Queen Alicent's face at this.

"You know I wanted to betroth you to one of the Baratheon daughters. Y/N may not be a good match for you, but it's far too late for a change of—"

He didn't even need to say a word. No, she was silenced by the look cast in her direction. His features hardened into a mask of impenetrable force and threat as if daring her, his own mother, to finish that sentence before he remembered himself and averted his gaze to the ground. Still, it was too late. She saw everything he fought to keep hidden beneath the surface every time he was in public in the presence of his wife.

"Oh," she said softly.

This wasn't something she thought she had to prepare him for, but he was right. She hadn't properly prepared him for it. Considering her own experiences with marriage, as well as most other royals and aristocrats who wed people for power or alliance, the thought never crossed her mind. But based on the look on his face and the embarrassment that now shows in his flushed cheeks, it should have.

"Aemond," Alicent said, her voice a quiet push of air before speaking up a bit more clearly to ask him, "Do you mean to tell me that you truly love her? Is that what this is about?"

The lack of response and refusal to make eye contact with her spoke every word he refused to say aloud. He simply stared off at the ground as if in amazement, wondering to himself how he ended up there. Although part of it felt wrong, wrong in the sense that he swore to never let his guard down around anyone, least of all the sister of the bastard that maimed him, there was so much of it that felt right. Though he would never have spoken of such crass things in the presence of his mother, he kept thinking back to the previous night—to how every touch, every thrust, every kiss felt so inherently right that he couldn't imagine himself wanting to galavant the Street of Silk as his older brother had. No, he wanted her. He wanted her in a way that consumed him, in a way that scared him, and it crept up on him slowly but surely in the months following the wedding ceremonies.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and said, "We do nothing but argue and...perform our marital duties to produce an heir...yet I find"—The words eluded him at first. Never having spoken about his emotions out loud to many people in his life, he found it difficult to articulate, but to get the advice he sought, he had to—"I cannot bear the thought of her being angry with me."

Those were the types of thoughts that chased him on his aimless stroll, ignoring every member of court who attempted to greet the sullen prince with a wary smile or pleasant few words. They chased him all the way here, to where he walked unconsciously and found the object of his incessant infatuation sitting beneath the tree.

Snapping himself out of the haze of his memories, Aemond straightens his shoulders and offers as explanation, "I left because I did not wish to fight with you again. I needed time to think." He shrugs. "I took a walk."

This silences her for a moment. But it's just that, a moment, before she's summoning the nerve to retort back at him with a snarky tone, "And what did this time to think do for you? Have you realized how much shame you've brought me as a result of your actions yesterday?" Her face then softens, as does her voice. "Everyone saw. It's all that the servants are talking about. Everyone either pities me or thinks I am weak for marrying someone who hurts my own kin."

Although his raging temper and unrelenting pride urge him to say something equally as aggressive back, he wills himself to remain silent and mindful of every word that may leave his mouth. The self-control it takes to restrain himself is immeasurable, but all he hears when he closes his eyes are the words of advice his mother gave earlier.

"I don't blame you for holding a grudge against Lucerys," she said, "but, she is your wife. If she asked you not to harm her brother, the honorable thing to do would be to listen."

His body stiffened at this. At the thought of letting anyone or anything tell him what he can and cannot do, but when he voiced such concerns, he was shut down.

"A wife is meant to obey her husband, yes, but if what you've come here to tell me is true, you must treat your marriage differently." Her eyes never once left him, nor did the intensity in them recede. "In order to receive obedience and respect, you must be willing to give it. Love is a fickle thing, Aemond. If you do not nurture it, it will become resentment."

There's a beat of silence between him and Y/N, then—

"I came here to tell you it will not happen again. I swear this to you."

That was the last thing she expected to hear. Not technically an apology, but, she supposes it's the closest she's ever gotten to one from him. Most of their fights end in them making up after sex or from the healing touch of time gone by. This is a first for them. They're both typically too stubborn to admit defeat, yet here he is.

Her brows furrow at him as if in confusion.

"You will not make any attempts to harm my brother again? Either of my brothers, for that matter."

He nods. Just once.

"Unless he makes the first move, I will not touch him," Aemond says slowly, hating every second of it but forcing himself to proceed for the sake of following his mother's advice. More importantly, for the sake of preventing any resentment from growing between them. "Or Jacaerys. You have my word."

And even though it's the outcome she longed for the whole time, she can't help but feel infuriated with him. How dare he be so...kind. How dare he give her a reason to genuinely admire him in favor of using their near-constant disagreements as reason to keep him at a comfortable distance? She never wanted to account for the fact that he may be more to her than a tolerated presence. She never wanted him to hold such power over her, and still...

Y/N takes in a deep breath, the low-cut neckline of her dress accentuating the rise and fall of her breasts, and looks up at him. What she finds in his gaze is pure honesty.

"Well, good." She chews at the inside of her lip for a second, unsure of how to proceed in light of these unforeseen circumstances. "Thank you for your understanding. I won't forget this kindness."

With that, he turns to leave, assuming she'd like to be left alone after everything they said and did to one another last night. He takes all of three steps before he's halted by the sound of her voice.

"Where are you going?"

He slowly turns back around to face her again and takes note of the hopeful glint in her eyes that he's never seen before. Strange...

"Do you not wish me to leave?"

No, she thinks, I do not wish you to leave. I wish to spend all day and night with you. If I could live beneath your skin, I would.

The obsessive nature of her thoughts startles her a little, but she tries not to judge herself too harshly. After all, she just got confirmation from the maesters after breakfast that she is, in fact, with child as Rhaenyra suspected, and the fluctuation of hormones tends to cause heightened emotions, so it makes sense. Not to mention, there's an added layer of intimacy that makes her feel closer to him now that she knows. A part of him lives within her. It's not something she takes lightly despite her initial trepidation surrounding the idea of childbirth in the weeks after their wedding ceremonies.

Y/N takes her time in responding, allowing herself the opportunity to stand from where she rested on the thick root of the Weirwood tree. Her palms flatten against the back of her dress to dust the dirt off, and it isn't until she's done so that she looks up at him again.

"I did not say that," she says matter of factly. "I was curious what you're doing today because I want to spend time with you. That is unless you have prior commitments to attend to..."

The speed with which he utters, "I don't," verges on the type of embarrassment severe enough to make him flee and hide, but he doesn't. He instead focuses on the fact that she actually wants to be around him after the fight they had, far too preoccupied to think about how pathetic it is that all he has to do today is mope around the Red Keep over her. Although they've had passion and fondness for one another in the months that have passed since they married, this is the first time he's ever felt truly wanted by her in a way other than that of carnal desire.

He prays the overwhelming relief hasn't reached his face by the time he elaborates, "I was only going to see Vhagar. She gets quite restless when she hasn't seen me, so I make a point to visit her every day even if we do not fly." There's a dip of silence. His face softens. "Come see her with me, then. I realize you two haven't been properly introduced."

The only times she got relatively close to Vhagar were when flying beneath her on Vermithor and when she and Aemond arrived at the keep at the same time those months ago before their betrothal. Unfortunately, she hadn't been lucky enough to know Vhagar's last rider, Laena Velaryon. Her father was wed to her, yes, but she never once met Daemon until her funeral at Driftmark, and that very night was when Aemond claimed the ancient war dragon for himself. So, in her eyes, Vhagar has always been intrinsically entwined with her husband.

She smiles at him, saying softly, "Okay."

The journey to the place outside the palace walls where Vhagar rests, too big for being kept inside the dragon pit as the other dragons are, is not too strenuous. Aemond made sure to show her the quicker route to the unoccupied land where they once held Queen Aemma's funeral rather than taking her through the streets of King's Landing, preventing her from being exposed to the indecent things that occur in plain daylight. Not that she hasn't done such things with him before, but for the people of the city to see their future queen anywhere near that type of behavior is not ideal.

The earth is soft beneath her feet as she hikes up the rolling hills with her hand grasped in Aemond's. His hold on her is strong, never allowing a chance for her to trip and fall or slip out of his clutches now that he so clearly has her full attention. A gentle wind blows strands of hair back from her face to cool her amidst the typically sweltering summer air. Back in the city, it's hotter due to the palace walls and droves of people, but, here, it's open and free. It's no wonder that Vhagar prefers to reside out where she can roam as opposed to the confined field outside the Dragonpit where she can hardly fit.

She hears her before she sees her, but once they come up over the crest of the hill, it isn't long before she sees the great beast lounging on the grass in the valley between the rolling hills. A Dragonpit of her own making, Y/N supposes. The closer they get to her, the more enchanted she becomes with the creature. Out of the corner of his remaining eye, Aemond notes the look of awe on her face as they come to a stop roughly ten feet away.

"Nyke maghatan ñuha ābrazȳrys kesīr naejot rhaenagon ao," he says loudly to be heard by her over the sounds of the wind and sea not far off from where they stand. I brought my wife here to meet you. "Sagon sȳz naejot zirȳla." Be kind to her.

The elderly dragon huffs out a sharp breath that Y/N can feel the warmth of reaching her face despite the decent space between them. Apparently, that's her cue, because Aemond is now looking at her expectantly and egging her on, daring her to do what no one else would. No one but them. It's part of what thrills him about their marriage. This is why Targaryen weds Targaryen, he thinks to himself. How else would they share this simple pleasure if she weren't also the blood of the dragon? Vhagar would tolerate her presence, sure, but not in the way she does with those of her own kind.

Having tamed the Bronze Fury herself and knowing her husband's dragon will obey his commands to be kind to her, she takes a few steps forward until she's close enough to reach her hand out and allow her to smell it. The scaled creature's nostrils flare out to inhale and catalog her rider's wife for the first time, but she's surprised at what she finds lingering in the scent. There's a bit of him in there. To her, his scent is the most alluring, the most comfortable since she's been claimed by him, so when she notices his scent clinging to Y/N's, her head tilts a little to get closer.

She sees a certain understanding in the beast's eyes despite the fact that they've never been properly introduced until now. Vhagar looks upon her with a reverence no one but Aemond and her previous riders have received. Your womb shelters a little dragon. You carry him inside of you.

Vhagar dips her head down and nudges her nose against the princess's belly, which, as of right now, is not showing any obvious sign of her delicate condition. This action doesn't seem to stick out to Aemond—thank the Gods—it seems to surprise him. To see his two dragons coexisting and displaying affection for one another is a magical thing, and it's something he will never forget. Not even when he's old and frail and can no longer patrol the skies on her.

The sweet gesture brings a chuckle out of Y/N's throat.

"Iksā sepār iā dōna riña, issi ao daor?" she says, reaching up to rub along the massive bridge of her nose. You are just a sweet girl, are you not? "Issa sȳz naejot rhaenagon ao, Vhagar. Ñuha valzȳrys ēza ivestretan nyke sīr olvie nūmāzma ao." It is good to meet you, Vhagar. My husband has told me so much about you.

Though Y/N cannot see it, Aemond smiles slightly behind her. He tries to fight it, but it's impossible. His lips curl up into a grin against his will at the sight of his wife and his dragon cozying up together much like a mother and child. And though Vhagar is old enough to be a grandmother many times over, she, for reasons Y/N has yet to reveal to him, decides to play the role of the child in this instance.

Before he can wipe the smile from his face, she turns to look at him with her eyes widened in wonder.

"She's beautiful." She then turns back to face her. "Iksā gevie, dōna riña." You are beautiful, sweet girl.

"Are you ready to ride with us? You must climb up first. I will sit behind you."

This time, when she turns around to look at him, her gaze does not stray.

"Are you jesting?"

He just shakes his head, smug at the sign of her hesitation after trying to present herself as bravely as possible to his beloved beast. Silver hair cascades over her shoulders and shimmers, even under a cloudy sky, enough so that he has a hard time finding words in the wake of his longing for her.

"I do not jest about dragons," he says with a sadistic look in his eye. If he were being honest, he'd admit that he hardly jests about anything, least of all Vhagar. "But if you are craven, then I do not mind escorting you back to the keep."

That shocked expression of hers shifts into one of amusement.

"I claimed Vermithor when I was two and ten years old, the same year you claimed her, when he was a wild dragon living in the mountain caverns on Dragonstone. Does that sound like the actions of someone who is craven?"

He inclines his head in the direction of Vhagar as though to say, "Prove it."

It takes no less than five seconds for her to spin around and march right up to the side of the dragon, grabbing the rungs of the rope ladder slung over her back to allow small beings like them to scale the massive creature. The skirt of her dress blows in the wind enough to expose her legs to him but not to expose her entirely as she climbs, thanking the Gods that she opted for a pair of riding boots instead of the heels she wore with her dress originally. Once she has reached the saddle, she feels the rope ladder jolt with movement far below and swings her leg over to straddle the dragon. And when she looks down, she sees Aemond climbing up after her.

The feeling of his hard, lean body settling into place behind her stirs a sudden pulse of arousal in the pit of her abdomen. This is very new to her—marriage, sex, intimacy. To feel her husband's hands grip her hips to tug her into him, her ass pressing against his crotch without an inch of space to spare, is a welcomed but scandalous thing. Still, it pleases her. Even though she was taught to guard her heart and body fiercely from men growing up, she feels safe with him. Riding on any dragon other than Vermithor or Caraxes would be stressful, hence her hesitation when he asked her to ride with him, but now that she's up here, she is at ease. For nothing can frighten her with Aemond at her side.

His lips brush her ear as he reaches around her waist to put his hands over hers on the handles of the saddle and asks, "Are you ready, my lady?"

She turns to look at him and nods.

"Yes."

The grip of his hands over hers tightens, and he shouts, "Sōvēs!" Fly.

Beneath them, the creature they sit on begins to move, a deep rumble purring in the back of her throat as she moves from her lounging position upon the grass and gets a running start to take off. The flapping of her wings is loud enough to stifle the crashing of the waves against the land, isolating them from everything that surrounds them until all she can hear is her husband's voice giving Vhagar commands in Valyrian. The strength of the arms wrapped around her brings her mind back to memories of last night—his biceps flexing as he pinned her hands above her head and rutted into her, groaning at the feeling of tight cunt clamping down around him.

With another flap of her wings and push off the ground from her sturdy legs, they take off. Wind blows cold against her face where it comes in from the shore they swiftly fly over, and Vhagar swoops down to dip her clawed feet into the ocean water, sending up a spray of water that mists over them. The temperature draws a sharp gasp from Y/N's throat. Water soaks her intricately braided hair and the fabric of her dress, both of which things she spent time picking out only to have them tarnished. But, she thinks as she feels Aemond's body jolting from his laughter behind her, she does not truly care.

She laughs with him after a few seconds of processing the surprise, allowing her head to tip back onto his shoulder with the wind plastering her damp hair to her skin. Aemond's hands have since left hers to use the reins to steer Vhagar, but his arms remain tucked around her waist even as he does so. They turn around to fly back in the direction of the city and soar far higher above the ground than they had the sea. Although he does not usually push Vhagar to fly this way for a quick rush of adrenaline due to his care for the old girl, he does today. He knows better than anyone that a person only gets to have their first ride upon Visenya's dragon once in their lives, so he figures it might as well be as exciting for her as it was for him.

He remembers that moment like it was yesterday. The warmth of the fire curling in the back of her throat when he tried to mount her at first and got off with a warning, the stinging abrasion from gripping the reins and saddle for dear life to keep from falling to his death, and the joy of that freshly made bond between him and Vhagar. It isn't too different from what he feels with Y/N now at the beginning of their marriage. A visceral connection that takes hold deep in his soul and refuses to untether from it.

The view from above King's Landing is beautiful to her. With the waves crashing against the cliffs alongside the Red Keep and the clouds converging not far above their heads, she thinks to herself that it would make a fine painting someday and makes sure to save the image in the back of her mind for it.

It isn't until they feel the first drops of rainfall, accompanied by a booming roll of thunder, that Aemond commands Vhagar to return to the hills where she previously rested. The ground itself trembles with her landing, dirt kicking up from beneath the grass where her clawed feet dig into the earth. Although they are damp from the ocean water that sprayed up on them, the rain that is coming down now is fierce. It could chill them to the bone if they remained up in the sky, and while Aemond does not mind, he surely will not subject his lady to such a thing. It matters not that she rides her own dragon, sometimes in the teeth-chattering cold of rainy skies. She is his wife and shall be treated accordingly.

The two of them are quick to climb down the rope ladder as droplets of rain come down harder and harder as the seconds pass, and the moment her feet hit the ground, they both hurry beneath one of Vhagar's outstretched, membranous wings to take shelter from the storm until they can walk back to the city.

Her hand is grabbing onto Aemond's arm for support, allowing him to swing her around under the shade provided by his dragon's wing, and she smiles so brightly, he's shocked it has yet to blind his other eye. Their bodies collide with a soft thump—his arms around her waist, her hands bracing against them—that leaves them both a little breathless. Her chest rises when his falls in a push and pull like that of the tides they flew over in the long span of seconds that pass while they stare at one another.

It's the internal aftermath of this heated stare that sends them rushing forward into a kiss.

His hands hold her face with a sense of ownership too confident to deny, and she allows his tongue to invade her mouth when she feels him lick at her closed lips as if in request. And the moment is quite easy for her to become lost in. Between him kissing her like that and the adrenaline pumping through her from the ride on dragonback, she almost misses how they move together, feet stumbling to lead them further beneath the cover of Vhagar's massive wing so as to not be seen should anyone venture out here. The implication of this action turns her blood hot with desire.

He doesn't want to be seen—he bites down on her lower lip and takes a breath before coming back for more—he wants me—one of his hands slides around the back of her neck to keep her locked into the messy kiss while the other slides down the front of her dress—he has me. Gods, he has me.

The hand descending the front of her body undoes the clasps of her coat with a deft touch so few men ever accomplish until it comes loose around her torso, leaving her to shimmy it down from her shoulders while he tugs at the sleeves to get them off. His other hand drops to catch it, never missing a beat, and tosses it down on the ground presumably for her to lay upon. As if she cares about a little dirt or rain.

Aemond breaks the kiss by a fraction of an inch to whisper the question into her mouth between panting breaths, "Will you have me?" and it's by far the most restraint he has shown in initiating physical intimacy with her. Last night he had stormed in and fucked her like it was a challenge, like she was something to be conquered and broken and willed into submission. This, however, is a far cry from that. It's almost...gentle. That is if anything he does can be considered gentle.

The unspoken continuation of that question is, Will you have me after last night? After everything? And in answer, she kisses him harder and reaches for the buckle of his belt. It is weighed down by the weight of the fine sword and knife he carries in two sheaths attached on either side, but once she gets him free of it, it troubles her no longer. It simply clatters to the ground beside her discarded coat without another thought given to it.

What happens from here on is hazy to her in the way most distant memories are, but the difference is that she finds it hazy as she experiences it, not due to the passing of time. It's likely a combination of everything she's endured for the past forty-eight hours, the knowledge of her pregnancy weighing down upon her shoulders, and the feral lust felt for Aemond deep within her, but there's something about it that addles her brain similarly to when she drinks a cup of wine.

Somehow, they end up on the ground together with him slotted between the legs she opened so willingly for him and her pinned beneath the weight of his body. Her dress is not cut in half as it was on her wedding night seeing that they have to return to the Red Keep on foot. The skirts are pulled up though, and his lips leave kisses along her cleavage as he ruts his clothed cock against her. Feeling how hard he is, feeling what she alone does to him, brings pulsations of need to her already aching cunt.

That was another thing that surprised her about marriage. How little time it takes for him to arouse her beyond reason. Whenever she pleased herself, she had to work to get herself wet enough to lubricate the movement of her fingers, but he gets it done in a matter of seconds. All he has done is kiss her and shed her coat from her body and here she is.

It takes him a despicable amount of time to undo his trousers and shove them down his legs, so much so that she cannot help but move her hips up against nothing and whine, "Kostilus, valzȳrys." Please, husband.

And, fuck, if he claims that sight isn't what it takes to urge him on quicker through the act of undressing, he's a fool and a liar.

Aemond balances his weight on the forearms pressing onto the ground on either side of her when he finally nudges at her entrance with his tip and, once he feels it slip inside of her, presses his hips forward until they are flush with the back of her thighs. At the same time that he groans, she gasps. The blunt edges of her fingernails dig into his shoulders enough that he can feel it through his clothing. Her jaw goes slack at the indescribable feeling of his cock filling her, buried deep enough that she thinks she can feel him in her belly, and she allows her head to tilt back onto her coat as she looks up into his eyes.

He can hardly keep control of himself when she looks at him like that. There's a part of him that wants to pin her arms above her head and take her the way he had last night, but the softness in her gaze gives him pause. It soothes him. Seeing her look upon his face like that makes him take it slower with her, drawing back and thrusting back in at a relaxed pace that is more of a sensuous grinding than it is outright fucking. It's tender, caring, and much different than any time they've done this in the past. While he isn't always rough with her, he also isn't as sensual and sweet as he is now. No, this is new. Wholly new.

He leans down the rest of the way to kiss her, allowing half the weight of his body to keep her in place now that there's no space left between them. The only time he halts their exploration of each other's mouths is to whisper in a hushed slur of strung together words, "Mmm, taking it so well—"

The praise is punctuated with a hard returning thrust. He felt her walls squeezing around his cock from the sound of his voice alone, and there was little he could do to prevent himself from succumbing to what his cunt-struck excuse for a brain wanted him to do. He is, in every other situation, a man who takes pride in his intelligence and well-nurtured education as a member of the royal family, but all of that is scattered to the winds when he's inside of her. Aegon would tease him mercilessly if he were to ever discover that his brother's sole weakness is, despite Aemond's refusal to discuss the topic with him, his wife's pretty cunt.

Y/N wraps her arms around his shoulders and keeps him trapped in the little prison of her own making as she is being ravished by him. The familiar sensation of pleasure building in the pit of her stomach draws a moan out of her, and he can't help but make it harder and faster. But through the haze of this intense gratification, she sees his face above hers and is reminded of the previous night. When they'd taken their anger out on each other as a result of their fight. As a result of what he did to her sweet brother.

Her features harden at the thought, the soft smile vanishing as she takes thrust after thrust with little gasps that escape without her permission, and she can almost sense the fiery spirit that lives within her—the sleeping dragon—rising from its slumber in response to the anger. Suddenly, she remembers who she is. She is the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon. She is not so easily placated.

The leg that is wrapped around his hip is used to help her flip him onto his back along with the force of her hips pressing up against his and the hands she placed on his shoulders. Her hands remain there for the first moment she spends perched on top of him like this, gripping hard to give her leverage while she begins to ride him. The surprise is evident in his remaining eye, but he does not stop her or make any discomfort known. If anything, he likes it a little too much. To see her like this...

She takes him even deeper than before with this new change in position. Every time her hips come down on his, the broad tip of his cock brushes the sweet spot inside of her and sparks a kind of pleasure far more overwhelming than the kind she gets when he rubs the overly sensitive nub at the top of her folds. He reaches for her hips reflexively once he realizes why she moved him so suddenly, but she shakes her head and pins his arms down by the wrists above his.

In response to this, there's a strange war that is waged in his mind.

Part of him isn't sure what to think, another part wants to take back control and gain the upper hand as any good fighter would, and the other...Well, the other part is the one currently in control. It's the part of him that cannot think about anything save for the sight and feeling of her fucking him, trembling and moaning like a wanton whore. It isn't long before this haze wears off and he begins to come to his senses though. The wrists pinned against the ground push back against the hands holding them captive as though to test her strength, readying to break free in order for him to pull out and flip her over onto her hands and knees.

He can already feel the words on the tip of his tongue, "If you want to behave like a whore, I will treat you like one."

But he doesn't get to say them. Apparently, his wife is already one step ahead of him, and when she witnessed the muscles in his arms flexing in preparation to take back control, she made her move. All he heard was the sound of steel sliding against steel, the knife that he hadn't thought twice of allowing to fall to the ground being ripped from its scabbard, before the sharp tip of the blade is pointed at his throat. One of her hands keeps holding his wrists down even though they both know he could break free if he pleases while the other is wrapped around the hilt of the blade.

He would open his mouth to speak, but he knows he'll get cut if he does, so he just stares up at her with an incredulous expression.

"Swear on your life," she says, moaning before speaking again from the feeling of cock sliding into her. Her breaths are shallow, her chest heaving, as she cants her hips and rides him harder. "Swear you won't hurt them again. If you don't, I shall let this pierce your throat, and we can be finished with this feud."

Her body leans down enough that her chest brushes his with every exchange of air exhaled and inhaled in the limited space between their mouths.

She croons, "Is it not enough they gave me to you? If you are owed a debt"—another moan—"is it not now paid? It is not an eye for an eye but believe me when I say the idea of you defiling me is worse to my dear brother than being maimed."

The stirring sensation within him begins to crescendo as a result of her brutal pace and everything she says. At this point, his brain is no longer in control of him. The ecstasy he feels is too great for him to string together a coherent thought outside of variations of, "She is utterly divine, she is perfect, she is—"

Once again, he finds himself thinking that this is why it had to be her. This is why it had to be someone as wild as him. All it takes to frighten most other women from noble birth is a sharply edged sentence or harsh glare, but she is the type of person to hold a blade to his throat while performing the most intimate act of devotion that exists, and if being driven to that degree of madness by your feelings for a person isn't love, then he doesn't know what love is.

"Did you never think about it?" Based on the look in his eye, he hadn't considered what she just said to him, and it makes her smirk. "Your distaste for him must not run as deep as you claim if you have never taken pleasure in being the one to claim his sister." She laughs quietly. "They all thought you would be cruel, that you'd be a selfish husband who'd use me to warm your bed and nothing else"—his cock twitches in her—"Little do they know, you are the one they should be worried for. No one is near to witness what I may do to you, and here you are. Trapped beneath me with your own knife to your throat and your cock inside me."

Gods help him. Every word she says is fuel to the fire. What a filthy mouth.

At last, she pulls the tip of the knife back an inch or so to allow him to speak without cutting himself, and he never breaks eye contact with her throughout the process. Not once. All it takes is her raising a brow to spur him into speaking the words she wants to hear. And once the words leave his mouth, she knows they are binding. Unlike his older brother, she knows Aemond to be a man of his word, and if he swears something to her, she can trust him.

"I swear," Aemond says, breathless, although his features are set with a harsh rage to counteract the softness in his voice. "I will not hurt them."

They're both interrupted by their own need to suck down breaths of air to compensate for the exertions of their bodies, but he still refuses to look away. He refuses to surrender and let her think she has frightened him despite his willingness to abide by the promise she requested and allow her to think she's the one in control. And now that he's sworn this to her, she taunts him for the fun of it.

"What do you think Sir Criston would say if he saw his best swordsman in such a vulnerable position?" She makes a tsk sound. "I think he would be quite disappointed to see how you let your—"

In a movement strong and swift enough that she cannot process it until it is done, Aemond twists the knife out of her grasp and has her on her back in a matter of seconds. The blade is pressed to her neck, not quite cutting but pressing in just enough for her to feel the threat of it there, and her throat bobs against the sharp side of the blade when he forces her mouth open with his fingers pressing on her soft cheeks.

He says, only warning her once, "Never say another man's name when I am fucking you," and does not hesitate before spitting in her mouth.

The same fingers that pressed on her cheeks to force her mouth open force it shut again, clamping down over her kiss-swollen lips to make her swallow his spit, and once he sees her do so, he tosses the knife aside and devotes his full attention to worshipping her. His lips smear against hers in a sloppy kiss to match the haphazard, pounding strokes he makes into her now that he can feel himself getting close. With every sharp thrust, she cries out and holds tighter onto him to keep him close.

Aemond continually hits that perfect spot within her and never lets up, groaning and trying his hardest not to come before she does. She is close. He can feel it in how her cunt spasms around him, clenching and unclenching in the way it always does before she is sent over the edge. All she needs is a few more thrusts, so he brings his arms down to rest on either side of her head and cages her in so all she can see is him and him alone, forced to look upon his face as she finds her peak.

"Ossēninna mirre vala qilōni māzigon rȳ īlva. Mirre vala ao qogralbar tolie than nyke morghūlilza. Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke," he says in the language of their ancestors because he does not know if he can be so honest in the common tongue. Valyrian provides an added privacy that is a comfort to them both. His voice is a low hum that runs along her skin like a tender caress, and that is all it takes for her to come undone, hearing what he said over and over in her mind. I will kill any man who comes between us. If you fuck anyone else, they will die. You belong to me.

Y/N's jaw falls open in a gape as it hits her, harsh and unforgiving in its brutality but plentiful in its euphoria. The rush is unlike any other climax she has had with him in the past likely due to everything that preceded it. Although she has thoroughly enjoyed every time she's been with him before, this is on a different dimensional scale. Hearing him say that she belongs to him, that he's willing to kill any man who poses a threat to their marriage...to think that she has brought the great Aemond Targaryen to his knees is intoxicating.

The feeling of her cunt clamping down around his cock like a vice brings him to his end much quicker than he anticipated, and he groans as he spills into her.

All he can think to himself is that he is lucky. He is lucky to have a wife that he formed a connection with, lucky to have a wife that makes him feel things he didn't know he could feel. It's difficult to imagine being bound by blood to anyone but her. Whenever he passes by noble married couples, he can't help but feel pity for them. They do not know what it is to love a person with every part of their soul, even the part that hates them.

Aemond and Y/N are panting for air with their foreheads pressed together once they've begun to come down from their respective climaxes, and she cannot do anything but hold onto him as her heart rate begins to slow down again. She can see in the way he looks at her that it was different for him this time too, that he could feel what she felt between them, and to think that it doesn't scare him off...

He collapses onto her chest with a tired sigh and allows her to cradle his head against her, her hand stroking his hair in a soothing pattern that lulls him into a state of peace.

The flames burning in the fireplace crackle and surge when the servant tending to them for the night adds another log, then bows her head toward where Aemond sits before exiting their rooms. From the room over, he can hear Y/N humming to herself as she prepares herself for a night of rest. They were both so thoroughly worn out from their prior exertions that they slept together beneath the cover of Vhagar's wing for the better part of an hour before heading back to the Red Keep.

Shockingly, neither of them felt the need to talk about what they experienced this afternoon. There was no overly-emotional profession of feelings or official conversation about what shifted between them, but they both recognized it to themselves. By the time they returned, Queen Alicent had already been looking for them for an hour, and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head at the sight of them walking through the halls together with stifled laughter and rain-soaked clothes.

It was when they reached the staircase she was walking down that Aemond met her gaze and gave her a slight nod. That was all the confirmation she received on the state of her youngest child's marriage before they disappeared to clean off and ready themselves for dinner, which they managed to drag themselves out to share with Alicent and Helaena as per the former's request. And when the queen watched them interact at dinner, she couldn't help but smile to herself as she sipped her wine.

Now, it's late at night, and Y/N is brushing out the long strands of silver hair that cascade down her shoulders. The only item of clothing covering her is a thin chemise, and as she sets the brush down on the table beside her, her eyes are drawn to her stomach. A tentative hand slides down the front of it, keeping the white fabric flat against her body, and rubs the imperceptibly small bump residing there that she blamed on natural weight gain or bloating.

Deep down, she supposes she already knew. She can already pinpoint the time she thinks did it—when he woke her up with his head between her thighs before fucking her right there. It was early in the morning before any servants would come knocking, and she was still half-asleep when he spent his seed in her. As she fell back to sleep with his release dripping from her sensitive cunt, she recalls feeling the large palm of his hand settling over her belly to keep her back pressed to his chest. It was almost as if he knew too.

This morning, she couldn't imagine telling him what the maesters confirmed, but now...

She walks out past the bed to the main area of the room where they spend their time either reading, drinking, or talking before it is time to sleep. Her footfalls are quieter than usual, yet he can still hear her approaching from behind, and when she leans down with her arms wrapping around his shoulders to kiss his cheek, he does not flinch in alarm. All he does is offer a hum of approval, eye fluttering shut in appreciation of his wife's gentle touch.

There's a short pause during which she stands and wrings her hands in front of her where he cannot see, then moves around to the front of the chair and sits on his lap. Her legs are bent over the arm of the chair with her side pressed to his chest and her arm draped over his shoulders.

"Aemond?"

He turns his attention from where it had been fixed on the fire onto her. No verbal response is granted to her, but she knows from months of living alongside him that this is his way of telling her to say whatever it is that's on her mind.

Her next exhale trembles a little.

"Um," she stammers, unsure of how to break the news other than coming right out and saying it. "I went to see the maesters this morning..." Her bottom lip is drawn between her teeth as she tries to summon the courage to say it. "Iksan lēda riña." I am with child.

The typically harsh stare set on her face softens with these few words. Just like that, her nerves dissolve into nothing, and she is left to wonder how she had been so scared to tell him this morning. Of course, his reaction would be a pleasant one. He is nothing if not a duty-driven man. Providing his family with more potential heirs is a cause for celebration, even as a second son. Another way to fulfill his duty with his lawful wife, unlike Aegon who has fathered bastards with common whores and neglected his wife. And now that he has discovered a new side to his relationship with her, the idea of her bearing his children is sentimental in a way he hadn't expected it to be in the past.

Aemond's lips curl into a slight smile, his face leaning forward through the space between them to brush her nose with his. The hand not placed against her back comes down to rest upon the barely-there swell of her belly that serves as the only physical evidence of this good news.

"I know."

Her body still atop his. Seconds later, she tries to move to stand up only to be stopped by his strong arms holding her in place.

"You know?" she asks, face flushed with heat.

The emotion present on her face, he notices, is embarrassment. Whatever for, he does not know, but he's quick to settle her down once he notices. His fingers tuck her hair behind her ear, combing through it the same way hers had done with his when he collapsed onto her after their passionate coupling. A wry chuckle escapes him at her shock.

He says, "Did you think I had not noticed when you missed your blood? We share a bed, ñuha jorrāelagon"—My love. Her heart may have skipped a beat—"I would be stupid if I had not known."

Her mind is sent reeling from this.

She missed her blood at the beginning of the last moon, and she would be due for her next bleeding any day now if she were not with child, so...has he known this whole time? Wait, no. More importantly, he cares enough to make note of things like that? He may have said it as though it was obvious, as though every husband would notice, but he is far different from most of the men in this city. She is willing to bet an absurd sum of coin that her grandsire Viserys never paid such attention to the queen, nor does Aegon to Helaena.

He and his brother have vastly different marriages. For one, Aegon and Helaena live separately. She and Aemond do not. They have only consummated their marriage out of necessity for the sake of continuing the bloodline, meanwhile, she has not needed to take Aemond to bed every night. She simply wanted to. And that is the difference. That is the thing she had yet to realize in her denial of his feelings for her. They were wed for the sake of unifying their families, yes, but it is not a marriage that subsists solely on duty. At least, not anymore.

Y/N looks at him like she does not believe he is real.

"You"—she shakes her head as if to dispel her disorganized thoughts and allow her to speak with clarity—"I did not know you paid attention to me that closely."

He is countering back in a matter of seconds, running the tips of his fingers up and down the length of her back, "Nyke daor dohaeragon nykēla." I cannot help myself.

The crackling of the flames not far from where she is perched atop his lap fills the gaps of silence left between them. It allows her to consider the past day or so with the care she was not capable of in the midst of her anger. It was difficult to navigate, and she feels terrible for her brother, but she thinks it may have been a necessary hardship for them to overcome as husband and wife. The issue of their families would not have been settled with them ignoring it as they used to and pushing aside their feelings for the sake of the marriage. It had to be faced at some point, and now that it has, she feels lighter. The weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

Her hand then drops to rest atop the one he has placed over her belly, and she looks down at their entwined fingers with a tender smile blooming on her face.

"Nyke pendagon se rūs iksis riña," she says. I think the babe is a girl. "Skoros gaomagon ao pendagon, valzȳrys?" What do you think, husband?

A/N: let me know what you think :) thanks for reading

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#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #fanfiction

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lovelykhaleesiii · 11 months

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Bestie, can we pleaaaaaase get some cockwarming with Aegon? I feel like he would be all over that, what with all the slapping and kicking around that he gets from his family. I saw a gif set that had all the instances where people are manhandling him and I haven’t been able to get out of my head on how touch starved he would be for praise and love and proximity. I COULD FIX HIM!!

nonnie I’m going to need that gif set tattooed on my brain. he’s a feral man!!! hope you enjoy xx

Touch Starved.

PAIRING: King!Aegon ii Targaryen x Wife!fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,879.

WARNINGS: slight dom!Aegon, touch-starved Aegon + fem!Reader, breeding kink, female oral receiving, p in v sexual intercourse, swearing, creampie (?), cockwarming amplified!!!

A/N - I got a little carried away with this one, but I hope you enjoy xox images do not belong to me, so credit to the origins.

Being King was an honour, yet in Aegon's eyes, rather a life-long sentence. Having battled and fought his way to success, dethroning and vanquishing his elder sister and her entire bloodline, Aegon came up ontop.

When it came down to his family, the man was willing to look the Stranger dead in the eye for them, and that did not exclude you.

You scarcely saw your husband during the Dance of the Dragons [as the maesters and historians dubbed the feud]. Aegon was adamant on keeping you far from harm’s way, even if that meant to have you locked up in some desolate castle in the Vale, guards posted at your door day and night, and an escape route planned if need be. If he lost you, it would be the end for him.

“My point of living would cease to exist without you my beloved.”

Nonetheless, Aegon peservered, for the sake if his family, for the sake of you. In return for winning, he not only secured his position in the realm, or the safety and security if his family... He had long been deprived and desperate for your touch, as simple as it may sound, it was a long, hard battle to resist the urge to climb on Sunfyre's back, flying over to you, only to expose your precise whereabouts. He refused to risk it, and suffered the consequence of being starved of you.

Now the wait was over, for good riddance...

****

A fulfilling, intimate family feast was held in honour of their successes and also in memory of their losses. Everyone dined, drank, laughed and cried. As grateful as everyone was to be reunited once more, Aegon had one thing on his mind only, and he grew impatient as the minutes went by, and you stirred the same.

Excusing yourself, you gave your husband with yet another beloved peck on the cheek, one of many endless, fleeting kisses that you showered him upon your return, before lovingly whispering in his ear "Please do hurry, my King...It has been far too long, I need you."

Your hand lightly grazing over his back as you strolled behind, sharing one last glimpse at Aegon, whose hungry eyes lingered over at your faint smile drawn across your face, before disappearing behind the oak doors.

As you sped to your familiar, shared chamber, changing into your sheer, silk white nightly gown, Aegon entered right on cue. Like he always had before the war, getting used to your bedtime routine. The innocent, nostalgic moments that you had observantly noticed, warmed your heart since your return.

"There you are, my beloved-" Reaching out for his rough hand stretched outwards towards you, lifting you up effortlessly, as he pulled you in closer towards him. This close up, you realised the toll the war had taken on Aegon, the fine details of his scarred flesh of his left face, the feel of its ruggard texture on his wounded hand, saddened you immensely. Yet the tearful, tenderness of his lilac eyes, and half-hearted smile

"Oh, how I've missed you my dear. The angel of my dreams-"

Without a moment more to spare, Aegon plunged his plump lips against yours in a passionate kiss. Pushing himself deeper into yours, his grasp over your sides felt firm, yet reassuring, not wanting him to ever let you go again. Releasing from the kiss, his lips remained lightly grazing over yours, as he softly spoke.

"I dreamt of you every lonesome night, saw your beautiful face before I woke dreading the next day. Oh Gods, Y/N, I couldn't bear it any longer."

"Neither could I, my love."

Once more, the kiss resumed distracting you from Aegon's busy hands, that began to slowly undress you. As you felt your gown and under garments suddenly drop from your body, the cool chill of the night's air and Aegon's light grip, massaging at your breasts, sent goosebumps over your body. His thumb flicking at your sensitive, perked nipples, feeling a smirk spike across his face.

"Gods, how I've fucking missed this body-"

Taking a few steps back as Aegon carefully led you to the bed's edge, gently laying you down, as you repositioned yourself further up. Making enough room for Aegon to follow on top, he remained standing as he removed his shirt and undid his pants. You closely noticed the healed burn scars traveling down his left side to his ribs, and several healed stab wounds barred across his chest.

"Apologies, my dearest wife, I am not as handsome as you once remembered."

The melancholy in his low, soft-spoken voice, made it seem as though Aegon was somewhat guilty of his appearance, of his survival.

"No... You are even more exquisite, Aegon. A King who fought for his people, his family...For me."

Aegon now leaning over you, begins to suckle and peck at the soft skin of your inner thigh, making his gradual way up. Leaving a wet, moist trail as he makes his way upto your entrance, he comes to a sudden halt, as his Valyrian eyes linger over your throbbing cunt, to your face momentarily. A cocky look glimmering across his face, as he subtly raises a brow, taking a deep inhale of your scent, as his nose lingered over your cunt.

"Fuck, I can just smell you. That scent. Been missing that sweet, sweet taste in my mouth-," He deeply growls, as he his lips latch onto your folds, his tongue piercing through between, as it begins to sensually lap and encircle your insides.

Seven Hells, it felt like an eternity since you'd lived this pleasure.

Your moans began to stir as small whimpers, your back arching as your hips buck forward ever so slightly. Your palm gently pushing down on Aegon's head agains your bare cunt, as your fingers entangled and pulled at his short, platinum strands.

"Hhmm, Aeg-"

His strong, muscular arms snake around your thighs, as his hands firmly grip at your flesh, spreading them apart even more, as he pulls himself up more. In an effort, his tongue shoves in deeper into your wet folds, guzzling and licking at your dripping ooze, not allowing a single drop to fall.

"That's it, A-Aeg. Feels s-so good."

A few more rousing laps around and around your folds, your moans growing louder and more careless, Aegon frees himself, as he takes a grand, deep breath in, licking his glistening lips.

"Fuck- Only the Gods know how starved I have been for you, craving for this very moment-"

Straightening himself up on his sturdy knees, his broad, wounded chest heaving: watching Aegon towering over you in an almost threatening way, as though his warfare mentality remained unmoving since the Dance ended.

"Stay still, angel. Think you can still take me?"

One arm stretched out by your head, keeping him steadily supported, and the other reaching for his cock, cautiously pulling it out from his unbuttoned pants. It seemed that during the agonising time that had passed since, by the sheer sight of it, was enough to send you beyond the Narrow Seas. You had grown ignorant in memory of its size, its girth and its capability.

"My body will take for you, my King. I need you Aeg, I want you."

"Such a good girl. My good girl. Take me so well, and I'll reward you with a babe in your belly."

Only having prepared you a few moments ago, as Aegon crept and shoved his thick, veiny cock into your wet cunt, moaning cry bled from your mouth, as your eyes viscerally swelled with tears of joy.

"That's it Princess, just give it a few seconds-Shhh-" Now gently laid atop of you resting on his forearms, one hand gently caressed at your hair, brushing it away from your face, as the other stroked away your tear.

His warm breath, dense and heavy, as his formidable chest pushed up and heaved against your tender breasts. One hand remained tugging at your loose hair, as the other wreathed down below, firmly gripping at your waist.

Aegon's pace, once steady at first, began to hasten, growing sloppier. Breathlessly cursing incoherent words, the tight sensation of your touch-starved walls clenching over him, aching for him to bury himself deeper. The fat, blush tip pummelling at your cervix, you were certain it would bruise against the tense friction and stiff pressure.

"F-Fuck Y/N, so tight for me baby, still so tight. Need to fuck every bit of you tonight and all the nights to come, for all the lost time."

"Y-Yes, Aeg. Stay with me-"

"The realm needs a new heir, m-my love. I will fuck a babe into you tonight, make you s-so full of me, till you drip of me."

His grueling grunts and stuttering words were pure ecstasy, feeling his grip on you tighten, as his lips found their way to the sweet spot in the crook of your neck, suppling at your soft skin.

"I want to see you dripping of me till this precious belly swells with my babe. I've been keeping you waiting and alone, for far too long. Now a part of me will be inside."

"Y-Yes Aeg, yes, my King."

"F-Fuck, I'm going to cum-"

The sudden spill of his hot seed messily tainting and coating your insides, shooting against your clit was a feeling that sent you into an oblivion. Naturally, your eyes rolled back, nails clawed deep into Aegon's fleshy back as you pulled yourself up into his mass. In return, you felt the invigorating release of the built up tension from between your thighs, as your cum began to ooze, painting Aegon's cock and inner thighs, as he remained inside.

"Seven Hells, that was amazing-"

Although your memory vague, you could reminisce the fine details, when Aegon would often remove himself, to clean up the carnage made, as he warmly tended to you. Yet he remained deeply buried inside, adjusting himself and effortlessly man-handling you by his side, sprawled on the mattress, as he embraced you cosily.

"I need to feel you around me. I need you to feel me inside. Do not think to remove yourself, wife, or else... We shall sleep like this from now either till your belly swells or I die."

You did not refuse your royal husband the privilege, for the unfathomable time apart left you eager for his proximity, blessed in each other's grace and touch. Remaining true to his word, Aegon remained inside of you, whispering lustrous praises of how obedient, and extraordinary you were for taking him so well, as he slowly drifted off to sleep. Keeping you closely and tightly embraced in his strong arms, from time to time, as you rose consciousness in the late, dark hours of the night, you could feel the tension between your inner thighs, as your walls remained sorely stretched out, oozing with a familiar wetness feeling Aegon's pulsating cock inside.

Gods, the servants would have immense fun with the clean-up in the morrow. Eager to awaken to Aegon reaching yet another fulfilling climax, his body was sufficient enough to prove just how unimaginably he had truly missed your every inch. His tender, honest words, however, were just the sweet cherry on top.

general taglist - @evenstaris @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @urabloodsucker @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylas-the-grim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea

Aegon taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you

#aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #TGC #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen angst #aegon ii targaryen fluff #aegon ii x fem!reader #aegon ii x y/n #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd imagines #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction

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pessimisticpigeonsworld · 3 months

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If Nettles was white, she would be as popular as Lyanna, Brienne or Arya, and y’all know it.

She grew up a homeless orphan (which is why it’s so insulting when people try to act like she’s a freaking idiot who doesn’t know how to bathe herself yet she can tame a dragon🤦🏽‍♀️ Put most of the highborn women in her position and they wouldn’t survive a day in her shoes).

She’s the only known non-Valyrian dragonrider who claims a wild dragon. A prince who believes in Valyrian supremacy falls in love with her to the point where he’s willing to sacrifice his life for her. Nettles singlehandedly disproves the whole idea of Targaryen exceptionalism and their blood purity. She slowly earns a dragon’s trust by bringing him sheep, and gradually he lets her closer, and then forms the dragonrider bond and lets her fly. up until this point, nobody had tried a strategy like that before.

Nettles is self-made. She’s self-taught. She’s loved for herself. She survives a freaking war and becomes a fire goddess/witch. Who wouldn’t want her ? Who wouldn’t want to be her ? Unlike Rhaenyra and Alicent, she’s the final girl of F&B.

Once again, I don't understand where you got that I'm anti Nettles? I'm anti Nettles x Daemon, but other than that theory, I very much am a fan of Nettles as a character. I won't say that there isn't racism and unfairness that happen regarding Nettles' character (though I haven't seen it personally), because people can be really shitty. But me personally, again, I'm not anti Nettles, I just dislike certain groups of her stans.

Again, I don't deny that Nettles was a strong woman. She endured many things most characters in F&B don't and most likely survived the Dance. However, I do disagree with some of the ideas you're stating as fact.

For starters, we don't know if Nettles is non-Valyrian; that's one of the many theories surrounding her, but it's not confirmed, so stating it as fact is misleading. Just because she lacks traditional Valyrian features doesn't means she isn't a dragonseed.

Jace and his brothers don't look Valyrian but they very obviously are of Valyrian descent. Rhaenys, the queen who never was, had black hair; Duncan the son of Aegon V looked like his mother, Betha Blackwood; Aegor Rivers also had black hair; Baelor Breakspear had dark hair; Daeron son of Maekar had sandy brown hair; Rhaenys the daughter of Rhaegar had her mother, Elia Martell's features.

Moving on, Daemon's relationship with Nettles is ambiguous. We don't know if they were in a romantic relationship or if his attack on Aemond was purely to save her (though I'm sure that was part of his decision). Again, you are stating a theory you believe as fact, even though it's unconfirmed.

I'm not going to touch the whole thing of Targaryen exceptionalism, because, as I said earlier, Nettles' parentage is unconfirmed. But the whole blood purity thing still hasn't been disproven at any point of GRRM's works; they intermarried to preserve their magic blood, the magic blood still exists in ASOIAF due to the incest.

Nettles is an important character in the story of the Dance, but she isn't the "final girl" you claim she is, let alone of the whole book. There are several dragon riders who survived the Dance and thrived. Rhaena is the ancestor of the Tyrells in the main series. Aegon III is the ancestor of Daenerys, the Baratheons, any remaining Blackfyres, and possibly Jon Snow and Young Griff. Baela and Alyn are the ancestors of Aurane Waters and the Velaryons.

The book of F&B is so much more than the Dance of the Dragons. Saying that Nettles is the "final girl" of the book doesn't make any sense when she only appears in a few sections. That's like saying Alys Rivers is actually the main character of the book. Nettles disappears after the Dance and doesn't appear in any other event. She does nothing else after her disappearance and has relatively little impact on the history of Westeros post Dance.

I have absolutely no idea where you're getting the whole "fire goddess/witch" thing. However, you have already been throwing out theories and your personal biases as fact, so I don't think it matters. I'm not trying to control who your fav is, I totally understand wanting to be a certain book character. But that doesn't mean you can act like everyone else is wrong for not having the same fav as you.

It's that kind of entitlement, thinking you're better than everyone else that makes people not like Nettles stans. It's almost on par with stansas and Alicent stans. People like you project so hard onto your favs, you take any perceived insult, critique, or argument as a personal attack. It's exhausting interacting with people like you.

#rhaenyra targaryen #anti nettles stans #anti nettles x daemon #asoiaf #team black #anti rhaenyra antis

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witheredoffherwitch · 8 months

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I can't help but cringe when I see some people trying to push Aegon v. Aemond or Helaena v. Alys in these online spaces. Each character in the show has their own role in the storyline--and it's absurd to think they could be pitted against each other. It's just too weird.

Aegon v. Aemond isn't a thing because despite these two hating each other's guts, they fight besides each other till their last moment. Aemond fights this war in Aegon's name -- and despite him thinking his brother is nothing more than a drunken wastrel, this fool still offers this challenge to Luke by asking, "did you really think you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?" In F&B, the conflict is mainly panned out between Aegon v. Rhaenyra and Aemond v. Daemon. Helaena's role is much more passive all while being extremely crucial to how the Dance ultimately ends. Many are quick to point out that Lucerys' death was the catalyst that jumpstarted this whole civil war (even though in truth, it had been simmering since that Driftmark incident) but fail to notice that Halaena's end is what cements the final conclusion of the war.

I have acknowledged my hesitation in discussing Helaena-centric topics on my page because I have always felt like I understand her the least out of all the Green characters. But the way some of y'all go ahead and make assumptions about her relationships with her family -- and make up fake conflicts to justify your own crackship is truly bizzare.

I cannot even comprehend how stupid this forced competition between Helaena and Alys is. People really need to stop injecting Aemond into Helaena's storyline. Her loss, grief and trauma is separate from her brother's struggles -- and Helaena's tragic end is one of the turning points that change the tides against Rhaenyra. Infact, I suppose in this Aegon v. Rhaenyra clash (where Rhaenyra is unbashedly favoured in the show), Helaena's presence might be offered as a false positive for Team Black after the fall of King's Landing. Helaena's death comes right before the Storming of the Dragon Pit that ultimately sealed Rhaenyra's fate -- what remains to be seen is how the show is going to depict the events leading up to that point? In the book, Helaena is more or less a passive figure who is reduced to a grieving queen after the culmination of B&C. I had previously suggested that Helaena's role is going to be bigger than what was depicted in F&B - and given the fact that she has prophetic powers in the show, I assume she will be playing a much bigger role! Helaena is a seer who can see into the future -- and since the show is already exploring the 'song of ice and fire' (a la the long night), it needs to be seen how else are they going to use Helaena beyond season 1. Does she see her line ending after the Dance? Is she aware that dragons might cease to exist after the war? Does she see the eventual demise of her house? Does she see the Dance's conclusion as some sort of inevitable truth that must follow to achieve Aegon's dream?

Alys on the other hand has a completely different role all together. She is either Aemond's high-calling or his partner in chaos. Much of her story is shrouded in mystery. We don't even get a full account of how her story concluded; what happened to her and her child during Aegon III's reign. She becomes the witch queen of Harrenhal but for the next thirty years, we do not know what happened before the castle was eventually given to Lucas Lothston.

In conclusion, I will once again remind folks that each character serves a distinct purpose in this war. The common denominator between these character is unfortunately their father, Viserys -- and this story is essentially a run-down on how the prophetic king himself dooms his entire family (and eventually his house) into the path of self-destruction. For most of his life, Viserys' main aim was to ensure both stability and longevity for his line, and despite his efforts, he failed at that task quite remarkably. Each one of his kids possessed that distinct Targaryen 'trait' and yet this is a king who places his oldest daughter above the rest out of the guilt for killing his first wife. In the end, it was his choice that ultimately doomed his own house.

#hotd discourse #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #alys rivers #helaegon #alysmond #pro team green #team green #anti viserys i targaryen #hotd analysis #fandom bs

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ewanmitchelll · 5 months

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Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (V): Blank Space.

Imagine Aegon Targaryen wants to court Lady H/N of House Tyrell, right before his ascension to the throne. But in order to conquer this house’s support, he sends Aemond Targaryen to court you. As people used to say, to play cooing is to play coy…

Warnings 1: based on the movie “10 Things I Hate About You”.

Warnings 2: for the alternative universe purposes, Helaena eloped with a Hightower cousin.

Warnings 3: light smut, light reading, rom-com vibes, fluff.

***

• Pawns in Stranger’s Game.

Aemond has just landed when he’s summoned by Ser Criston Cole to head to the throne’s chambers. The prince grumbles under his breath, already missing the liberty of flying high, where his dragon lady and himself are nobody’s business.

“The king expects to marry Lord Aegon soon”, Ser Criston breaks the silence by updating the prince of the situation. “But there’s been some issues about it.”

“Ha”, Aemond mutters sarcastically. “I wonder why.”

“First, your sister Helaena eloped with Ser Gerold Hightower. A scandal, if you remember well”, the knight is more than pleased in numbering the events, remembering with what Aemond judged to be an amused voice the unexpected day sweet Helaena took the reins of her own life.

“I do”, the prince speaks nonchalantly.

“Second, His Grace is concerned about bringing the Tyrells closer to the crown. They have been neglected in the last decades of your great-grandsire’s government. Now has come an opportunity to embrace it properly in ancient fashion.”

“Marriage.”

“Indeed… But this is an old, proud house.” Again, another hint of amusement in the knight’s voice gets the other male’s attention.

Aemond, annoyed by how this is getting his interest, stops walking and throws Cole a glance. But by now they both stand before a heavy iron made door that is now opening.

Every question is answered when Aemond hears the same old shouting. Like always, the king is scowling at Aegon for some improper behavior.

“…and how dare you to suggest yourself a good dame as Lady H/N?”

“What incident has brought our father into the old throwing tantrums again?”, he inquires Daeron, who’s too busy eating some grapes and serving himself some wine.

“It appears that our sweet brother has seduced Lady H/N of House Tyrell. Oh, no, not in that manner you might think, Aemond. Indeed it has surprised me that Aegon has the capacity to write poems and be a good bard where his carnal needs are concerned.”

“Hum”, is all the other male says, feigning some uninterest in the matter.

“He proposed the said lady, but her father refused. The aforementioned damsel is only marrying after her eldest sister, who attends by the name of Lady Y/N, does. She has quite a reputation.”

“What kind of reputation?”, Aemond asks, struggling to keep his own amusement in check.

Daeron looks at his brother with eyebrows raised.

“Not that kind of reputation, Aemond. She is known as the queen of thorns due to her sharp wit and a sharper tongue. She has quite an odd saying that she’s marrying only for love.”

“And her family has agreed to this foolish idea?”

Daeron chuckles.

“Like I said, the Tyrells can be proud.”

And just like that Aegon turns suddenly at his younger brothers as if he is reminded of their presence.

“Aemond and Daeron! My most beloved comrades!”

Ignoring the puzzle look exchanged between them, Aegon carries in his semblance some odd glow of hope. It so appears this second eldest Targaryen—after his half-sister Rhaenyra, by now married to their uncle Daemon Targaryen, residing at Dragonstone—is expecting to find solution in either brothers.

“I was speaking to our gracious father the king about my utmost desire in marrying for the purpose of serving our family…”

“Go straight to your point, Aegon”, Aemond cuts his brother, in between annoyed and amused.

“I need your assistance in marrying Lady H/N Tyrell”, Aegon does as asked, unwilling to play the dutiful son’s role any longer, specially when seeing how little his father cares about his efforts in doing so.

Aemond rolls his eyes.

“But her sister ought to marry first.”

“Indeed”, and here Aegon smirks. “I may only court Lady H/N if you marry her sister first.”

“I am not…” Aemond is about to snort.

“I will pay you triple in gold”, his brother speaks in seriously tone. “The double in advance to cover the expenses in presenting yourself on behalf of our House.”

Aemond clenches his jaw, but when Aegon takes from nowhere a velvet sac with heavy coins, sense of duty promptly prevails over personal sentiments. He steps in then and before the king and queen, the silver haired prince smirks and says:

“Your Graces, allow me to be sent to High Garden. I shall represent the interests of the crown carefully.”

For the gold, Aemond could be ambitious. But in the end, when has he ever refused Aegon anything?

***

• Roses With Thorns.

Nice to meet you, where you been? I could show you incredible things. Magic, madness, heaven, sin. Saw you there and I thought: "Oh, my God, look at that face. You look like my next mistake. Love's a game, wanna play?

You are at the library, finishing one more reading in this rainy day. Whilst the court of your father and mother has been occupied with musicians, siblings acting like the typical Tyrells, you opt to be distant from the crowd.

Today’s book is a novel about a wanderer and his damsel. Despite the reputation your siblings help creating of you, romance is often the object of your secretive poems. But seeing how rude is the courtship these days, little wonder why you prefer the company of books.

And here you’d gladly stay had your mother not sent her favourite lady-in-waiting to go after you.

“Lady Y/N”, you hear the woman’s voice breaking through the gentle silence that has been your company for the last two hours. “We have an important visitor and it’s crucial that you are there to receive him. I thought that was why you chose to dress your favourite gown, but I cannot understand why hiding away from public is something you’d promptly do.”

You close the heavy book patiently before casting the woman a look.

“I do appreciate fashion, but even more books. I did dress for the occasion as my lady mother warned me about the arrival of Lord Aemond Targaryen. However, I honestly don’t feel inclined to greet him.”

“You are the eldest child, your presence is expected, my dear.”

“The second eldest, Gertrude”, you remind her. “Arrham is the eldest. He is the heir, after all.”

“Come now, no excuses. I’ve brought the headdress.”

Today you are wearing a red silk gown with details in velvet white, designed with the symbol of your house. Your y/c hair is tied in a simple braid but now it’s carefully placed under a local hood. Like most damsels of your position, you exhibit a pair of golden earrings in your ears matching golden rings in your fingers and one necklace bathed in gold.

Small vanities that you quite appreciate. You are still a rose, regardless of the whispers. And so promptly you move to the grand salon, followed by Mistress Gertrude. Your head is raised and your demeanor, very composed.

And when doors open, your heart races and you panic internally. The grand hall, where court is located, is fuller than usually is. Minor houses that answer to the authority of your family sent their representatives. Musicians are found in the corners of the white salon playing a sweet melody and courtiers walk arm-in-arm, engaging themselves in coquettishly talks all the whilst the table is fixed for the banquet.

You feel instantly most gazes turn at you.

“Be brave, sweet girl. You can do it.”

And it’s when you see him, of course. No one else has silver locks nor eyes colored purple.

No man in this salon is devilish handsome. A thought that weakens your knees. But you dismiss it as your mother proudly brings the royal guest to you.

“My daughter, meet Lord Aemond, prince of the House Targaryen. He’d been sent here to represent the interests of the king in amending relations with our House”, so says Lady Roxanna Tyrell.

You curtsy elegantly and the prince bows just as regally. Curious pairs of eyes follow your moves.

“‘Tis my pleasure to make your acquaintance, prince.” You speak gently. “Welcome to High Garden. We pray that you find us a very amicable people, loyal to the crown.”

Aemond smirks. You certainly don’t strike the arrogant type who sweeps away every suitor and prevents your sister to marry. Or so judges him at first.

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Y/N Tyrell. On behalf of the king, I thank you for the warming welcome. Hopefully we can meet in another moment.”

For now, you two part. Aemond feels your eyes glued on his back as he steps away. It doesn’t take any longer before the banquet is ready to begin. And as you take your seat, you capture the gaze he casts at you.

Regrettably you know why. But you behave in a nonchalant manner… for your own sake.

New money, suit and tie. I can read you like a magazine. Ain't it funny? Rumors fly. And I know you heard about me. So hey, let's be friends. I'm dying to see how this one ends.

As the prince is your family’s visitor for some good time, you feel it’s your obligation to lead him to a stroll in the gardens. And here’s when sparks are beginning to fly.

“I suspect my lordship appreciates wilderness in its crude state”, away from preying eyes your tongue rolls loose just fine. “But unfortunately there is little to show within these walls.”

Aemond chuckles.

“Does my lady take me as an imprudent, wild man?”

“Rumors fly like your dragons, lord.”

He certainly is surprised by your tongue.

“Judging by others’ speech is not a wise move, so I understand.”

You turn your head at him, with a side smirk on your lips.

“Is my lord telling me he’s a prudent prince then? Unlike his royal older brother?”

“Ah”, Aemond looks down at his feet for a moment but you spot a shadowy smile curling upon his lips. “So is this what’s it about?”

You give him an amused smirk, not giving away your thoughts so easily. As you walk into the depths of the gardens, passing through some ladies by, you don’t appreciate their long gazes at him… and you swear you could hear something very similar to “he should be in better company”.

“You look offended with something”, Aemond muses after studying you in silence. “Locking your thoughts in the highest tower does not mean you are a careful prisoner.”

You look at him in bewilderment.

“I am no prisoner, lord.”

“No? But you are hardly seen out of these pillars of stones”, says he in reference to a grand castle that’s been built in the days of the Gardners.

“What else a woman such as me should do? Bear heirs and live endlessly at the mercy of her lord husband?”

Aemond is not entirely certain whether he’s entertained by your total disregard to mundane rules or annoyed by it.

“Duty cements relations, lady. This is all I can let myself say.”

You have a bitter answer in the tip of your tongue, but because he’s been so pleasant to you, you hold it back.

Aemond, on his turn, scans his surroundings, in fact enjoying the change of his background for a moment. Different roses and other flowers embellish greens walls that turn this garden in a real labyrinth, leaving the Red Keep’s in a completely failure by comparison.

Heleana would’ve liked here.

“I should better go”, you say, breaking the silence as you do not know how to proceed further. Never the one to flirt or be socially sympathetic, you feel suddenly drawn back. Especially because it’s clear now that this prince is not like others.

Aemond turns his head.

“So soon?”

“I am required”, you lie bluntly. “Furthermore it appears to me we are both here by social obligations”.

The prince turns his head abruptly. Ah. Here comes the thorns.

“Allow me to disagree”, he offers a warm smile, much to your disconcert. “I find your company most pleasant, lady Y/N. This has been an interest garden to stroll around. I could have not asked for a better guide than my lady.”

His manners so gallant bring a small shade of blush to your y/c face. But even then you do not bend your distrustful heart to what this prince may offer you.

Perhaps bearing in mind his brother’s behavior, you say:

“As good as this afternoon may be, lord, a lady as me should not remain unaccompanied for so long.”

“Of course”, Aemond nods his head. “What would people think, right?”

Whether his remark is sincere or masking a sarcasm, you’d not dare to try to know. What really imports is to make your way out of his league before it’s too late.

• Dangerous Liaisons

So it's gonna be forever or it's gonna go down in flames. You can tell me when it's over, if the high was worth the pain…

You are once again in your quarters, reading a prayer book when your sister storms in. Dressed in a ball gown, she looks feverish for this event that holds no importance to you. Hence why you are dressed simply by contrast.

“Y/N!” She squeaks. “Father demands your presence. All Tyrells are at the grand hall for the feast in honor of Lord Aemond. Must I remind you how important this event is?”

Without removing your eyes out of the line that, curiously, admonishes the sin of the flesh, you respond:

“Really? How come?”

H/N does pay an effort in not stomping her foot like a child. She knows she’s passed the age, even if you provoke such childish reactions.

“Mostly due to the interest of our father in joining our houses together. Our mother is inclined in convincing him that I would be a proper wife to my beloved Aegon.”

She sighs romantically, not noticing the side eye look you give her.

“H/N, may I remind you this rascal prince is reputed for pursuing women in the least romantic way?”

“He is different now, writing me every day poems that he’d not done before.”

“Because you are a saintly muse who inspired him a swift change in his nature”, you remark sarcastically.

“Why are you skeptical that people can change?”, she asks you, sounding hurt.

You carefully raise your eyes, finally giving your sister some attention.

“Men hardly change, my dear H/Nickname. You should know that better than anyone else.”

H/N blushes furiously. She detests that you mention the one time she flirted with a good Lannister man in a courtship that nearly ended in a blood feud between these families because Lord Tytus apparently preferred to take as wife his own cousin.

“For a romantic you can be pretty pessimistic!”, and here she comes at you like a knight taking a plea to the king. “My sister, the only reason why father refuses to marry me off to such a powerful nobleman lies in your nonsense belief in marrying for love. You contradict yourself in so many ways… Come and join us at the ball. Convince Lord Aemond and father that I am more sensible now.”

You sigh. When have you ever refused H/N anything? Putting aside your prayer book, you take your sister’s hands and squeeze them in yours.

“Very well. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You smile as H/N pulls you at a tender embrace.

“I’ve always known you were just as Tyrell as the rest of us.”

You roll your eyes at the remark, but chuckle eventually at it. Indeed, the fruit never falls too far off the tree, does it?

Aemond detests formalities, more so in playing the diplomat on behalf of his dysfunctional family. For a while, however, this provides a good excuse of staying away from them. Seeing how united the Tyrells are, though, he cannot help but feeling somewhat jealous, wishing his was too.

Now here he is, waiting to act the seducer he is not in order to help Aegon marrying H/N Tyrell.

Frankly, who’d refuse to marry into the Targaryen family? This is such a proud manner…

His thoughts are soon interrupted by your arrival. Many are the eyes drawn to you, dressed impeccably in red and white, a summer silk gown that shows some cleavage and shoulders. The way your hair is tied in two braids each side of your head, showing the jewelry that decorates your skin, only reinforces your beauty.

The prince, who doesn’t like any rivals to dispute what he judges to be his by right, opts to wait for the right moment to approach you. Setting aside from the crowd, he seems pleased to find in your semblance furrowing brows and confused eyes as if you’ve been looking for someone.

Music starts to play and Aemond remains concealed from others view all the whilst he watches you dancing with other men. As much as he dislikes the view, he is patient. You may think you disguise well your social discomfort, but Aemond can tell this is not your environment.

And before some courtier could send you away—for you are evidently feeling out of place and wishing to go somewhere else—, Aemond takes your hand and quickly takes you out of prying eyes and ears.

“Thank you”, you say after a while. “What a tiresome game this is.”

“It is indeed”, he agrees, leaning against the wall, watching you feeling comfortable again. “Shall we head to the gardens or we ought to call Lady Gertrude to follow us in most appropriate manner?”

You laugh quietly at his subtle reference to your flee the other day.

“No. I believe no one will notice me if we stroll around. You, on the other hand…”

“Why’d you think so of yourself? You are no lesser than me due to the lack of royal blood. You are a noblewoman nevertheless.”

“It’s more complicated than it may sound”, you shrug your shoulders. “What is my family but the descendants of a random supporter of Aegon the Conqueror?”

Aemond chuckles.

“Is this how you see the House Tyrell? Your family holds great responsibility to the deliver and production of food, my lady. Not to mention the great number of men to fight wars that are provided by the Reach. This is no little doing.”

You give him an impressed look.

“And here I thought we were regarded as vain folk who live for chivalry.”

“Is it bad to live for this ancient code?”

“We throw feasts and live for mundane matters, forgetting what is relevant. We welcome bards and musicians, we dance beautifully and flirt courteously. But marriages remain politically tactics to enrich our coffers.” You sigh. “How wrong is to actually live for love?”

“And yet you forget you forbid your sister for experiencing it”, he reminds you.

You chuckle lightly in turn.

“My lord, with all due respect, but love doesn’t change any man’s nature.”

Aemond stops the pace, making you turn and look at him, wondering why he stands there under some cork tree.

“Green suits you well”, he muses, pleased to see a color painting your cheeks.

“I know my duties”, you tell him rather shyly. “I would not dishonor my guest, regardless of my perspectives about certain matters.”

“Or men in general”, he teases you.

“Or men in general”, you agree between chuckles.

Aemond doesn’t realize he’s been drawn to you until he gently laces his hand with yours. You are taken aback by such a gesture, feeling some heat spreading over your generally cold skin. When your eyes find his, you say:

“What do you think you are doing? Prince or not, you…”

“I am what I am. You know it too. And you are who you are, that I know as well”, he pulls you closer. “Who left in you a nasty scar, Y/N? A rose as yourself has too many thorns to let beauty blossom so spontaneously.”

You stare into his eyes, drowned in his purple irises. As he rests a hand in your waist, the heat begins to spread over the rest of your body, making you experiment new sensations that so far you’ve only heard from other ladies.

“This isn’t about me. I am merely protecting my sister as I know you protect yours.”

Aemond side smirks down at you, diving into yours, reading too much of your soul.

“I did. I helped her elope with her beloved, haven’t you heard?”

“And have you not been told I am a nightmare dressed like a daydream?”

Aemond releases one hand to rest over your shoulder and then to grab your chin, making you look into his good eye.

“I am told I am insane by countless former lovers”, he chuckles. “I have a bad reputation and yet here we are.”

Aemond and you are so closer now. The heat is like a flame now, burning your skin and he can tell how he effects you by seeing your heavy chest going up and down. His forehead now rests against yours, desire already burning him too, in a slow ache down to his manhood.

But before this flame sparks into something far deadlier, you both hear giggles not too far from there. It is like a dreadful wake up call and you realize you are not dreaming, therefore you should not remain where you are now standing.

“Y/N”, he calls your name when seeing you are about to escape.

“I must leave…”

“Not until you carry a remembrance of this evening.”

Before you could come up with some excuse, Aemond is faster and holds your arm, turning you at him so he cups your face with his hands and there finally kisses you.

And you run, leaving him there… but taking with you the sweetest poison you’ve ever had.

***

• Growing Fire…

Boys only want love if it's torture. Don't say I didn't, say I didn't warn ya

It’s not easy when you are surrounded by ladies who speak about their intimate affairs in such an open manner. Your sister is there, drinking in their experience as she too wonders what would be like to be somebody’s wife.

This somebody, you know, is not anybody. It’s the king’s eldest son, whose reputation of womanizing left you so protective towards H/N. But nothing comes to mind when you think of Aemond Targaryen and his fervent kiss.

“My husband likes to hear me singing his name out before we consume our, eh, flame”, lady Jeyne is telling this late evening.

You wish they’d be quiet, but unfortunately your sister encourages the woman to give details of it.

“It is when he begins to tease me. He likes to undress me himself, forbidding me to do anything at all”, says the said lady.

And here your imagination begins to work, whilst you pretend to occupy yourself with sewing. Your mind takes you back to the core of the gardens when his lips promptly dominated yours. And the taste he left in your mouth remains there.

You wonder if he’d do what lady Jeyne’s husband does to her. Would he exercise any authority over you? Would his callous hands remove every bit of your gown and touch you in unspeakable manners?

You feel your womanhood aching at the idea of his fingers working wonderfulness there, a sensation that also fuels your frustration. For a reason side of yours begins to wonder if he’s like Aegon. If so, why would you picture indecent scenarios with another womanizing man?

When paranoias are about to threat your peace is the moment your castle is close to tumble down. The ladies gathering is interrupted when your mother in person step inside you and your sister’s privy chambers.

“H/N!”, she exclaims. “You must come with me at once. Pride is no more our best shield.”

“What’s wrong? What happened?”, you join your sister’s voice before your mother’s restlessness state.

“The prince is here.”

You’d think she is talking about Aemond, but H/N is faster in joining the puzzles.

“Aegon?!”

“Yes!”

Quickly all the ladies leave the chambers, and you above all remain confused. Right at the great hall you spot Aegon Targaryen in person, talking impatiently with his brother.

“Finally! I trusted my brother to resolve this matter, but he’s too slow”, says the eldest male son of King Viserys.

You give Aemond a quizzical glance. Seeing a silent question posed in your eyes, the rascal prince comes after you, but he is forced to step back as Aegon is in his moment.

“I must marry you, H/N, at once. Bewitched I may be for this new sentiment that poets compare to redemption, even if I as a man am unworthy it, has taken possess of my soul. Let me profess how ardently I love you, sweet H/N!”

So suddenly you begin to pick the pieces. Aegon had sent his brother to conquer you, for even you were familiar that your father would not marry his youngest daughter first than his eldest, especially after the Lannister scandal.

This means, you begin to think, that I am nothing especial.

And as this thought occurs you, Aemond pales at your reasoning. He then comes after you, tortured by the idea you’ve may come to him.

“Y/N”, he calls your name right there in the midst of corridors. “Please, wait! My lady, hear me out…”

“Please tell me he didn’t pay you to do what you did”, you turn at him, eyes already puddled with tears.

Aemond quietens before the accusation, and for the moment fury seems to take the best of you.

“You rascal!”, it’s all you can say. “Stay away from me, Aemond Targaryen. Go back to your whores. They will certainly make better use of this gold.”

Aemond watches you go, never before left behind like he is now by you. He realizes the wrongs done and opts for waiting a better time to amend his mistake.

The worst susceptibility is to be crudely exposed, openly hurt not by others but by his pride.

He came to love you, but now this love tortures the best and the worst of him, eclipsing him at last…

***

• 10 things I resent in you.

‘Tis the day your sister is leaving behind the Tyrell surname, eagerly adopting the fancy Targaryen one. You attempted to refuse to attend it, feigning sickness, but your mother discovered it and here you are.

Dressed in the colors of your house, you are in no mood to feast or to be in the presence of those dragons again.

“You should be happy for me”, your sister is speaking in an accusing tone. “Because your heart has been broken does not give you the right to part mine.”

Her words knock you out of your self exile. It’s when you realize you haven’t been this good of a sister.

“I’m sorry. I’ll behave. I want you to be happy, I just… fell in my own trap, I suppose.” You admit in a rare moment of sisterly confessions. “I didn’t mean to ruin your day, sweet H/Nickname. I just thought all is better in books.”

“What good is there in living too much in words and forgetting to live life as it is? It’s not pretty to get hurt, but we get better and find other paths. People can change if you permit it, dear sister. Don’t be overly pessimistic.”

That being said, each follows now a different path. You must go back to your place in the crowd all the whilst two ladies help her dress. And as you head towards the grand salon where the festivity is expected to happen, you are met by Aemond Targaryen.

“Lady Y/N”, he greets you rather contained.

You curtsy elegantly.

“My prince.”

“Please, rise. There is no need to us behave like strangers”, he moves now to where you are and help you rise, never letting go of your hand for once.

“I should tell you something.”

“So do I.”

“You first”, you both say at once, before chuckling nervously at the impasse.

Eventually, though, Aemond says:

“No apologies are enough for what had been done. You had every right in behaving the way you did.”

“I despised your acts, true. But I resented how free you made me feel. How foolish you made every night after spending all day with you”, you lower your eyes to your locked hands. “I resented how roguish you behaved, how serious you were, how reluctantly you danced as if I was forcing you into it. I resented how you…”

And here you choke with words. Aemond smiles at himself, gently lifting your chin so he can read your eyes.

“You look adorable when you blush, Y/Nickname.”

You giggle softly.

“I resent the way you read into me easily, how you fight away my fears and how good heart you can be when I was told how bad you are.” And then you cup his face with your fingers. “The one thing I resent more is how I came to love you deeply and sacredly, Aemon Targaryen.”

In this empty corridor, no soul witnesses the precise instant he holds you against him and kisses you most ardently, breaking your castle for once and all, cutting away most of your thorns.

***

• Epilogue

In this large bed of Harrenhal, you welcome your husband properly, not minding how poorly dressed you are.

“How our nuptials are to you, my lady wife?”, he leans his nude body over yours, hands quickly to remove your nightgown, devouring you with his hunger eyes. “Just accordingly to what you’ve been told by your ladies?”

Your face goes scarlet red before being laid down.

“So much better”, you chuckle softly before wrapping your legs around his waist, hands running over his shoulders and chest. “Hmmm. Is it a dream, or you are indeed my husband?”

When his lips move to your neck, taking a while in your chest, you groan softly in response. Sweeter than your dreams ever were, you let him take the reins, having given under his touch so willingly.

“I love you”, he mumbles against your lips, just as he slides inside you.

“I love you more”, and just like that you turn positions.

For he may be the boss outside, but every subject knows that Lady Y/N Tyrell rules her lord husband behind the scenes.

And these are days of summer, where peace is warming and content. That is until autumn comes, but this is for another day…

Regardless of future events, you and Aemond are destined to have a long and happy life with at least a dozen children of your own—he’d gladly come to find out how you came to really enjoy domestic activities a little too much.

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