okie but imagine love at first sight with simon riley
and no, i mean him !!
the very moment you take that one step into the room â and your eyes meet his baby blue ones â he is done for. dead gone. no hope whatsoever.
why? 'cause there stands his future wife.
propped up against the counter, you are far too engrossed in captain priceâs pre-mission lecture to pay any attention to simonâs heavy gaze raking over your entire body. the lieutenant swallows up every fine detail your beauty has to offer â from the slope of your nose to those tiny beauty marks scattered across your soft skin.
(theyâre almost like a nighttime constellation of stars, created solely for him to discover.)
he admires the pretty nail polish coating all ten fingernails, and the three rings you're wearing. all gold. one's sitting on your right pinky, the second on your index, and the third's on your right middle finger.
do you like tea, pretty girl? he wonders, watching as you shake hands with his captain.
it is perfectly fine if you don't. but if you do, simon hopes your main choice is earl grey. there is an unopened box sitting back in his flat â it's yours! all you need to do is let him know. (he'll make you tea every goddamn morning if that helps you wake up.)
all the countless thoughts and feelings and questions rummaging through his head. simon wants to learn everything about you â your interests and hobbies, likes and dislikes, dreams and desires.
did you receive that stunning smile from your mother? or are you the spitting image of your father? are you a cat or dog person? if his nightmares fuck up his sleeping, would you hold him close?
it's quite bizarre, actually.
simon's military personnel file registers his birth year as 1981 â so fucking long ago. and yet, it was not until five minutes ago that he ever felt this alive.
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pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader
summary: lucerys velaryon witnesses a moment he should've never laid eyes upon.
warnings: explicit language. fluff and girl dad!aemond. aemond also spits sexy poetry at his girl. uhhh lucerys signing his death warrant maybe???
notes: hehehehe i'm enjoying this pairing SO MUCH GUYS
his handmaid's tales | main masterlist
It is Lucerys Velaryon, three and ten, that catches onto the relationship, though it was by honest mistake on his part. Or a stupid decision, perhaps. He never meant to lay eyes on such an intimate yet indecent moment.
The dinner held an hour before was an embarrassment to his family, that he understood quite well. It was wrong for him to provoke his uncle into a fury and, even worse, to allow his temper to flare past reasonable judgment. His right cheek still throbbed where his uncle Aegon slammed him hard against the table, nicking his browbone with the edge of the plate. But it was the look his mother gave him that seemed to float before him in the hallwayâs darkness, against the very stones of the Red Keep.
She was disappointed in him, very much so. Daemon too, probably.
Lucerys felt the great need to apologize.
It clambered up his throat and settled deep within his head, causing his stomach to roil and fingers to tremble.
He needed to apologize.
So he stands before his uncle Aemondâs chamber, counting his breaths in some wretched attempt to steel his nerves. One, two, threeâŚ.four, five, sixâŚ.he repeats in his mind, over and over, as his knuckles ghost over the doorâŚbut then he notices the slight crack between the two doors. His eyebrow raises. It is large enough to peer inside, where he hears a soft voice, young and feminine.
His mother always did say he was naturally curious during boyhood, but she also would say that curiosity killed the cat, and snooping was a nasty habit for a realmâs prince to pick up. Against his better nature, Lucerys leans in for a small peak. Â
Lucerys recognizes her as his uncleâs personal handmaid- a young maid, fair and cheerful and beautiful. She smiled at him in the earlier hour, at both him and his brothers, when she passed by the three carrying a handful of freshly washed linens. He remembers it quite well, actually. Despite being clothed in plain servant rags, he had thought she was absolutely lovely. And she had been the only one to spare him a sliver of kindness, no prudence.
He saw her again later in the day, trailing after Aemond. His handmaid, Prince Daemon mumbled to his mother, a smirk on his lips. Ah, but a maid of her beauty does not stay one for long. His mother ignored that, and he tried to as well.
Inside the room, he sees the pretty handmaid rocking in a chair, clutching a tiny babe to her chest. Back and forth, forth and back.
No, he soon realizes, dark eyes widening. The babe is feeding from her breasts. Was she a wet nurse as well? Lucerys tilted his head at the thought. She did not look old enough to be considered one, the majority being well in his senior. He watches as she continues rocking, singing a lullaby beneath her breath before bringing the babeâs plump face to her lips for a kiss.
âThe Mother gives the gift of life, and watches over every wife. Her gentle smile ends all strife, and she loves her little childrenâŚ.the Crone is very wise and old, and sees our fates as they unfold. She lifts her lamp of shining gold to lead the little childrenâŚ.â
His uncle then steps behind her, leaning to kiss her brow before her lips. âIsnât she beautiful?â Lucerys hears the handmaid say, smiling up at Aemond. He grins, nodding. âAbsolutely beautiful. A mirror of her mother, Iâd say,â and he kneels to one knee beside the chair, pressing his forehead against her shoulder. He kisses the bare skin there- once, twice, thrice, and his mouth moves, but Lucerys cannot hear what he is telling her.
Whatever it is, though, it makes his handmaid giggle and shy away, shifting her gaze back on the babe.
âAre you happy?â she asks.
His nuncle sighs. âMy girl, my love, Iâve told you before- I love anything and everything you give me,â and he reaches forward to take the babe in his arms, cuddling her close, â-but you have answered my wishes. You have given to me the most beautiful daughter, with your eyes and enchanting smile and nose.â Aemond glances at her, then bring her palm to his lips and mumbles against it, âAnd I love you. I love you. I love you.â
âI have only done my duty, my prince. I am, as always, your humble servant.â
Aemond rolls his eye. âIf I could give it, the realm would be yours, and you would rule as its queen. No more a fucking servant.â
The handmaid shakes her head, laughing as she leans back in the rocking chair. âI have no need for a realm; Iâm quite content in having your bed and children as mine, my love.â
Ah. His uncle Aemond One-Eye has bastards. How many, Lucerys does not know, but the babe swaddled within Aemondâs arms is his and the handmaidâs, no doubt. He wants to let out the bark of bitter laughter bubbling inside his chest, to scream at the heavens and curse out any listening gods, before running to tell Jacaerys and Lady Baela and his Rhaena. Lucerys turns his attention back to his uncle. How dare he mock his bastard origins when he himself is fathering his own handmaidâs children.
To the health of my nephews- Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wiseâŚstrong. âTwas only a complimentâŚdo you not think yourself strong?
How dare he act any better. How fucking dare he. Aemondâs words did not wound him as much as before, not with the bastard baby lying in his arms.
It leaves Lucerysâs head pounding to the same beat as his heart. Bum. Bum. Bum. But then his breath hitches in his throat when his uncle lifts his head up, a lone purple eye meeting his own. Aemond gives him a cool stare. Dead. Dead. Dead. He rises to his feet, gently resting his daughter back in her motherâs arms, before standing in front of his handmaid, barring any further view of her.
âAemond, what is it?â
Lucerys quickly pulls back from the door, stumbling and falling on his ass. All he can hear now is his heart hammering in both his ears and his uncleâs heavy footsteps looming closer and closer. âAemond?â the handmaidâs voice calls out, loud and honeyed. âWhere are you going?â
To murder me, the prince thinks, jumping to his feet. He turns to sprint down the hallway, braving only one final glance over his shoulder. What he sees terrifies him.
Aemond stands at the door, staring at him with a narrowed eye. The same glare he gave him during the dinner, cold and filled with pure animosity. If the Stranger was to be a mortal man, Lucerys would believe him to be his uncle, especially at this moment. There is a message twisted in his sharp features, in the furrow of his brows, the sneer curled on his lips, and the dagger clasped in his hand.
He wonât live much longer, less if his tongue shares what he witnessed tonight.
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pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader
warnings: explicit language. secret relationship. nsfw smut. lactation kink. breeding kink. mentions of previous pregnancies. absolute fluffy and simpy shit because aemond is head-over-heels for his handmaid.
notes: okay so no one asked for this shit, but please enjoy this lil smutty drabble I randomly decided to whip up before my pilates. thanks. love y'all. mwuah.
his handmaid's tales | main masterlist
Prince Aemond prefers his nighttime baths with heat.
It is something youâve learned as his personal handmaid.
âMine is the house of the dragon,â he once told you while watching you fill-up the bath with hot water from the kitchen. It was your first night acting as his servant, and you were terrified of making any foolish mistake. But there was a proud smirk on his lips when he said it and a strange gleam in his eye too. You had mentioned your fear of accidentally burning the prince aloud, and he shook his head at that, demanding a hot bath. âIt can never be too hot for a Targaryen. The fire is in my blood, sweet girl.â Â
And now you empty the last of the hot kitchen water into the tub, slowly running your fingers through the water before reaching for the fragrant oils- new ones from Essos, gifted to the family by an old Tyroshi merchant. The older prince liked the way they smelled. So did you.
Soon comes a soft knock at the door. âIs my bath ready?â Prince Aemond asks, standing beneath the archway. He is without his leather eyepatch, and his sapphire catches the dim candle lighting. You stand to your feet and bow your head, nodding. âGood,â he mumbles, tugging his cotton tunic over his head and unbuttoning his pants, âI trust it is still hot?â
âYes, my prince, just the way you like. I had just finished scenting the waters before you arrived,â you say, taking his hand to help him into the tub. True to your words, the water is scalding hot, but Aemond neither flinches nor cries out; instead, he sighs in delight as he sinks himself further into the water. You wash his long, silver-pale hair and gently comb out the tangles and snags, all in silence as he keeps his head tilted and eyes closed.
It is a soft moment, intimate and peaceful, and you notice the hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
âDo you wish for me to wash your back as well, my prince?â you ask.
He shakes his head.
When his hair is clean, you sit back and gently undo the knot around your neck that holds up your plain servantâs gown. Aemond twists to watch as the cloth falls down your shoulders, leaving you bare and beautiful before his very eye. He finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from your breasts, still heavy with milk and incredibly sensitive and soft and heavenly to behold. âCâmere,â he whispers, pulling you close to bury his face within your chest.
âYou are so beautiful,â he hums, glancing up at you while brushing a finger against your swollen nipple. âThe most beautiful woman in the world,â and he brings it to his hot mouth, sucking at it. You gasp, entangling your hand in his wet hair as you press his face closer, arching your back. His hand tweaks and pinches your other nipple, stirring a flood of high-pitched, loud moans and whimpers. âBeautiful and all fucking mine,â he slaps at your breast- once, twice, three times before switching his mouth to suckle there. Your milk soon floods his mouth, and the delicious taste leaves his poor, aching cock too hard and damned painful for him to ignore.
Aemond has you suddenly on your feet, flushed and trembling, poor knees ready to buckle at any second, before guiding you into the bath. Like him, you do not flinch or wince from the heat, and it makes him so fucking proud, settling you over him and grabbing at your hips, too impatient, wanting nothing more than to sink himself into you.
âMy seed has done you well,â he blusters in awe, marveling at your beauty. âMy sons have given you their fire as well, it seems.â
You smile, rocking your hips back and forth. âI am merely your humble servant, my prince,â you giggle, dropping your face low to collect his lips in a hot, wet kiss. Meanwhile, your thighs shake, and your pretty face soon scrunches up in pure bliss as you take his fat cock deep in your belly with little bounces. âWho am I to deny my princeâŚ!â you gasp out, gripping his shoulders as he wraps his own arms tight around you, jackhammering into your pussy. It causes water to splatter outside the tub in tiny puddles.
âNo,â he grunts, sliding a hand up to your neck to press you downwards as close to him as possible. Your forehead flattens against his as you do your best to match his thrusts, eyes locking with his. Aemondâs stare- it is intense and passionate, and you cannot break away. âNo,â he repeats through a hiss, knotting his other hand within your damp hair, feeling your heavy breasts brushing against his chest. âNot just a-a fucking servant,â he says, slipping a hand between your thighs to find your clit with his thumb, âYouâre my fucking everything. All fucking mine. Imma put another babe in your belly so that everyone fucking knows who you belong to.â
Aemond looks down to see the slightest bulge of his cock, pushing in and out of your soaking cunt. You hiccup, pretty eyes red and teary and glazed-over as you nod feverishly, kissing him again. âPlease-please-please-please,â you babble, heavy pants against his mouth as you unashamedly plead and beg and cry, âI-I want- I need it- please, please, I need it again.â
His thrusts quicken at the mental image of you with another swollen belly, trailing after him as his devoted and sweet handmaid. Once again, youâll be glowing with motherhood, absolutely gorgeous, leaving lowborn bastards to stare at him with sheer envy. âPeople are going to look at you, my sweet girl,â he pants, his thrusts growing sloppily as he feels himself ready to cum. âTheyâre gonna know that babe in your belly is mine. All mine. Your back is gonna ache, and your tits will leak, and it will be because of me.â
His hot mouth glides across your jawline, down to your neck, leaving countless bites and bruises. Youâre much too beautiful like this. âI want our next one to look just like you,â he mutters, pinching your clit between two fingers. You shriek, flinging your head back at the pleasure spiking up your spine. âCan you do that for me, sweet girl? My lady, my love. Give me a babe that looks like you?â He slams his mouth down on yours again in a heavy and wet kiss, sucking on your tongue.
When he pulls away, his fingertips run across your bottom lip as he leans to kiss your forehead, feeling your cunt tighten around his cock. A new babe will soon join his precious twins sleeping in the nursery. He smiles at the thought. âI want a daughter,â he whispers, â-who looks exactly like my pretty handmaid so that the entire fucking world knows how much I love her.â Â
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you can pretend it's not meant to be (but you can't stay away from me)
summary: to you, he is fictional. but to him, you are everything and more. he can't live without you. and, really, there is no use in trying to run away, he'll always find you.
pairing: (somewhat) dark!aemond targaryen x fem!reader
warnings: explicit language. noncon to dubcon. abduction. massive obsessive tendencies on aemond's part. breeding kink. slight spitting kink. pregnancy.
note: hey this is me practicing writing smut because ive never ever done it before and i don't know jackshit like wtf is a dick hahaha im dreading posting this hahahasendhelpplshaha
masterlist | series masterlist
part two | part three | part four | part five
How did you end up here?
That was all you could ask yourself, over and over again.
It had only been hours ago, maybe, that you were sitting at home, rewatching the first season of House of the Dragon for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Perhaps you dozed off on the couch too, but that was it. You have heard of shifting techniques before- ways to visit your favorite fictional worlds- but you never sought to try them out yourself.
College left you too busy with assignments and textbook readings, as well as the constant and unwavering pressure to maintain both your scholarships and high GPA.
Ever the dutiful and driven daughter, hungry for academic validation and success.
Oh, fuck, your scholarships!
Your GPA!
All those assignments and discussions and exams!
And what about your family? Your mother and father? And your best friend?
Aemond Targaryen seems not to understand your words, and why you tell, beg, and plead for him to let you go. âPlease, I need to go home,â you cry loudly, while yanking at the thick knots that bound you to his bedframe, âplease! My family, my friends. They will be worrying when they donât hear from me, and all my hard work and accomplishments, it will be for nothing! Please, I beg you, let me go home.â
But he just chuckles and kisses your forehead and says, âOh, my sweet girl, Iâm your family now. Or what is of it.â His lips feel so soft and wonderful, and how desperately you wish to enjoy the feeling. But not like this. You cannot think properly nor muster any sort of response, too distracted and stressed and focused on calming your breathing.
âAlthough,â he then adds with a smirk, âit truly is not considered a family until you have a babe of your ownâŚor two.â
At his words, you tremble and whimper and try your best to break free, though it is all in stupid and foolish vain. There is no going anywhere, the knots are too tight and Aemond can easily overpower you. All you can do is stare up at the man you once considered your favorite character in the series, ever since the eighth episode aired and he stole your heart and soul and burrowed himself deep within your most inner thoughts and fixation.
âDo not worry,â he says, and you can see a twinkle in the violet of his eye. He rests a hand on your collarbone, gently drawing little shapes across the skin. âGood things will come out of this night, my love, I promise you that.â
Look on the bright side, you tell yourself, in some dumb attempt to steel your nerves, better Aemond Targaryen to lose your virginity to.
âYou need to be quieter, my darling-â Aemond murmurs close to your ear â-we do not need curious ears listening in, do we?â He has you riding him, both hands clutching your hips as you do your best to bounce on his cock and match his thrusts. Youâre sloppy and inexperienced, and a bit confused on what exactly to do, but it is so endearing that his lips curl into a grin.
Oh, you were made for me, he thinks, watching the way your glazed-over eyes try to hold his gaze. He will have you believe that by the end of the night, dawning if necessary.
There is much rush now that he found you, now that he has the chance to claim you.
You still moan, loud and high-pitched, and he slaps a hand flat over your mouth to shut you up. It makes your pretty and teary eyes widen more as you grab at his wrist, holding onto it while he tuts. âIâll move my hand when you learn to listen to your husband and stay quiet. No one is allowed to hear my wife in her pleasure. No one but I.â At that, you bat your eyelashes at him, breasts heaving as he leans you down, so close your lips nearly touch, and Aemond can feel your heavy pants against his mouth.
âThey will take you away from me, and ship you far across the world where I canât find you,â he hisses, pinching your swollen nipple between his fingers, âI canât have that. No, no, do you hear me? I will not survive being torn from you.â
The mere thought of losing you, either at the hands of his mother and grandsire or you returning to your homeland, fills him with sheer dread.
He does not know how to tell you that you are the girl of his dreams, everything he has desired and more. He has seen you in his nighttime slumbers and in the gleam of the summer sunlight and up among the black midnight stars.
But the words fall apart on his tongue, and all he can do is lay beneath you and marvel at your beauty: cheekbones and pretty puffy lips and the curve of your nose, the way your eyebrows furrow in pure pleasure, and how you look utterly delicious and ruined.
âYou were made for me,â he breathes in awe, palming at both your breasts. You have to believe him, this sweet and pretty girl of his, how could you not? The gods above created you for him, he will make you see it. âYou are taking me so fucking well,â and Aemond flattens a palm against your belly, where he can feel the slight bulge of his cock. âLook at you, youâre my dream come true.â He thrusts his hips up, fucking into you harder and deeper. It makes you squeal and go cross-eyed.
âIs this too much? I know you can handle it, my darling. My love, my sweet girl,â he purrs.
Aemond swipes at the drool pooling at your lips before stuffing two fingers in. âFuck,â he whines, breathing hard, slipping his other hand in between your thighs, and with his thumb, rubbing at your clit. Your face twists in a gasp as you tremble, your entire body tightening until you cream over his cock, your loud moan muffled by the fingers in your mouth.
âGood girl,â he hums, slowing his thrusts, âSuch a good fucking girl. Look at that, did that feel good, my love?â he asks you.
You nod, rocking your hips back and forth. Your thighs shaking and your face scrunching in complete bliss as you start again, taking his cock deep in your stomach with tiny bounces. âPlease- please- please-â you babble against his palm. âI-I want- I need-â
âWant what, my sweet girl? Need what, my darling wife?â
You donât answer, too overtaken by the pleasure. Aemond chuckles and leans upwards, to bury his face between your breasts. You are absolutely stunning, gorgeous, a living goddess; how he went this long without you is baffling. âYou wish for my seed. Is that what you want?â he mutters against your nipple, âof course you do, this belly is too empty, isnât it? My son should be sleeping inside.â His fingers pinch your clit, and you gasp again. âYouâll be the prettiest mother. You were made to carry my children. You were made for me,â and he pulls your face back to his, with a rough grip on your chin.
âTell me,â he demands through a pant, âtell me how fucking badly you need my seed. Tell meâŚtell me right now.â
âI- I need it-â you choke out, but then you shake your head. âNo- No I canât! I- I need to go- go home!â
Aemond laughs, so hard he flings his head back. The sight takes you by surprise before he shoves you off, causing you to land next to him on the bed. You stare up at him, wide eyed and puzzled and swollen and covered in countless bites and bruises. In one swing, he forces your face into the pillow as he mounts you from behind, fucking you hard. His fingers return to your clit, squeezing and tweaking and not caring one bit about your muffled yelps and whines
âYouâll learn, my sweet girl, but perhaps not tonight. I am your home now, do you understand? Iâm your family, your husband, and the father to your children.â
He grabs a fistful of damp hair and yanks your face back, never once slowing his thrusts. Your mouth is open with many moans spilling out, eyes clouded with tears, and cheeks flushed. With his lips next to your ear, he whispers, âYou are going nowhere.â Then propping himself on one arm, he trails small kisses up your back to your shoulder blade until his mouth slams down on yours in a heavy and wet kiss.
And when he pulls away, his fingertips squeeze your cheeks together as he demands for you to open your mouth. "You are mine," he grunts, "you belong to me," before spitting into it. "Good, now swallow."
And when you do, he smiles.
"There, see?" he coos, leaning to kiss your forehead as he feels you tighten around his cock. He was going to seed you again, deep inside your womb. Come the morning, he knows his son will be in there, and he can hardly wait.
"My wife, my darling girl, the only woman deserving of me and all of me. Only me." He watches you sob at that, pink lips pressing in a tight line as fat tears streak down both cheeks. "Oh, do not worry, my love. You're too lovely to be crying," and he uses his thumb to brush away the tears, "I'm here to give you the life you deserve," he vows, so lovingly, "you will want for nothing."
With a loud huff, you plop yourself on the couch.
The saying âhome sweet homeâ never felt more sincere until now. It took much time and planning and effort and sneaking around on your part, but you managed to find a way to escape from Aemond Targaryen, though not without consequences. Your belly was growing only larger with every new moon, and your babe was starting to shift around more. At most times, you could feel the fluttering sensation across the bottom of your tummy, and every now and then, the tiniest kick.
It was adorable, you admitted, and you tried your best to find enjoyment throughout the pregnancy, sometimes wondering at night about who your child would resemble.
Would their looks favor yours? Or would they favor their father, with his Valyrian features- that iconic silver hair and violet eyes. The latter worried you the most. How could you even begin to explain why your child looked as if they belonged in the Game of Thrones series, specifically in House Targaryen?
Speaking of such, you had not touched House of the Dragon since you arrived back home all those months ago, too unwilling to turn on the tv and see the man whose child you were mysteriously carrying in your womb. It just did not make any sense, it felt more like a weird dream than reality.
But you were dying of boredom. The dragonling (you had taken to nicknaming the baby that, it sounded both cute and appropriate) was stealing away most of your time and energy, and your mother refused to allow you to do anything that could cause harm or add more unnecessary stress.
So you bit your tongue and swallowed down your grumbles and settled comfortably on the couch before opening Fire and Blood.
âFucking crazy to think that this is a book of your familyâs history,â you mumbled to your baby bump, âfictional my ass.â
So you read, to yourself and to your babe. Read about Aegonâs Conquest and the Year of the Three Brides and King Jaehaerys and his Alysanne and their triumphs and tragedies and legacy, and you read until you reached The Dying of the Dragons, the Blacks and the Greens, where you just sighed.
âAnd when Alicent sent for her second son to fly to Stormâs End, with the purpose of securing Borros Baratheonâs loyalty to Aegon II by winning the hand of one of his daughters, the Four Storms, the truth was finally known. One-eyed Prince Aemond, twenty and one, had taken a wife of his own in secret, a young maiden not of Westeros (according to Mushroom). Yet Prince Aemond lost her a month into their marriage, although by that time he had become so besotted with his bride, to such an extent that he could not bear the thought of living without her or taking another woman as his new wife.
With Prince Aemond refusing his motherâs orders, Queen Alicent had little choice but to send her youngest, Prince Daeron, in his place to Stormâs End. And by the seventh month, Prince Daeron wedded Floris Baratheon, and Prince Aemond One-Eye had reunited with his wife, who was heavy with child by the time he found her.â
You suddenly glance up from the book pages, feeling your heart hammering so hard in your chest that it seems at the end of your throat. On the wall, to your right, hung the calendar which you had taken to use as a means of tracking your pregnancy.
In two weeks, youâll be at your seventh-month mark.
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maybe you think that you can hide (i can smell your scent from miles)
summary: let it be known that accepting defeat is not in aemond targaryen's nature. and with a witch now in his hands, the distance between you and him is only shortening.
pairing: (somewhat) dark!aemond targaryen x fem!reader
warnings: explicit language. mentions of violence, previous smut, and child loss. male masturbation. massive obsessive tendencies on aemond's part.
notes: to quote my mom, megan thee stallion: "pressed, stressed, obsessed, i got 'em."
masterlist | series masterlist
part one | part three | part four | part five
The rain was light. From his chamberâs windows, Aemond One Eye could see the fat raindrops fogging up the glass frames and mudding the open courtyard below, where he usually trained under Ser Criston Cole. The evening weather was peaceful and calm, very soothing, but Aemondâs mind was anything but.
He had been counting the days, as it was all he could do right now.
Three months, perhaps even four, since his own lady wife vanished, leaving no trace of herself behind.
Aemond deeply regretted not having a septon marry the two of them in the eyes of the Seven that very night that he claimed her, or whisking her away to Dragonstone in secret to wed her in the customs of his ancestors. Oh, he knew that his family would object to the marriage, but he did not care. She was his, and they could not, would not, deny that. She and the babe. They both belonged to him.
And now they were gone.
It weighed him down most days- if not all, a sort of feeling so heavy in his chest that sometimes it made it hard to breathe. Were they both alright? Safe and healthy? Had she gone against his wishes and returned to her homeland? Aemond had no way of knowing the answers and that itself was most upsetting, because what if they were dead? Or injured, with the Stranger trailing after them, awaiting the chance to rob them from him?
He shakes his head at that. I will find them, he swears to himself, while a fist clenches into a tight ball, no more of these ill thoughts.
But with no more ill-mannered thoughts come those of vengeance and punishment.
How dare she, this lady wife of his, flee from him!
He promised her everything under the golden sun and more- a plentiful and comfortable life as a princess of the realm and the mother of his heirs, as well as his very own beating heart and soul and seed. What more could the foolish girl long for? Aemond stares out the window, towards the gentle hill slopes of the realmâs countryside. The land was silvery from the rain and blanketed with a thick mist. What could her homeland provide that he could not?
He sighs before turning back to his empty bed, the left side, from where she once laid, now cold and untouched, with her sweet scent slowly fading. He hates it.
Yet some of it was still left, to his many blessings, and he brings the sheets to his nose, taking in a deep whiff.
The smell makes his cock stir and harden in his pants, and he soon grows too weak in the knees and in his resolve. He tears off his trousers and lays on the bed, his cock in one hand, and her side of the sheets in the other, his mind spinning countless images of his young bride. Every thought sent more blood rushing in between his legs, memories of her pretty body and all the marks and bruises her skin wore, her cries and whimpers, and the way her tearful eyes bore into his.
After that night, he took her more and more, in varying positions. Some new, others old. Sometimes he mounted her from behind, shoving her face down into the pillows to muffle her loud moans and screams as her hips slapped against his, and while that was pleasant, he soon realized he did not care for such. Aemond liked seeing her beautiful face twisted in pleasure and the way her breasts bounced with every thrust, and how she easily flustered whenever he leant to whisper a string of praises in her ear.
He also liked when she sat on her knees with his cock in her mouth, her tongue working wonders as she stared up at him as if he was a god and she one of those whores that belonged to the Street of Silk. But he never dared mutter those kind of words aloud, fore his lady wife was so much prettier than them damned wenches, too sweet and innocent and pure, and wholly his.
And not long after that, she began to glow, the sort that came only with motherhood.
He loved it and felt nothing but immense pride. Â
Was she still glowing, and swelling with his child? Aemond was certain she was, and he could only imagine the sight, one most beautiful to man. He remembered his motherâs pregnancy with his younger brother- how her feet constantly ached, and all the times she would ask Ser Cole to fan her, or switch gowns because she grew too uncomfortable and moody.
Was it the same for his wife? Were her little feet hurting as well?
The thought of such makes him bite down hard on his bottom lip, trying his best to swallow his own grunts and moan, and with a whine so unlike him, the head of his cock weeps and spills more of his seed, down his hand and onto his thighs.
What a waste, he thinks emptily, while eyeing the mess he had made, all this belongs to her, yet the foolish girl refused to see it. Â
Heaving out yet another heavy sigh, he reaches for the rag that sits to his side. What more could be done? Nothing. Foolish, foolish little girl, he clicks his tongue, all this because of you. He then calls for the maid, requesting for her to draw him a bath.
Tonight, he will dream of his lady wife and their little babe and the life they should be sharing at this very moment. He will ponder over names and if the child will favor her looks or his, and how he will need to meet with the royal seamstress for a layette. And as he sinks himself into the scalding hot waters of the bathtub, he smiles in contentment.
One-eyed Aemond Targaryen will have his wife, and his child too, by any means necessary.Â
It was after he sacked Harrenhal that Aemond finds the opportunity he had been waiting for.
The sixth month was nearing with still no sign of his little wife, though the princeling did not dare to consider admitting defeat. There was much pent-up frustration and fury within him, festering from all the damned months he faced of constant loneliness and dryness, and the riverlands faced the brute of it, most notably House Strong. In the ward of Harrenhal, at the hands and command of Prince Aemond, no Strong was spared- neither trueborn nor bastard, all but Alys Rivers.
He had previously heard that the rivers woman was an alleged woods witch, though she dabbled in other branches of the craft. Blood magic too, several little birds say as well.
It gives him an idea.
So he demands two of his knightsmen to bring to him the wet nurse, dark-haired and twice his age. When she stands in front of him, dressed in a soft emerald gown and with her bodice sullied wet from her breast milk, he does not expect for her to bat her black eyelashes and promise to warm his bed if he grants her protection.
âI can be of great use to you,â she adds, in tones thick with seduction.
But Aemond is quick to unsheathe his sword and hold it at her throat. âIt should be known that I carry no love for your kind, witch, and that I dare not touch another woman who is not my wife,â he seethes, pressing the blade harder against her skin, â-either you pledge to help me find her, or I will sever your tongue. Perhaps Iâll send it to the whore of my eldest sister as a gift, seeing how she loved you Strongs so much.â
In the back stands Ser Criston Cole, biting his own tongue from saying anything. He may have been the second son of Viserys Targaryen, but Prince Aemond was the knightâs through and through.
The woman nods, and Aemond pulls back his sword. In his mind, he is giddy with excitement at the thought of finally having his dear wife back in his arms, where she belongs.
And the babe, he can hardly wait to see him too.
Alys wipes away the tiny welts of blood budding along her neckline, grimacing. She recognizes the blade as Valyrian-steel, with an edge that could have cut her head clean off. It is probably spell-forged too, she thinks. âMy time and craft come with a price, Prince Aemond,â she says, steeling her voice to hide the fact that she is licking her wounds. âI expect to be paid in return.â
âYes, I know,â Aemond hums, while sliding his sword back into its sheathe. âYou will keep your life, and still have the chance for more babes to feed from your chest.â
He debates whether to bring her back to Kingâs Landing, in case his own children need a wet nurse, but the thought is off-putting, and he wishes not to offend his wife when she returns. Instead, he turns back to study the rivers woman. âMy wife is missing,â he says, âand I wish to find her and bring her home.â
Alys frowns. âWhen was the last time you saw her?â
âSix months ago, in our room. She disappeared the next morning, leaving nothing behind.â Aemond sighs. âShe is with child,â he says ruefully, âand I worry every day." He rubs at his temple, shaking his head. "This is her first babe, and mine as well. I have made her into a new mother with the promise to remain by her side, but now she is gone, and I havenât the slightest clue where she might be.â The pain returns again, followed by anger and frustration, as well as the deep regret for not doing things differently.
His words give Alys a chill. She always had a soft spot for children and the young maidens that found motherhood too soon in their lives. Maybe because that was her once, so many moons ago, losing child after child well before their lives began.
She mourned so many dead babes that the thought of another girl going through the same felt sinful.
Finding sudden courage, Alys takes Aemondâs hand in hers. âLet me help you, Prince Aemond,â she tells him, all with the gentlest smile. âA father should be with his children, and a wife with her husband.â
His violet eye finds her green ones, and she catches the smallest glimmer of hope flickering within. âThank you.â
âBlood magic would perhaps be the best way to find your wife, my prince.â
Aemond tilts his head at Alys. âHow so?â The Faith of the Seven went against magic, and harbors little love or respect towards those who practice it, and he grew up with similar sentiments. But at this point, he is too desperate to care. All he wants is her back.
May the Father and the Crone forgive him in his later years, though he has a feeling that the Mother might be rather sympathetic and understanding towards his situation.
âIt is a strong and powerful craft,â Alys explains, âcapable of things beyond our own understandings. This sort of magic- it has the power to deliver life and then steal it away. â
He hums, nodding along. âAnd how would it work?â
Alys pauses, unsure of how to say her next words. âIt would require the blood of your wife, my prince,â she says, carefully, âeven just the tiniest droplet would work well. I could call upon my own gods to find her. If she pricked her finger on a needle or scraped her knee, as long as it drew fresh blood, there is no use in her hiding.â But her head then drops, and her shoulders slump too, âYet seeing how she has been gone for so long, I do not know how it could be done, or what else to do in that matter.â
Aemond remains quiet from where he sits by the roomâs hearth. He brushes his knuckles against his lips as he thinks, and thinks, and thinks some more. âWould dry blood work?â
Alys blinks. âWell, maybe?â Her mouths flatten in a line as she ponders over the idea, trying to remember if her old readings ever mentioned anything about dried blood and rituals. âI suppose so, my prince,â she replies with, fiddling with her long and thin fingers, âBlood is blood, regardless of time.â
At that, he leaves the room, only to return several minutes later carrying a single bedsheet, cream in color. Alys watches as he drapes it over the chair he had sat at, making sure to smooth out any wrinkles. When he is done, he calls for the witch to join his side, and when she stands next to him, he gestures to a bloodstain at the center, dried and a bit crusty but still obvious.
âMy wifeâs blood,â he says, smirking, âfrom the night I took her maidenhood and gave her our son.â
Alys glances at him, and her lips pull back into a smirk too. âPerfect.â
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(if I did not tag you, itâs because it did not let me! im sorry, little love, the tumblr gods hate me today.)
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his handmaid's tales (masterlist)
pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader
For his twentieth nameday, Queen Alicent had gifted her second son his very own handmaid. âHe is the only of my children not to have one. Iâd like for her to be sweet and devoted and quick on her feet, a girl who will swear her undying loyalty and service unto him and his needs,â she had declared.
Weâre to believe Prince Aemond graciously accepted this gift, much to the delight of the queen. But Queen Alicent herself never expected pure and true romance to blossom. So smitten was the prince with this girl, the pretty bastard daughter of a serving wench from Harrenhal (as Mushroom claimed).
Towards the end of 130 AC, Prince Aemond had taken his handmaid as his bedmate, and later sired all three of her children. Any hour away from his dragon was spent in the company of his âsweet girlâ, as he soon dubbed her.
These are the tales of their love story.
"i am looking for a maid, preferably one of eight-and-ten...a young handmaid for my second son, aemond."
aemond realizes heâs fallen in love with his handmaid five months later as he stands outside his bedchamber.
âplease,â aemond begs, keeping you flush against him as he nuzzles your breasts. âallow me to make love to you, sweet girl.â
âshe is pregnant.â his queen motherâs palm slams heavily down on the dark council table, loud as a thunderclap. âshe is pregnant! aemond!â
âsheâs a bastardââinnit the truth, mother?â
lucerys velaryon witnesses a moment he should've never laid eyes upon.
cassandra baratheon dreams of prince aemond. the same cannot be said for prince aemond himself.
intimate moments:
bath time
against his desk
practice
others:
flowers and courting
mother's day special
hair braiding
family picnic
sfw headcanons
handmaid!reader tag
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pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader
summary: âshe is pregnant.â his queen motherâs palm slams heavily down on the dark council table, loud as a thunderclap. âshe is pregnant! aemond!â
warnings: explicit language. angst. protective!aemond being a hot hypocrite and defending his bastard. fluff towards the end. i can't make alicent a villain in this, i just can't (sorry not sorry).
notes: a lot of ppl requested alicent's reaction to handmaid getting pregnant, so here it is.
his handmaid's tales | main masterlist
âShe is pregnant.â
His queen motherâs palm slams heavily down on the dark council table, loud as a thunderclap. âShe is pregnant! Aemond!â and her voice only loudens, âI brought her for you to have as your handmaid, not your bedmate! Seven hells, Aemond! She was not meant to be your personal whore to toy around with whenever you felt bored!â
Aemond feels his lips slightly twitch at her words. âShe is not a whore, mother, nor will I stand here and allow for you to insult her.â
âAEMOND!â
The other councilors remain silent, doing their finest in pretending that they were somewhere else. Aemond knows he would have none of their support or backing in this- he is alone in defending his beloved handmaid and their child. Gods give me peace. Two moons back, Lord Tyland Lannister offered up his niece as a wife. Now he sits with his hands wringed together, shaking his head and sneaking him a scowl. He could only imagine the lordâs thoughts of him.
No doubt theyâd all be ill-pleasant.
His mother sighs. âMight it be too late to sneak her the moon tea, Grand Maester?â she asks.
âI would say so, your Grace.â Grand Maester Orwyle clears his throat. âThe handmaid, she is already a month or so pregnant, mayhap even two. You could give her the tea, but it might risk harm on both the mother and babe, perhaps even an unsavory deathâŚâ
âDeath...?â Aemond repeats, aghast.
Her face falls into her hands, and she heaves a deep breath before glancing around the council table. The men all shift uncomfortably.
âMight you consider sending her away, my Queen?â Lord Tyland proposes with a sly smile. âPerhaps back home?â
Aemondâs head quickly snaps to Lord Tyland, violet eye narrowing. His fist clenches tightly at his side, near the dagger sheathed on his belt, at his waistline. âYou would not dare separate them from me,â he tells him coldly. âShe now carries my babe, my heir, and I will not allow her to leave my side!â
âShe carries your bastard in her belly, Aemond,â Otto begins, slowly, carefully. He lays a soft hand on Aemondâs sleeve, giving him a pitiful smile. âThere is quite a difference between a realmâs legitimate heir and a bastard. I understand you are taken with the girl, my prince, and that she is good and kind to you. But, at the end of the day, you remain a Targaryen prince, who will wed when the time comes. How might your lady wife feel if she were to learn your servant mothered your bastards?â
Aemond shrugs. âThen I shall take her as my wife.â
âYou cannot wed her, Aemond!â His mother shakes her head, as if he is some absentminded child. She looks much older too, as if the news aged her a good ten years in one night. He suddenly feels a tad guilty. âHow many times must we discuss this! Your father will not allow nor bless this union, and neither will I! Damn you, Aemond! She is a baseborn girl- your damn handmaid! Her duty is to serve you as a servant, not a wife.â
âAnd yet-â Aemond replies, trying to keep the scorn out of his voice, â-she treats me far better than everyone in this very room.â At that, his mother has enough shame to blush red. He continues, âI love her, and she loves me. Is that not enough? Does that not make you happy? My entire life, mother, Iâve done everything that was expected of me. Iâve studied and trained and fulfilled every princely obligation of mine while your firstborn flouts to do as he pleases! Aegon shames Helaena every night with an empty bed yet you refuse to acknowledge such! And yet, when I find love and happiness, youâre ready to punish me.â
He levels his bright purple eye to his motherâs face. âI love you, mother, but I love her as well, and I will not live a life without her.â And Aemondâs all but ready to collapse to his knees, to beg and plead her acceptance. It is the only one that truly matters amongst everyone else's.
Afterward, his mother sits in silence, staring down at her hands. The skin stretched around her nailbeds are both red and tender, and she wears only her wedding ring on the right. She turns to face her king husbandâs Hand. âWell, there it is, father.â
âIt makes little difference, my Queen.â Lord Wylde and Lord Tyland murmured in agreement.
âBut would it truly be wise to separate father from child, Lord Hand?â Lord Beesbury asks, pointing at the Hand, white eyebrows arched high. Otto Hightower raises his own eyebrow in return. âShe is lowborn, yes, but a royal babe still sleeps in her womb.â
"A bastard, Lord Beesbury, mothered by the daughter of a milk cow."
A milk cow? Aemond blinks, momentarily confused. But before he could say anything further, his mother makes her final judgment on the matter.
The queen slowly rests her elbow on the table before plopping her chin atop her palm. âMy sonâs to be a father,â she says, a faint smile twisting on her lips. She repeats it again, almost like she doesnât believe it. âA fatherâŚâ Aemond feels a bit of hope blossoming inside his chest. âPray tell, would you rather me separate him from his trueborn child? The child that is still his child, his own blood, bastard or not. We can argue on this matter till we are purple in the face, my lords, but the truth still remains,â she declares, before taking Aemondâs hand in hers, thin fingers laced with his.
âTake me to see her, son.â
At once, multiple voices arise in protest. His grandsire calls his motherâs name, but she ignores him as she stands to her feet. âI do beg your pardon, my lords, but I must see my grandchild.â Aemond bows, victorious, and turns on his heel without another word, feeling all eyes on his back as he strolls from the council chambers with his mother, her hand still in his. The doors closing shut behind them silences all the lords, and his mother sighs.
âMy sincerest apologies, my dear Aemond, for referring to her as a whore,â she says, earnestly. âI know she is far from that, and I must say Iâm rather fond of her.â
Outside, Ser Criston Cole was stationed, wearing his long white cloak of the Kingsguard. He gives the two a curious look but remains silent and still, straightening his shoulders when they pass by him. Aemond wonders if he overheard the small councilâs session, and whether he agrees more with his mother or grandsire.
It does not matter, Aemond decides, pressing a soft kiss to his motherâs knuckles, in a show of forgiveness that makes her smile. He loves her too much to remain irate and frustrated with her, especially once she mentioned her soft spot for his girl. His queen mother- good and fair to the smallfolk- is the same with his handmaid. And his future children as well, he hopes.
âYouâll be a wonderful father,â she tells him, tucking a long strand of silver hair behind his ear. âAnd I mean it.â
He brings her to his bedchamber, where his handmaid sits on the settee, dutifully sewing up one of his tunics. When they arrive at his doors, sheâs quick to bolt onto her feet, falling into a small courtesy. She wears a thick and ugly serving dress that hides her swelling belly underneath but does little to dull her beauty.
âMy queen! My princeâŚâ
Aemond takes her arm, pulling her alongside him. âMy mother wishes to speak to you, my love,â he explains, gazing down into her eyes. His thumb strokes her cheekbone before he takes a step back, and his mother takes his place.
Before her, his love trembles, and he knows sheâs awfully scared. It breaks his heart a little. He forewarned her of the small councilâs gathering this morning, and how the maester told the queen of her pregnancy and the decision that would likely be made. She cried that entire night he held her, and neither got a wink of sleep.
âYour GraceâŚ!â she sputters in a quavering voice, hand dropping to her tummy. âI beg of youâŚâ
But his mother says nothing, instead cradling his sweet girlâs pretty face within her hands before leaning to kiss her temple. When she pulls back, her big brown eyes are soft and kind. âYouâll make a lovely mother, my dear,â she mumbles, and it is enough for his handmaid to break into a sob, falling limp as Queen Alicent holds her close, running a hand up and down her back.
âThank you!â she cries through jagged gasps and wheezes. âI was so scared. I- thank you, my Queen, thank you. Thank you!â
His mother gently lifts her face upwards, wiping away the fat tears streaking down her cheeks. âShhh, there was little to worry about, sweetling,â she coos. âAemond wouldnât have let anything happen to you, believe me. A man in love, with everything to lose, is perhaps the fiercest warrior to be found on the battlefield.â
Perhaps?
Aemond watches as his mother comforts his handmaid, mouthing small praises and pleasantries while stroking her hair back, doing her best in calming her down until her eyes are dry. Several minutes later, the two women are discussing the babe, with Queen Alicent sharing memories of the early days of her own pregnancies. The sight before him makes his heart swell in his breast, and he then recalls the words exchanged back in the council chambers.
Iâm to be a father, and hopefully a husband soon.
He crosses his hands behind his back, smiling..
It seems to be true, he thinks, that there is indeed no more beautiful sight than your woman swelling with your baby.
But no one spoke of the beauty that follows when your mother accepts her grandchild for the first time, and the blinding glow that brightens your womanâs face when she realizes such has happened.
tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes @elegantsplendour @katzarantos @fan-goddess @okfashionista @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @mochimommy2002 @fangirlninja67
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pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader
summary: âplease,â aemond begs, keeping you flush against him as he nuzzles your breasts. âallow me to make love to you, sweet girl.â
(or aemond's first time with his handmaid).
warnings: explicit lang. a tiny bit of angst at the beginning. protective!aemond. p in v smut. slight breeding kink. spitting kink towards the end. fluff. all around good vibes bc aemond's in love and we all love that for him.
notes: happy birthday to me. pls be nice to me, i'm unfortunately entering my twenties today.
his handmaid's tales | main masterlist
Aemond spends the better part of the chilly winter day searching for his handmaid.
You had been missing when he returned to his bedchamber at midday, wishing to eat his lunch in your company. Did she forget my first rule, by chance? Aemond thought to himself, holding the chalice to his lips. PerhapsâŚbut he could not stomach another bite of his roasted meat, his mind too consumed with thoughts of you.
So he looks throughout the kitchen wing, and the library and Great Hall, until he passes by his mother and sister in the hallway.
But neither woman claims to have seen you, and heâs left twice as confused and frustrated and concerned as he continues to wander about the Red Keep like some lovesick and anxious fool.
âAh, my prince,â Lord Larys Strong purrs as his steps falls alongside Aemondâs. âPerchance I could be of service. I overheard you are looking for your little handmaid.â
Aemond turns to look at him. âYes,â he answers, his eyebrow raising, â-have you seen her?â
The lordâs smile is sly. âSeveral hours ago, actually. She was heading up to the servant quartersâŚâ but his smile then drops, quickly replaced with a frown, âbut she seemed to be in tears, if Iâm to remember correctly. Poor child, she was an awful, trembling mess, never once looking up to meet my eyes when I greeted her.â
âShe was crying?â Aemond cocks his head sideways, swallowing down the ire beginning to bubble inside his chest.
âYes. It was rather grievous and sad,â and Clubfoot shakes his head dolefully. âA maiden like her deserves a smile on her face at all times, would you not agree, my prince?â
Aemondâs jaw clenches, and he glances to the stairs leading upwards to the servant quarters. Someone made you cry? His blood turns cold, and his fist balls up at his side. Remembering where he was, he gives the lord a curt nod. âThank you, Lord Strong,â and leaves it at that, rushing up the stairway and down the hall, whilst hundreds of questions thronged in his head.
Who dared make you cry? You, who is rightfully his- his handmaid, his woman. You were supposed to remain safe and happy within his room, tucked away from ill-tempered bastards and envious tongues. If he could not protect youâŚ
He turns the corner, huffing. Heâd see whoever made you cry is punished, Aemond decides as he walks down the strip, passing by shut door after door, until he hears fainting sobbing. A sniffle, then, and a tiny hiccup that soon follows. That stops him in his steps. You. You. You, you, youâŚ
âLove,â he whispers, knocking his knuckles on the door before slowly cracking it open. âLove, itâs me.â You twist to meet him in sullen silence, and his heart shatters at the sight. Your pretty doe-eyes are both red and teary, and your bottom lip quivers. Itâs busted too, more scarlet now than pink. But it is the ugly bruise coloring your left cheek- large and hand-shaped, that causes his eye to widen.
âWho?â he spat, crossing the room to gather you in his arms, his voice raising. âWhoâs done this to you?â
But you lower your eyes, and bury your face within his neck, hiding away from his gaze and questions. Aemond softens, and his thumb gently strokes your cheek, pausing when you flinch. âMy love, I need to know at once. ThisâŚthis is a horrible injustice served upon you, one I know you did not deserve!â
You shake your head, face crumpling as another sob escapes you.
His eye narrows.
âWas it my brother?â Aemond demands. âOr a houseguard?â
âNo,â you mumble, feeling ill, like your tummy is tied in a knot. âIt was neither, my prince.â
âWell?â
You sigh. âIt was one of the septas, a new one to the castle. I do not know her name,â you explain. âShe caught me in your room and scolded me, saying how it was beyond disrespectful and ill-mannered of me to flaunter about your bedroom as if it was my own. She saidâŚshe said you would have my head for such, and when I tried to explain myself,â and you hiccup, feeling a wave of fresh tears, â-that I was your handmaid, she slapped me!â
âShe said I would have your head? That I would kill you?â
You nod, wiping away the few fat tears streaking down your cheek, wincing at the slight sting from the bruised skin. âShe said she would bring it up with the Queen herself, that there was no need for insolent little maids like me running around the castle. Oh, Iâm so sorry, my prince. Iâm terribly sorry. Please, please, please forgive me!â
But Aemondâs thumb brushes lightly across your plump lip, shushing you. âThose words should never fall from these lips, sweetling. They were not made for that.â You feel like crying again, this time from relief.
âYouâve done nothing wrong, my love. I couldnât even imagineâŚâ his voice trails off. How could this septa easily plant a seed of doubt within your mind, and make you think he would ever harm you? Or call for your death? As if youâre not the very air he breathes every day.
âYou terrified me when I could not find you earlier, love.â
By now, youâre a lot calmer and breathing fine again, nestled within his embrace. Your cheek still stings but youâll live. You lay your head against Aemondâs chest, listening to his faint heartbeat in his breast. Thump, thump, thump.
No more words are shared between the two of you, but his kiss on your temple says much more than anything could.
Soon, Aemond takes you back to his bedchamber, to his tub, and calls for several women to tend to you while he busies himself in burning the servant garb you were wearing today, until nothing is left but sooty ashes and singed cloths. He refuses to allow you to wear that shabby, tainted dress you were so wrongfully punished in. If not for you, then for himself. It eases his mind. And someday youâll wear nothing but the finest and prettiest gowns, he swears, ones that are fit for no one but a princess.
Heâll have a talk with his mother too. His queen mother has a soft spot for his handmaid, he knows, and Helaena too. This will not go unseen and unpunished.
The prince returns when your bath is finished, and dismisses the women before carrying you off to his featherbed. Youâre still quiet, hushed, lips pressed in a tight line while he dries your hair. âYou do not need to do this, my prince,â you tell him softly, nervously lacing your fingers together. âIâm undeserving of such treatment, really. It should be I who does this for you.â
âNonsense, sweetling.â
Heâll be your husband one day, and is merely practicing his husbandly duties, although he doesnât actually say that piece aloud. Itâs all a bit tricky right now, but heâs already decided he will not marry anyone who isnât you.
Aemond bends to kiss your shoulder, ever so tenderly. You have four pretty birthmarks littering the skin, and he presses a sweet kiss atop all of them. He loves it. Youâre so fucking gorgeous. âYouâre mine,â he mumbles, nuzzling his forehead against your shoulder blade. âItâs my duty to care for you.â
âNo, my prince, âtis my duty as your servant.â
He smiles up at you. âAh, and Iâm your protector, best to remember that, sweet girl.â And he leaves nothing more to be said, quickly standing you up in front of him, naked and breathing messily and too shy to meet his eye. Oh, but youâre too pretty for your own good, he tells himself. His fingertips gently trace along your hipbones while he leans to nuzzle his face into your tummy. Aemond then feels your soft hands finding his hair, fingers raking through as you sigh deeply.
âYou smell good,â he whispers. âSo damn good.â
You giggle. âDo I, my prince?â
Aemond hums, raising his face up to kiss your nipple- once, twice, thrice. He feels you suddenly tense against him, your breath catching in your throat. âNice and warm and all mine,â he adds, blowing a puff of warm air over your breast that earns him a sweet little moan, one that sends blood rushing down to his cock. His arms circle around your waist, hands falling to knead your asscheeks.
âLet me make love to you.â
âMy prince?â you ask, eyes widening as you recoil from your princeâs touch, your legs suddenly feeling weak like water.
Did you hear him right?
âPlease,â Aemond begs, keeping you flush against him as he nuzzles your breasts. âAllow me to make love to you, sweet girl.â I see my future in your face. My children in your eyes. His hand cups your right breast, catching a hard nipple between two fingers. My sons at your breasts. His handmaid has come for him, to deliver to him everything heâs been so cruelly denied in this life. âSay yes,â he murmurs. âLet me finally claim you as mine own.â It is your blood I need, your blood on my sheets, and my seed in your belly, and your life and name as my own.
You close your eyes, yet still see your handsome prince grinning at you.
Itâs wrong, you think. Itâd be so wrong of us. Iâd be banished.
I canât.
I canât.
I canât.
âOkay, my prince,â you say, with a bated breath. âMake love to me.â Â
An hour later, the wind has risen to a sharp howl against the stone walls, and fat raindrops ping against the windowpane. A winter storm, but there is little to no need to worry about such.
Youâre quite nicely warm and dry, and safe within your princeâs arms as he nudges your thighs open. Heâs already been down there, spending a good half of the last hour feasting on your wet cunt. It was like heâd been fasting for weeks; he took little mercy on you.
âOpen wide,â he mutters. âGood girl. Keep âem like that for me.â
You whimper. Your Prince Aemond is gorgeous, with silver hair that shines like fresh snow and pale, naked skin that is covered in faint scarring, undoubtedly from boyhood. Youâve never seen someone so beautiful. His arms are thickened with lean, lithe muscle as he holds himself above your body, one hand laced firmly in yours.
And he looks down at you with bright, violet eyes, with a look perhaps only a man gives his new bride on her wedding night.
It makes you squirm beneath him.
He slides his cock in slowly, hissing at your tightness. âFUCK.â His head dips down near yours, lips barely grazing your ear as he lets out a low moan. âGods be fucking good, you feel so fucking goodâŚwrapped around my fucking cock, at last,â he says, voice raspy. âRight where you belong.â
Aemond feels that he wonât last long. Heâs back to the days of his boyhood, during his thirteenth nameday when Aegon took him to the whorehouse, and he felt a womanâs touch for the first time.
Except now he has the woman he wants- soft and submissive and cunny wet and ready for him- and it is his turn to teach and guide her.
âAh, my brave girl,â he tells you, pausing to kiss your forehead, then your swollen, pink lips. âIt hurts, I know. Itâll feel better soon, I promise.â
And afterward, Aemond Targaryenâs watching as you shake and sob and fall to utter pieces, your beautiful face scrunched up in blissful pleasure as his thrusts soon quicken, and his hips snap into yours with such a harsh pace, itâs sure to leave dark bruises behind.
Your hands find his shoulders in a tight grip, in some desperate attempt to cling onto him whilst he fucks you good.
And, thankfully, itâs his name that tumbles out of your mouth, and not his stupid royal title. It follows your cries and moans and whimpers that echo throughout his bedchamber. To Aemond, it is poetic in some way. Several months back you were seated on his settee, singing, and now youâre buried within his sheets as he makes you a mother.
His loins ache for release, and he fondles your breast, toying with your nipple as he pounds you only harder. Aemond hopes to any god listening that the guards outside are listening in, and the serving girls too. Heâs a prince of the realm- he means to claim all his rights. Let them all hear as he plows into his handmaid and stuffs her full of his sons.
Beneath him, you shudder and gasp- again and again- before arching your spine and flinging your arms around his neck. âAEMOND,â you scream, feeling a sudden tightness deep within your belly, almost like youâre only several seconds away from exploding into flames. Perhaps you are.
âMercy on me, Aemond! Please!â
âShhh,â Aemon coos, cradling your face as he fucks you through your orgasm. âI have you, pretty girl. Youâre okay. Doesnât this feel good? It feels good, doesnât it?â
âAh, so- so good, AemondâŚ!â
He grins at your fucked-out face, and the little bit of drool pooling around the corner of your mouth, before lightly tapping his fingertip against your bottom lip. âOpen up,â he commands, squeezing your cheeks together, when your mouth opens, he spits in it. âNow swallow- mmm, such a good girl, always doing what I say.â
Aemond chooses all his words carefully, loving the way his sweet little handmaid preens under all his given attention and praises, so prettily that heâs willing to discard all of his morals and seed her full of his future bastards. Silver-haired babes that would gurgle at him happily, and grow to carry on his name and legacy. Â Â
For her, he thinks, leaning to kiss you again, feeling your cunt clamping down on him, sheâs worth every damn thing and more.
tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes @elegantsplendour @katzarantos @fan-goddess @okfashionista @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @mochimommy2002 @fangirlninja67
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Does handmain!reader braid Aemond's hair? Does Aemond know how to braid his children's hair? PLS THE FLUFFFF
pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader
notes: DAD!AEMOND DAD!AEMOND DAD!AEMOND
his handmaid's tales | main masterlist
Three hours after sundown, his mother arrives at his doorway, carrying a reading lamp and two books of faith. âWould you like to sit and pray with me tonight, Aemond?â Alicent asks, but her voice soon trails off when she notices the hairbrush clutched in his hand and the twins at his knees. Both boys toy around with their tiny wooden stick swords, offering their grandmother two toothy little smiles.
âOh, I see that youâre quite busy tonightâŚâ she then adds, in a tone faint with teasing.
Aemond nods where he sits, gently combing out any tangles and snags in his sonâs silver-pale hair. âTheir mother easily puts me to shame, as she does with most thingsâŚâ he mumbles, glancing sidelong at his other son, whose own shines like moonglow in a loose braid, â-but I do believe Iâve done a rather fine job with my boys.â  Â
Alicent hums. âWhere might she be tonight? Did you dismiss her?â
Aemond gestures to his bed, where his handmaid lays fast asleep, cuddling around a pillow. As she slept, she had kicked off the blanket and sheets, and the pretty curve of her swollen belly limned in the soft glow from the hearth.
âThe babeâs been stealing away most of her energy these past few days,â he tells Alicent, shaking his head. His fingers part the hair into three splits before looping the first over the second and tugging the third into the middle. âThe maesters say the name day is nearing, perhaps in another fortnight.â
He refused any looks at his girl; otherwise, heâd drink in the lovely sight a bit too much like a drunken fool, and heâd prefer his mother not bearing witness to such.
Yet Alicent studies the sleeping handmaid, a shadow of a smile flickering across her lips. This time around, she had grown great with a girl, according to the maesters and midwives alike, as well as Aemond himself. He had pined so much for a daughter of his own, frequenting the sept alongside her, to sink onto his knees and pray to the Mother for a baby girl, one blessed with her motherâs features.
She hopes her son receives his daughter. He deserves it that much.
âWould you like for me to tuck in the boys for the night?â
Aemond smiles. âAh, if it would be no bother to you, mother. Iâd appreciate itâŚI donât wish to leave her, not when sheâs like thisâŚâ but Alicent waves him away, kneeling before the boys. âIâll have them choose a bedtime story, and they can tell me all about their day.â So he kisses his sons on the nose and forehead before whispering a fond goodnight, sending them away with their grandmother.
And as they leave, hand in hand with Alicent, their little braids bounce with every step. The sight gives him nothing but joy and pride.
The fire in the hearth was quickly burning down to embers, and he hadnât intended to disturb his resting girl, but he couldnât stop himself from climbing over her. Sweeter than lemon cakes and more beautiful than all the seasons. He rubs at her bump, where hopefully his daughter sleeps too, and kisses her bare shoulder- then her cheeks and lips- and kisses her again when she murmurs in her sleep.
âYouâre all Iâll ever need and more,â he breathes, nestling his head against her breast. I love you. I love you. I love you.
At that, her eyes open, and she smiles, stroking his hair. âTomorrow, I shall braid it,â she whispers.
But Aemond snatches her hand and lifts it to his lips. âNo. Iâll braid your hair, my sweet girl,â he promises, kissing each of her fingers, nipping at the skin, âI need the practice anyways.â
tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes
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pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader
summary: ...aemond realizes heâs fallen in love with his handmaid five months later as he stands outside his bedchamber.
warnings: explicit language. aemond's kinda horny but mainly a lovesick dude. steamy makeout session towards the end??
notes: welcome back to another short episode of "aemond targaryen being a total fucking simp for his handmaid bc vic is too damn obsessed with this pairing."
his handmaid's tales | main masterlist
Aemond realizes heâs fallen in love with his handmaid five months later as he stands outside his bedchamber.
Through the doors comes your soft voice from the inside, feminine and melodious, absolutely beautiful to him. Itâs muffled by the thick walls, but he can hear the verse you sing to yourself. I loved a maid as fair as summer, he chants along in his head, with sunlight in her hair...
He sneaks a peek inside the room. You sit on the settee, crossed at the knee like a highborn lady, with an eyepatch in one hand and a thread and needle in the other. Aemond recognizes that one eyepatch at first glance. The sight tugs at his heartstrings. It was a favorite of his, a rare gift from his father on his thirteenth nameday. Viserys had his name embroidered along the inside in pretty cursive.
Aemond One-Eye.
Viserysâs smile was as brilliant and big as the blue summer sea. My boyâŚthree-and-ten. How youâve grown so fast before my very eyes. Â
But the eyepatch grew too small for him as the years passed, and he hid it away, never wishing to see it again. His father now was nothing more than a half-decaying corpse still sitting the throne in pure mulishness, who hadnât muttered his second sonâs name in two long years. He doesnât know how you found it, nor does he feel any slight bit of bother.
âI loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair,â you hum next, turning the eyepatch around to thread the loop. Your feet are bare, pretty hair tousled, and the servantâs robe does little to veil your blinding beauty. His gaze focuses on your face. Your lips look pink and plump- ripe for him to kiss and bite and swallow in all the endless kisses he yearns to give you, and your eyes twinkle as bright as the midday sunlight.
I love a maiden as beautiful as all the seasons.
âI love a maiden as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair-â
He strolls into his bedchamber, striking you off guard, your singing breaking off abruptly. âMy prince!â you exclaim, bolting up to slip your feet back into your shoes. âOh, my sincerest apologies, my prince. I was told you would be gone for the better part of the day.â Amid your babbling, you drop the needle and thread onto the floor, âis there anything you need from me?â
He wanted to laugh.
âI had no notion that you had such aâŚlovely voice,â Aemond instead tells you, lacing his hands together behind his back. The compliment widens your eyes, and he hears how your breath hitches in your throat. You resemble a fairytale maiden, doe-eyed and flustered at the sight of her wooer. âIâm very sorry, my princeâŚ.â
âDo you sing a lot?â
You bite your lip, and it causes his cock to stir within his pants. No, no, stop that at once, he wishes to say aloud. Only I should be allowed to bite your luscious lips like that. All mine. âMy mother sang to me as a little girl,â you admit, braving a faint smile up at him. âSometimes, when Iâm missing her, I sing. Perhaps it sounds a bit sillyâŚbut it makes me feel as if she is in the room with me.â
Aemond hums, nodding his head. He then looks down at the eyepatch within your hands, raising an eyebrow. âPray tell where you found my old eyepatch. I swore I hid it well all those years agoâŚâ and he hopes you catch the thin amusement in his tone.
âOhâŚâ you fall silent, unsure what to say next. âI was tidying up your desk and bookcase, my princeâŚI opened a drawer, I believe it was the second to last one to the left of the desk, and I found it thereâŚ.â you glance at the eyepatch, running a finger over the black cloth patch, â-I thought, perhaps, it would be a nice surprise if I extended the straps so that you could wear it once again. It is very pretty!â
You hold it out for him to take. âWould you like to try it on? Just for me to check if I need to loosen it up some more.â
Aemond stiffens. âPerhaps later,â he says, a bit sullenly. âI do not like to take off my patch when others are still around. Iâve found that my missing eye is quite theâŚdreadful sight to many.â He clenches his jaw so tight he wonders if his teeth might shatter. But you just shake your head.
âMy prince, believe me when I say that no such thing would ever terrify me.â Aemond could hear his brother snigger in the back of his mind, and he shifted uneasily. âIâm your handmaid. Please trust every word I tell you.â He remembers the cool night under the stars when he claimed Vhagar for himself, gazing out into the darkened sand dunes where she slept. Your smile is the warmth he needed.
He tilts his head, searching for any sign of deceit amongst your features. Gods, but youâre too damn beautiful for your own good, he thinks as he sighs and slides the patch from off his face.
Do not dare mock meâŚflinchâŚor run awayâŚ
But you just stare up at him, studying the dark sapphire heâs stuffed inside his missing socket. The skin stretched around it is rather uneven and tender and pinkish, and his healed scar cuts through his eyebrow. âMay I, my prince?â you ask. He nods, and you gently trace the scar with your fingertip, up and down. Your touch is soft, and delicate, sending a shiver up his spine.
âYou did not deserve this, believe me when I say that,â you whisper, and he feels your hot breath, ââyou were just a boyâŚ.â
Gods be good, no one has ever told Aemond those words before. He does not know what to say, remaining silent and still.
Then, without warning, you stand on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, your eyes shutting as your soft lips press against his skin. Â
I love a maiden as beautiful as all the seasons.
âYou are still handsome and strong and worthy, my prince,â you mumble, stroking his cheek, a smile flickering across your pinkâŚplumpâŚluscious lips and AemondâŚ
âŚAemond pulls you flush against his chest, swathing an arm tight around your waist as the other tangles his fingers through your hair, his mouth slamming down on yours in a heavy and wet kiss that leaves your knees buckling beneath you. Kiss her. Take her. Make her yours. Your arms fly up to his neck as you sink into his grasp.
âShe is yours. Your handmaid. Everything she does next is at your own will and mercyâŚbut do treat her well, AemondâŚit is through kindheartedness that you receive devotion.â
And he lays a kiss on your lips, and another, and anotherâŚand with them all, Aemond swears himself a man obsessed and blinded by love. He knows he will not survive this miserable, torturous life without you by his side. You, his precious handmaid- his maiden as beautiful as all the seasons.
By the time he lets you go, youâre breathless and dizzy and as giddy as a young girl. He gives you only a few more seconds before he kisses you again, flinging you onto his bed. âMy princeâŚ!â you cry out, bouncing as he begins to chuckle, swallowing the rest of your words in his mouth. âOh, this is improper,â you gasp, toes curling as he pulls at your bottom lip, âitâs soâŚ.gods, itâs so wrongâŚI need toâŚI needâŚâ
âShhh,â he answers, kissing your nose and chin, and temple before your lips again. âYou donât leave this room unless I dismiss you, remember?â
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pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader
summary: cassandra baratheon dreams of prince aemond. the same cannot be said for prince aemond himself.
warnings: explicit language. smut. simp!aemond eating out his girl because the feast apparently sucked. slight breeding kink. voyeurism. cass gets her poor lil heart broken for the plot.
notes: i texted @chainsawsangel with the following:
"me when I break cassandra baratheonâs poor lil heart by having her come across aemond eating out his handmaid. #feminism".
his handmaid's tales | main masterlist
Lady Cassandra Baratheon stumbles across them next, though by an honest mistake as well.
(It hurts her heart a bit too much to considerate it anything other than that)
Foolish, foolish, foolish girl.
She had always been a prideful child, too high-spirited and headstrong for her own good. Her own lady mother warned her of that. But on her eight-and-ten nameday, her lord father brought up the prospect of a betrothal between her and Prince Aemond Targaryen.
Cassandra liked that very much- the idea of becoming his princess. Each night before sleep, sheâd mumble his name into her pillow, a tiny prayer to any listening god that they would make him hers.
Please, please, pleaseâŚ
Prince AemondâŚAemond Targaryen, she whispered, a smile curling on her lips. One day heâll be my husband, and I his lady wife.
Three months later, House Baratheon arrived at Kingâs Landing to celebrate the nameday of the Princess Rhaenyra, the realmâs heir.
Cassandra had brushed out her long dark hair until it shone in the evening sunlight and chosen her finest red silks. She had been looking forward to this day for weeks since learning of her possible marriage to Prince Aemond. Prince Aemond, her future betrothed. She giggled at the thought. Just thinking of him stirred butterflies within her tummy, a faint fluttering feeling inside. She was so in love with him.
He was so tall and handsome and strong, with sharp, stern features and hair like moonlight. Everything a prince ought to be.
Prince Aemond, my future husband.
Prince Aemond spared her not a single glance during the banquet, much to her embarrassment. Cassandra had made sure to look her best, all in the hopes of catching his attention. Several Lannister lords complimented her well throughout the night. But her prince remained at the royal familyâs long table, seated in his chair with no desire to move. Or ask for my hand in a dance, she thought with a pout.
âPerhaps he does not know of the betrothal?â Her sister, Ellyn, offered. âThere could be a chance that he was never told.â
Cassandra was not appeased. âNo, the queen wouldâve told him; it is in her good naturalâŚperhaps he does not care to dance,â she sniffed in disapproval. She would prefer a husband that would twirl her around the room, the way a prince does with his princess. She picked up her fork, quietly chewing on the roasted meat as she spotted her Prince Aemond then slipping out of the room. Her eyebrow raised, but she said nothing more, too disappointed and sadden to push the matter further. Â
âGo talk to him after this,â her mother, Lady Elenda, murmured into her ear, rubbing her shoulder. âDragons love a stormy sky as much as they do a clear and bright-blue one.â
Cassandra does what her mother told her, walking down the dimmed Keepâs hallway, running a hand across the stoned wall as she searches for Prince Aemondâs bedchamber. If the gods heard my prayers, then I shall soon share it⌠But as she nears one of the little libraries, she overhears a soft moan, feminine and breathless.
And anotherâŚand another.
A hiccup this time.
A whimper for the fourth.
It causes her cheeks to flush pink as she stands for a moment outside the room, hearing more moans and whimpers and hiccups fill the air. Servants, perhaps? She considers that for a slight second before the girl inside moans out a name that makes her breath hitch in her throat and her stomach begin to tauten.
âAemondâŚâ
No, she thinks, pressing a hand against her breast, feeling her poor heart painfully quickening within her chest. No. No. No. Cassandra shakes her head, not willing to believe such. No. No. No, it cannot be. ButâŚ
âA-AemondâŚâ
Breathing deeply, she leans in, peering into the room as her gaze locks onto a girl perched atop the dark, mahogany desk. Her head is flung back as she trembles and moans, tangling her hand in the silver hair of her Prince Aemond, who is nestled between her thighs. OhâŚbut Cassandra knows what he is doing. The girlâs chest rises and falls, heavy breasts tugged out from her plain servant dress, her other hand pinching both swollen nipples.
âAhâŚ! Mmmm, oh sweet gods, AemondâŚ.â Â
Cassandra feels ready to faint. Tears swell in her dark eyes as she watches Aemond shake his head and smush his handsome face deeper between the girlâs quivering thighs, strong hands holding her legs apart. âKeep them apartâŚgood girl,â she hears him mumble. âThat damned feast outside did nothing to quell my hunger, such a fucking waste of my time.â
The girl bites her lip, her shoulders trembling.
âI want to live here, in between your thighs,â and Aemond lifts his face up from her soaking cunt, kissing the inside of both her thighs. Once, twice, four times, so soft and tender and loving. He brings two fingers to trace along her folds up to her clit, chuckling when the girl shivers and gasps. âMy pretty little handmaid- my precious girl.â
âMy princeâŚâ
Handmaid? Cassandra scoffs at that, several fat tears already streaking down her cheeks. Her pretty dark eyes are probably smudged and red and absolutely ugly.
A handmaidâŚsheâs lost to a fucking lowborn handmaid, a girl nothing more than the dirt beneath her dainty sandaled feet.
Sheâd laugh if she wasnât so fucking heartbroken.
Cassandra keeps her eyes on her Aemond as he rises to his feet, pulling the handmaidâs face up to his for a passionate kiss. She sucks in a breath, hearing the muffled moans and wet noises and the princeâs low groans, and the dirty, sinful words that he mutters against her puffy lips.
âIâm not your prince, my love. How many times must I need to remind you?â
The handmaid shakes her head, shying away before his fingers grip her chin, tugging her face back to his. âAll the babes Iâve seeded into your belly, and yet you still think of me as nothing more than your princeâŚ.â Aemond chuckles, tracing her bottom lip with the tip of his thumb. Cassandra can see his other hand fall to his pants and hears his belt unbuckling. âRest assured, Iâll give you a few more months, but then my baby will be in your womb again.â
âBut we already have three,â the handmaid whines, leaning back on her palms as she eyes the princeâs hardened cock when his pants puddle down to his ankles. But there is a smile on her lips, and her pretty features are twisted in glowing happiness and excitement. She reaches forward, wrapping a hand around the head of his dick, smirking when he hisses. âLet the twins reach their third nameday, my love, before we consider our next one.â
Aemond hums. âWeâll see.â
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Cassandra Baratheon leaves soon after that, face tucked within her hands as she curses the gods above for not listening to her prayers.
âWhy? Why? Why?â she asks, again and again. âBut why would they?â she soon mumbles, blinking the new tears back. âThey were foolish wishes. I was too fucking foolish.â
She hears laughter and singing, mocking her misery, and when she flies past the royal nursery, she fails to notice the good Queen Alicent cuddling a brown-haired babe to her chest.
And at her feet sat two pretty twin children playing with their little wooden dragon figurines.
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pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader
summary: "i am looking for a maid, preferably one of eight-and-ten...a young handmaid for my second son, aemond."
warnings: nothing.
notes: an anon requested their first meeting, so here it is.
his handmaid's tales I main masterlist
It began with the Queen. Â
âHow may I serve your Grace.â
âI am looking for a maid, preferably one of eight-and-ten,â Queen Alicent had told the septa in private. It was gloomy outside, with dark clouds blanketing the sky. She had just finished lighting four candles. âA young handmaid for my second son, Aemond. He is the only of my children not to have one. Iâd like for her to be sweet and devoted and quick on her feet, a girl who will swear her undying loyalty and service unto him and his needs.â
His twentieth nameday was fast approaching, set within the next fortnight. She felt this would be a fine gift for him.
The septa took a moment to think. âDoes her breeding matter?â she asked. âI know of a girl- she is exactly what you desire, but she is a bastard, born to one of the serving wenches at Harrenhal.â
The queenâs nose wrinkled. âA riverlands bastard?â
âShe is said to be Lord Lyonelâs granddaughter, my queen.â
âSo a Strong bastardâŚ.â Alicent rubbed at her temple, âI supposeâŚif she is what I ask for, and that you can assure sheâll remain loyal to him.â She then sighed, shaking her head. âThough, do keep it away from my son, septa. He carries such little love for House Strong. I do not wish for him to turn his ire onto her if he ever found out. Â
The septa frowned. âDo you genuinely believe the prince would dare harm an innocent girl, your Grace?â
Alicent tugged at her gown's flowing sleeve, sniffing. âThat is why I ask for you to keep her heritage a secret.â Â Â
Two weeks later, you stood in Prince Aemondâs bedchamber as his new handmaid. The septa was at your elbow, mumbling a flood of demands into your ear. âStand straighter, child, for the sake of the gods. But keep your head bowed, gaze locked on your feet. You mustnât ever behold the prince unless he allows it.â You ran a hand down your arm, feeling the skin prickled with goosebumps, before lacing your trembling fingers together.
To your right was the Queen, dressed in a pretty gown as green as summer. She said very little to you, if not nothing.
âAh, Aemond! My dear boy, please join us,â she greeted quite happily when her son arrived at the doors of his room. You kept your eyes down, counting each loud footstep of his that loomed closer with every second.
âWho is this?â
Queen Alicent cleared her throat. âYour new handmaid, son.â
Prince Aemond remained silent. You could feel his gaze. One. Two. ThreeâŚfour, five, sixâŚ. You swallowed, counting each heartbeat that quickened inside your chest as you willed yourself to stay still and brave. Do not tremble. It would be an embarrassment, no doubt. You felt your nails digging into your palms. Fear cuts much deeper than any sword.
âI wasâŚunaware I needed a handmaid, dear mother,â he finally said.
âAegon and Helaena have theirs, and Daeronâs been by his side in Oldtown since he was a young boy. It is unlike a prince not to have his own handmaid. She will do you well.â Â
âDo me well?â
âYes!â
The septa pinched the skin of your arm, causing you to flinch before lifting your face to meet his eye from across the room. The prince...he was handsome, terribly so, you thought. Tall and silver-haired, dashing and imposing, with a deep violet eye. âI was brought here to serve you,â you told him, â-to do anything and everything my prince commands.â Prince Aemond skimmed you up and down, an eyebrow rising. âAnything? Such asâŚ?â
You glanced at the septa, unsure of what to say next. âUm, well, my prince, I shall fix your baths and sew any ripped shirts if youâd like? I might also fetch you your wine if desired-â
âSheâll do whatever you ask of her, my prince,â the septa interjected. Queen Alicent smiled, resting a hand on his shoulder. âDoes that not please you, son?â She then leaned to mutter something close to his ear, and he stiffened, aiming his cool stare at you, before relaxing.
âAlright. You are suffice,â he decided before turning to his mother, his face softening. âThank you, mother.â
Queen Alicent leaned to kiss his cheek before pushing past him out into the hall. The septa soon followed her, leaving you and Prince Aemond alone in the room. Thump. Thump. Thump. The prince stole another look at you. âWhat might I call you?â
You gave him your name, dropping low into a pretty curtesy. Every time you bow, your neck is at the mercy of the royals. âA beautiful name,â he said. His voice sounded throaty. He was clothed in black leather, from his shoulders to his ankles, and the cloak he wore around his shoulders. At his waist hung a longsword. âThank you, my prince. It was my motherâs choosing.â
The raven had arrived at Harrenhal at midday, a flurry of black wings that carried a letter demanding your sudden attendance at the Red Keep at the request of the queen herself. Your mother was reluctant to send you off at first but eventually did so with five sweet kisses and a bright yellow mullein flower that she slipped into the pocket of her old green cloak.
Prince Aemond hummed. âWell, if youâd like, I have two shirts that are in need of sewing. Ser Cole knicked them with his own sword during my training four mornings back.â He gestured to his closet, nicely carved from weirwood, pale as a bone. The look of it reminded you of your mother and the gods you left behind at home.
You nodded, bowing. âAs my prince commands,â and you moved towards the closet to fetch his shirts, although you would likely need to venture out to find a needle andâŚ
A hand touched your arm.
You spun to meet him. âDo you need something else, my prince?â Prince Aemond stood so close you could see the long pale scar peeking from behind his eyepatch, his dark eyelashes, and his jutting chin and high cheekbones. He was far more beautiful up close. You felt butterflies in your belly, stirring up a strange fluttering feeling; it crept up your spine to your throat.
âDo you fear me?â
You bit your lip. âNo.â
He hummed again, eye flickering across your face. You do not believe me, don't you. You felt it glide over your browbone, to the slope of your nose, and pausing at your lips. âFix my shirts, then. I have needles and thread in my closet as well. You do not leave the room unless I dismiss you.â
âShe is yours. Your handmaid. Everything she does next is at your own will and mercy,â his mother whispered to him. âBut do treat her well, Aemond. It is through kindheartedness that you receive devotion.â
tag list: @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd
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may I request some sfw headcanons about aemond with handmaid!reader? đĽş
TOTALLY i plan on eventually writing their first meeting + how they fall in love and begin their secret (not so secret) relationship but in the meantime:
some cute & fluffy headcanons of aemond targaryen with his handmaid!reader (who is basically his wife because fuck the westerosi social stratification)
his handmaid's tales | main masterlist
Okay, first, Siri pls play Woman by Doja Cat. Or, yknow, Waves of Blue by Majid Jordan.
His bed is your bed. Sure, you have your own tucked away in the servantâs quarters, in a room shared with two other maids, but you soon learn that Aemond prefers (demands) you remain by his side at all hours of the night. âWhat if I require my handmaidâs assistance at some random hour? No, youâll stay with me where you belong.â
He loves for you to join him in his nighttime baths, not always with the intent to make love but for him to cradle your naked body close to his. Relaxing within the tub, soaking together in the scalding, scented waters, you and him are husband and wife. Â
"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you."
"Yes, my prince, I'm very much aware."
"Don't you dare ever leave my side. I will not forgive you nor this damned world if I ever lost you."
Sometimes Alicent will walk in on soft, domestic moments where heâs seated in his chair, reading to the twins while youâre folding his clothing or tidying up the bed or tending to the newest babe. It is sweet in her eyes. Her favorite child is finally happy with his little (unconventional) family. Â
She canât find it in herself to send you away. Youâre no highborn lady, of course, but youâre so kind and gentle, absolutely respectful- treating her son so well and mothering her precious grandchildren.
Otto, on the other hand, disapproves of the relationship a great deal, but heâll deal with it later when the family eventually plunges itself into war. Aemond will marry but not you, he decides. But, in the meantime, heâll allow his grandson to play with you a little bit longer.
Just your mere presence brings Aemond peace. Comfort. Relaxation. Heâs so besotted with you that he cannot imagine living the rest of his life without you.
Youâre the most beautiful woman, he swears. He notices the way highborn lords openly fawn over you whenever you attend royal banquets, and how their lustful gazes follow your every movement. It grew worse during your first pregnancy, as you glowed with motherhood so well you mightâve as well been the Mother walking amongst her children. Â
The first pregnancy with the twins brought a level of excitement towards fatherhood that Aemond swore he thought heâd never experience. He remembers how Aegon acted when Helaena was heavy with their twins, always meeting her with a lack of interest in her health or needs or the babes. He could not understand it. Not a bit. With you, heâs desperate to keep his hold on you at every hour of the day.
If youâre tending to your duties, heâll always remain nearby. #protectivedaddy. Heâll take the time to polish his sword, study the room, or admire the way your swelling baby bump is now beginning to poke out from underneath your servant's dress.
âI did that.â Â Â
At night, when youâre fast asleep, heâll crawl down to lay his head on your belly. Feeling his babesâ little faint kicks against his cheek and palms reminds him that life is now worth living for. Heâll talk to the babes too, mumbling about his day and how beautiful their mother is and how heâs thrilled to soon have them. Aemond takes to fatherhood as quickly and easily as you took to being his handmaid.
The second pregnancy brings constant midnight dreams of a pretty baby girl, carrying the same features as her mother- your twinkling eyes, the slope of your nose, the cute pout that tugs at the corner of your lips. He plans on naming her after your mother and already has the dragon egg ready to place in the cradle
His uncle, Daemon, nicknames you in his head his nephewâs duckling. Youâre always following after him, two steps back (a healthy distance between a supposed royal and their servant), ready to serve him if needed, hands clasped together, and pretty head bowed. You remind him of Helaena in a way, much too pure for this world.
Helaena adores you. Duh, thatâs a given. And if Helaena gives you her blessing, you might as well be part of the family.
In bed, Aemond likes to caress your cheeks and stroke your bottom lip with his thumb as you sleep. It is in these moments that he genuinely believes you were created for him to find and love and worship, that the gods fashioned your existence to mold into his. He was never fated to fall in love with a highborn lady but instead his sweet handmaid, who was sent to provide him with everything he was denied during boyhood.
divider by the loml @chainsawsangel
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pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader
summary: âsheâs a bastardââinnit the truth, mother?â
warnings: explicit language. angst. much angst. nothing but angst. i cannot stress it enough.
notes: well this is rather unfortunate.
his handmaid's tales | main masterlist
The raven arrives at nightfall, at an hour so late that only Aemond is awake to accept it. The princeling could not find sleep that night, instead rolling off the bed and crossing the chambers to his windows, before pulling back the heavy tapestries and throwing them open one by one.
The cool air is a welcoming feeling to his feverish skin, hot to the touch from hours of lovemaking under the sheets.
He stands facing the darkness, naked and at utter peace, in pure happiness. His precious girl sleeps soundly behind him, with the thick furs pulled up to her chin, hiding the most of her beneath the blankets. She is so utterly beautiful in the moonlight. Itâs been three long months since his sons were born, and Aemond was beginning to hope his seed would again take. His loins ache at the thought, and he fights the sudden urge to slip in between her thighs. Perhaps sheâd give him a daughter this time.
In his dreams, she wears her motherâs face, in a gown of Targaryen colors with a dragon hatchling sitting on her shoulder. She pokes him awake in the morning, and pleads for a quick ride atop Vhagar before grandmother arrives to begin her history lessons.
His daughter has his loveâs eyes and smile, he thinks again, and her nose scrunches up in the same way hers does. Â
I want it.
He shakes his head.
Let her rest, you fool.
When the black raven arrives at his windowpane, he is a bit confused. He waves the bird away before it could make another squawk, and stares down at the scroll taken from it, eying the blood-red ribbon tied into a pretty, tight knot around. In his head, he weighs the choices in taking it as his own. Should he� Or should he not? His curiosity clashes with his righteousness.
Aemond decides to, in the end.
He takes the scroll to his desk, quietly lighting a small candle before taking a seat and unrolling it out to read. The writing is in pretty cursive yet smells of cheap ink, with a slight smudge staining the edge of the paper. It is addressed to his handmaid, he realizes, starting with her name that leads to a sweet congratulations on her newfound motherhood. Twins, your uncle had said. How marvelous to hear. I hope to meet them soon, my dear.
With all the love in this lifetimeâyour mother, Alys Rivers.
âWith all the love in this lifetime,â he repeats aloud, shaking his head, refusing to believe. His fingers tighten around the letter, the tips turning a jarring white. âYour mother, Alys Rivers.â
Aemond then glares up at the woman lying in his bed, a bitter twist on his mouth. She shifts a little bit beneath his gaze, but remains relaxed and asleep and blissfully ignorant of the rising anger sparking deep inside him.
Who is she? For the first time since he met her, he asks himself that.
He shouldâve suspected this.
âA bastard, Lord Beesbury, mothered by the daughter of a milk cow.â Â
Aemond turns away from her, back to the darkness outside.
Her mother is a bastard rivers woman, it seems. At least that is how it reads. Alys Rivers. She carries no manâs last name in her letter. What is her daughter, if not the same as her? He picks at his mind, trying to remember if she ever mentioned her father. Aemond returns to staring up at the moon and the white stars blinking high above in the midnight sky.
He suddenly feels no desire to return to bed with her tonight.
But she is the mother of your children, his mind argues, and it leaves him irritated.
Sheâs given him two heirs, his first-born children, beautiful twin boys that are mirrors to their own father, himself. And the daughter heâs dreamt ofâŚButâŚtheyâre bastards too, he then reminds himself. You love them the same way you love her, do not lie to yourself. It was not enough to ease his thoughts, and reason with him, and stop the ugly bitterness from rising in his throat.
Damn her.
Aemond stuffs the letter inside one of the desk drawers, not wishing to lay eyes on it again. Maybe heâll burn it later in the day. He then shrugs on his robe, tying it around his waist, before leaving the room. Sheâll wake up in the morning, and search for his hand buried within the sheets. When she realizes she is alone in the bed, he knows she will pout before readying to tend to her babies, like the mother heâs made her into.
Damn her.
Then she will move on to her responsibilities, like the silly, dumb handmaid she is.
Damn her.
That is all she shouldâve remained, Aemond thinks, curiously calm as he strides down the hallway. He doesnât know where he is going, but he knows he will not return this night. Bastards never amount to anything else. Â
Aemond hasnât spoken to her in three days, dismissing his handmaid from his bedchamber before he retires for the evening. She no longer fetches his hot baths or crawls beneath the blankets with him. He hasnât allowed it. He avoids the nursey too, where he knows his twin sons sleep in their cots, too young to notice their fatherâs absence. Aemond walks the halls of the Red Keep, as he has walked a thousand times before, but disregards all the rooms where he knows her presence painfully lingers.
She does not fight nor question him. He knows she wonât.
âAemond.â
He hears her voice in his slumber, always- sometimes in a breathless whisper, and most times in a scream, or a whimper, or an anguished howl. She always manages to find him, following him into his dreams and nightmares and antagonizing him into insanity. Her shadow stands over his bed. And around her neck dangles the sapphire necklace, while her pretty eyes weep both tears and blood.
âAemond, please!â she cries, bawling up the sides of her dress in her fist. The plain cloth is stained in dried blood, splashed across her belly and thighs. âAemond, please, I need you, husband!â
âAEMOND.â
This time tonight, it causes Aemond Targaryen to jerk upright, pulled from a horrible nightmare that still clouds his thoughts. The sheets are tangled between his fingers, and his heart is heaving heavily within his breast. He hears her voice echoing, begging for her husband. âAemond.â His attention quickly darts to the door, where his mother stands, tall and regal and noticeably pissed. She calls his name again loudly. Although still groggy, he stumbles his way towards her. Â
His mother does not greet him. Instead, her brown eyes remain on his empty bed, skimming across the sheets and the way the heavy fur blanket nearly hangs off the foot of his bed. He mustâve kicked it off him during his sleep.
She frowns at the sight, before looking back at him.
âSo it is true, then.â
Aemond rubs at his eye, tilting his head in confusion. âWhat is true, mother?â
âThat she hasnât been seen in your room for the past three days; instead, sheâs returned to her old room across the castle, where the other maids sleep. Three days, and three nights.â His mother spoke in anger, yet her face remained a mask that betrayed nothing. It is one thing he greatly admired about her, in the same way it terrified him the most. âAnd you havenât visited your sons as well, Iâm told.â
He flushes. âIâve been busy,â he grumbles, shifting on his bare feet. âIâll see them tomorrow, in the morning after we break fast together.â
âTomorrow? Youâll see them tomorrow? AEMOND!â she shouts, incredulous. Her hair hangs loosely around her face, and she pushes a thick strand behind her right ear. âYou wanted these babies so badly, and yet you are beginning to neglect them before their second nameday. Have you lost all fucking sense?!â
Aemond bites his tongue in an attempt to keep his own temper from flaring up in response to her yelling. He says nothing in return, which he knows only upsets his mother further.
âWhat has happened, Aemond?â she asks. âThis is unlike you. You love those boys, and that girl too.â
âNothing,â he says, a bit too quickly. âNothing has happened. Iâve simply been too busy to play anymore games with her.â
âGames? Games?! That is all shit,â his mother blazes. âUtter shit. Do not begin to take me as a fucking fool, Aemond. I am not your father, and I am not your brother, and eldest sister either. Now you tell me, boy, what has happened.â
Aemond sighs. âSheâs a bastardââinnit the truth, mother?â He meets her eyes and feels his poor heart sinking at the silent shock that instantly falls across her features and the way she makes no move to deny it. âA bastard.â Saying it aloud, it makes him wish to return to his bed, and curl up in his sheets, completely hidden from this cruel world that damned him to fall in love with a stupid bastard girl. âA damn, no good, bastard girl from Harrehnalââ
But he is then cut off by a sharp backhand blow to the side of his face that quickly sends him stumbling two steps back, almost falling hard against the wall. Aemond holds his cheek, breath hitching as he brushes a tender finger against the already reddening skin that he knows will surely show a dark bruise on the morrow. It feels hot, and it stings. He looks up at his mother, who has never hit him before.
âHow dare you speak of her in such a way,â she spits, purpled with rage. Her hand twitches at her side, as if she itches to slap him again. He deserves it, he thinks. âHOW DARE YOU. She is the mother of your children, and you dare behold her with such loathing venom?â
âAND YOU DID NOT THINK TO TELL ME BEFOREHAND?â he shouts back, half hurt from the realization that she watched him fall smitten with the bastard, and never thought to tell him the truth. âShe is the cousin of those bastards that took my eye, their own blood!â
âAnd? It is the truth, yes, that she is a riverlands bastard, born to a woman at Harrenhal. Lord Larys is her true uncle, who brought her to us at my request. But damn you, Aemond, that girl is so fucking in love with you.â
All his words fall stuck in his throat, and he fails to push them out.
âHave you nothing more to say?â
His queen mother sniffs when he says nothing, shaking her head. âUnbelievable. Perhaps it is best she drinks the moon tea, lest she gives you another child that you wonât love nor appreciate because of its motherâs unfortunate bastardy.â Aemond remains silent, and her mouth drops into another scowl. âYou lied to me when you promised that you would never be your father or Aegon.â
I am not, he wants to scream out. His knees buckle in weakness at her cruel words, and the sheer disappointment laced within them. It hurts worse than her slap.
I love her so much, I swear, and my boys too. I love anything she gives me, and I promiseâŚI promiseâŚI promiseâŚ
âYou, Aemond, carry their eyes and hair and nose, everyone can see. But I know the truth nowâyou carry their pig attitude as well,â she remarks, pushing herself toward him. âIâll send her back to her mother, I promise, and find another handmaid for you, one that is to your liking.â Â
She says not another word, instead turning to the houseguard that had accompanied her to his hall. âIâm tired. Please help me back to my bedchamber,â she asks, pressing her fingertips against his temple. âI would appreciate such, my good knight.â
His mother leaves him silent and still, sad and scared and helpless and heartbroken, staring down at his toes as they grow damp from his tears.
tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes @elegantsplendour @katzarantos @fan-goddess @okfashionista @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @mochimommy2002 @fangirlninja67 @iiamthehybrid @bellstwd @katzarantos @crazymusicgirl104
taglist for everything aemond: @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @moonteas @chompchompluke
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im begging you, dark!aemond bodyguard of the president/kingâs innocent daughter omggggg
pairing: bodyguard!aemond targaryen x president's daughter!reader
warnings: explicit language. oral sex. loss of virginity (kinda). daddy kink. slight breeding and housewife kink. small mentions of past obsessive tendencies on aemond's part.
notes: hello, long time no write. consider this me using this request like i'm saddling the horse after getting thrown off.
(also ik aemond might not seem AS dark as other times but like pretty pls read between the lines. thank you âşď¸)
masterlist
For being the nationâs current president, your father was quite the fucking fool of a man.
He loves you, truly. How could he not? You were the spitting image of your late mother, and the youngest of his children- his sweet little chick that was barely beginning to spread her wings and leave the nest. He would never forgive himself if you ever got hurt due to his elected role as the commander-in-chief and head of state.
That was the main reason why he hired Aemond Targaryen as your personal bodyguard.
The man had a commendable record behind him, despite his young age. Your father was beyond impressed with him when he first interviewed him for the job. Two tours in the U.S. army as a sergeant and sniper before receiving an honorable discharge and a Purple Heart due to an eye injury while seeing combat overseas. According to some of the everyday politicians, he threw himself over his younger nephew during an ambush with enemy fire, and took a massive chunk of bomb shrapnel to the left side of his face; doctors saved him, of course, but his eye was too damaged to save.
They offered him a glass eye and a fully paid scar revision (along with special vet benefits and apparently some hush-hush money as well), but he refused it all. Instead, he accepted the purple heart, crammed a pretty and shiny sapphire into his empty socket, and made sure everyone- military personnel and civilian altogether- looked him in both eyes whenever they addressed him.
The rumors were true- Sergeant Aemond One-Eye was as terrifying as he was deadly. Â
Perhaps that was the reason why it did not take very long for him to be buried between your thighs.
You never had a boyfriend before, always too devoted towards your college academic and hobbies, and way too protected and overshadowed by your father. But it was Aemond who stole your first kiss, two months into his new job as your bodyguard. He had been accompanying you on a small shopping trip to the mall, treating it as a sort of bonding experience. When you had mentioned the new lip gloss you were trying out (it was flavored âchai latteâ), he had asked to taste it.
Okay! you giggled, thinking nothing of it; only for it to be a week later and with his head in between your thighs, eating you out like a starved man.
âStop itâŚ! Aemond! My daddy might walk in!â You cried, tossing your head back against the pillows as you bit down on your bottom lip to stop the moans from tumbling out. It was all in stupid vain; your bodyguard had you putty in his hands. Anything he wanted, you would happily give him- yourself included. âA-AemondâŚ!â How could he ever stop? Not when you sounded oh so fucking pretty, so sweet and yummy, his newfound favorite meal served to him on a silver platter, just ready to be completely devoured.
Aemond shook his head. âI donât give the tiniest shit, babygirl,â he muttered as he sucked on your clit, only pausing every few seconds to kiss your soaked pussy. He had to be soft as well, considering this was a fucking dream come true for him.
The poor bastard remembered all the times he saw you on the television, in those paparazzi photos and the Christmas cards and those gorgeous social media posts of yours. No one would ever understand just how badly he wanted you, and the lengths he went just to have you.
And, well, maybe you shouldâve thought first before stepping out in that sinful, short-cut and backless blue dress, the one that made you look perfect for him to knock up, his pretty little housewife. Perfect for him. Made for him. He kept your legs wide open with the tightest grips as he feasted on your cunt, ignoring your desperate (but adorable) attempts to push him away.
âIf you canât handle this, how will you handle my cock?â he tutted. âPoor baby, Iâm going to fucking destroy you.â
Everything made your pretty face scrunch up in pleasure, especially when you felt him lick a large stripe up your pussy before he shoved his face in only deeper. You squealed, hiding your face from behind your hands. You could feel his nose, his chin, the heavy pants and low growls and soft kisses he peppered along inner thighs. âAnd what did I say to call me?â before he gave your ass a hard spank.
You whimpered, already on the verge of sobbing. Fat tears were streaking down your cheekbones. âI-Iâm sorryâŚs-so sorry, daddy!â
Oh but your entire body felt like it was lit on fire- a burning yet tightening sensation nestled deep within your belly. It was so strange. You didnât know what to make of it. Your head lolled to the side while your back arched up from the bed and your hand found Aemondâs long, whitish-blond hair.
(A common genetic mutation in his family, according to him. Some of the politicians mocked it as the ânew Habsburg jawâ. You thought it made him look all the godlier.)
His hands soon slid up to your breast, palming and tweaking your nipples between his fingers. Your toes curled as you felt ready to explode at any second. âDaddy!â you mewled, peering down through teary eyes to watch as his face shook side-to-side. His own face held sheer bliss, especially when he brought a finger to trace along your drenched folds. âDaddyâŚ! Daddy! Ah, gods, please!â Â
âYeah, that is right, pretty baby, Iâm your new daddy now.â
Your father was none the wiser to the fact that, every night, his youngest daughterâs bodyguard had her in a mating press every night, whispering into her ear that it would not be long until she made him into a real daddy.
It was the least you could do in return, considering he was protecting your life with his.
After boring meetings and countless banquets and your a.m. college classes, Aemond would be quick to shove your panties in your mouth before bending you over the nearest furniture set.
You were his.
All his.
His pretty baby, his sweet little future housewife, the girl whose picture he used to secretly carry in one of the vest pockets during his days in the military. Â
One day, your father pulled him aside and offered him a bonus.
âTruth is, son, youâre doing such a fine job at protecting her. I donât worry as much as I did before you came along. We could not ask for a better bodyguard, Sergeant,â he admitted, patting him on the back. âWould there be anything youâd like in payment? A vacation? A bonus? Some free time with your family? I know you miss your mother very much; my little girl told me.â
But Aemond shook his head, declining everything. âSir, with all due respect, your daughter feels like my new family now, considering how close weâve grown in these past several months, and my duty in keeping her safe. I would prefer to remain by her side if you would allow it,â he said, and your father gave him a cheeky grin.
âShould I perhaps be worried, Sergeant?â
âOf course not, Mr. President. I adore your daughter, but only as a brother would his little sister.â
So it was true, it seemed- your father, bless his heart, was quite the fucking fool of a man. It shouldâve been no surprise to him at all that seven months down the line from his conversation with your bodyguard, you would be trying to hide a swollen baby bump from everyone's eyes.
And if he really was smart, then he wouldâve remembered the reason why the Targaryens were so often compared to the old Habsburgs of Austria.
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When handmaid!reader was pregnant, did Aemond ever suck on her titties? Did Aemond do the thing where the husband is behind na pregnant woman and carried the weight of the baby?
oh of course he did. c'mon, aemond's totally a boob guy (do not argue with me on that). in fact, here is a small drabble over that:
pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader
warnings: tiddy sucking and simp aemond.
his handmaid's tales | main masterlist
Sheâs begun to tire more easily as the children grew within her.
Twins, the maesters and midwives alike had declared, while pouring over moon charts and estimations. She is carrying twins- maybe two boys, maybe two girls, or maybe one of both. The latter would be absolutely lovely, she decides.
Prince Aemondâs dismissed her back to his bedchamber with strict commands to rest abed. In truth, a day of rest is most welcoming to her. Her poor feet feel so swollen, and sheâs taken to waddling like a little pond duck around the Keep, heavy and aching with her first hatchlings.
The courtiers pay her special attention too, as she feels their eyes on her everywhere she goes. No doubt their comments are much worse. Alas, her Prince Aemond can only do so much to protect her.
So safe within his room, she lays atop the cool, clean sheets, curled on her side and cradling the dragon egg her prince had chosen for one of their children in the hollow between her swollen belly and tender breasts.
It is a beautiful thing, with a deep purple shell, speckled with tiny golden flecks on its scales that shined like gold, and holding it close made her feel a lot better- stronger and braver. Perhaps her babies sense the dragon inside, a siren call only the golden blood of Old Valyria could hear. Or perhaps sheâs turning into a dragon too. Â
âOh, but I really am carrying little dragons,â she giggles to herself, brushing her fingertips against the tight swell of her belly. Saying those words aloud makes her feel giddy and proud and beyond anxious to meet them. âTwo sweet little dragonsâŚâ
âIndeed you are, my love.â
She startles, glancing up to see Aemond looming over her with a small smile. There is a fierce pride in his violet eye as it rakes over her breasts and the curve of her bump. âI sent you back to find sleep, not strike up a conversation with the dragon egg...again.â
âThe babes enjoy feeling the egg near them,â she shrugs. âThat is why I do it.â
Aemond clicks his tongue, crawling alongside her onto the bed. âDid they tell you that?â he asks, voice thick with teasing.
One hand rests on her bump, fingers drawing small circles as she hides her head within his neck, feeling the children suddenly stirring in her womb. âAh, seems my babes know their father is now here.â And the other drifts down to her breast, cupping and giving it a gentle squeeze.
She sighs.
Her dear prince, heâs taken quite the fancy to her breasts, now heavy and swelling with milk. Most nights Aemond sleeps with his head pillowed comfortably on her chest, face buried between her tits. They bring him comfort, he says a lot. He enjoys fondling and nursing from them too- as hungry for her soft gasps and moans as he is with her milk and cunt (his words not hers).
She cannot understand why, nor can she ask around for an answer.
A baseborn servant carrying royal babies is enough scandal for a terrible headache, and she can do without that.
She closes her eyes and shivers when he leans to kiss her clothed breast ever so tenderly. âI suppose this is good practice,â he murmurs as he tugs down her neckline, eye darkening at the delicious sight before him, â-for when our little ones finally arrive.â He then blows on her swollen nipple, smirking at the cute little whimper she lets out. Â
"Look at you. Gods, you are so fucking gorgeous."
âAemond-â
Aemond shushes her before taking her nipple in his hot mouth. Her head flings back on the pillow as he suckles, flicking it back and forth with his tongue. âAch! My princeâŚ!â she cries, hips grinding down on the bed, desperate for some release, while her pretty face scrunches up in sheer pleasure. âPlease- please- pleaseâŚ!â Yet all her lurching, to his delight, just brings her breasts closer to him.
âYouâll feed my sons so well, my pretty girl,â and he slaps her breast, âIâve known youâd give me fine heirs the moment I first laid eyes on you.â
She pants. â-want them, ah, to grow nice and strong like their father. All for you, my prince, tis what you deserveâŚ!â
His other hand squeezes her other breast, tweaking and pinching the nipple until little beads of milk fall and sheâs withering beneath him, a putty mess of cries and moans and shudders. Aemond smiles, her tit dropping out of his mouth with a pop.
âMy lady- my sweet girl,â he tells her, lapping up the milk around her chest. âPretty, pretty girl, all mine.â
By the time he's finished, his handmaid is fast asleep, with a sweet smile twisted across her pink lips. Her chest, now bruised and marked, heaves up and down with slow breaths. Aemond lays there, kissing her nipple and listening to her steady heartbeat. He swears it matches his.
"Mmm, works every time," he chuckles to himself.
tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes @elegantsplendour @katzarantos @fan-goddess @okfashionista @randomdragonfires
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