#pro aemond targaryen

[randomdragonfires]

Moon Song | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | He killed Lucerys, but Aemond sees the ghost of his nephew wherever he goes - especially in his sweet wife's eyes.

WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; ANGST; Delusions; Incest; Dark Themes; Kinslaying; DD;DNE!

WORD COUNT | 6.6k

A/N | Originally written as a birthday gift for @humanpurposes. Nothing says happy birthday like a dark fic about madness and murder I guess? :)

RAIN-SOAKED AND WEARY, AEMOND TRUDGES THROUGH the murky streets of King's Landing, his cold and damp riding leathers offering no respite. Each step echoes with the haunting images of Vhagar's reckless attack on Luke, the small, agonizing details etched into his mind like a deep carving. The city, shrouded in an eerie mist, seems to mourn his nephew in silent empathy.

A scared face. The cracking of jaws. The sight of Arrax’s wing flapping aimlessly down into the sea. Luke, falling free through the skies…

The Red Keep looms ahead, its imposing towers piercing the darkened sky. Aemond ascends the ancient stone steps in silence, his solitude a curtain shrouding the tempest raging within him. The guards watch him cautiously, sensing the palpable storm that accompanies the one-eyed Prince’s return. As he passes, the torches on the wall flicker, casting grotesque shadows that dance along the corridor walls.

Entering the shared chambers, Aemond's presence goes unnoticed at first. His wife awaits him, her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and anticipation as she sits at the edge of the bed, finding his gaze and immediately making note of his distress. He can feel her scrutiny, her eyes seeking answers he isn't ready to give. With how disappointed she may be, he is not sure that he’ll ever want her to know. But he knows she must, and that he’d rather it come from him than anyone else.

Words remain unspoken as Aemond, drenched and disheveled, closes the distance between them. She hasn’t moved, holding onto him by the waist as he encloses his cold hands onto the back of her head, finding some semblance of comfort in the warmth of her hair. His wife's face softened, ready to welcome him, oblivious to his guilt and agony. In the silence that hung thick in the air, he braced himself for the storm about to engulf their world.

“You’re cold, Aemond. Let me find you something warm to wear,” she says. He doesn’t let her leave him; he will not let her leave him, ever. In heavy times like these, he’s always quite liked having her to hold - and right now, it seems like she understands it just as well as she always does. She is a part of him, made to be by his side.

She’s my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else’s!

He remembers the words. It was the night he had come to, after his eye had been slashed out. The marriage pact had been brokered in the aftermath, a compensation for the losses suffered. His nephew's tantrum and those venomous words had sown the seeds of a bitter possession, one that manifested in the subtle manipulative gestures that followed.

He had reveled in taunting Luke, relishing in the knowledge that he had triumphed over his nephew in more ways than one. Aemond had married his niece, a Princess of Targaryen blood, a strategic move with which he had alleviated the stain of bastardy off of her. He’d spend years taunting Luke over his wins, and he’d finally taken his life too. And now, his wife was about to cast him aside for it. 

As he confessed to his wife, his eye, haunted by the accident, bore into hers, seeking understanding, pleading for empathy. The air grew dense, the chasm between them widening like an insurmountable abyss, a reflection of the irreversible consequences that now consumed them. 

I need you to believe me.

In the flicker of candlelight, hope clung to Aemond like a shadow, a desperate desire for his wife to see beyond the tragedy. Yet, her features twisted in disbelief, mirroring the horror within him. He had not expected any less, but to see it happen is like a dagger twisting in his heart.

He’s losing her. He cannot lose her. As she tries to draw away, he lets desperation take over him. He would be damned if he let her slip away over something that he did not mean to happen. 

His grip on her tightens to the point of choking, her eyes widening as she realizes that she is trapped. Not just in his hold, but in this marriage with a man that would stop at nothing, and is not even above killing family to survive. How long before he kills me too, she probably thinks. 

He longs to assure her that he wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head, but she is angry. She does not want to hear from him, so he will settle for her forced presence for now. Surely she’ll see. He cannot bear for her to look scared and fearful - she looks too much like her twin when she does. The last thing Aemond needs is to be reminded of him. 

Her sobs soak through his already damp clothes. She tries to push him away, but he is like a never-ending nightmare - the more she tries, the tighter his hold becomes, refusing to give her the solitude she craves. He wants to, he is simply scared - what if she never chooses to welcome him again?

Why?

His touch, once a source of comfort, now repulses her, but he remains oblivious to her inner turmoil. In the midst of her agony, he lowers her gently onto the bed, attempting to offer solace through caresses and kisses, unaware that his touch has become a reminder, a brand of her brother's murderer. She refuses to believe that it was an accident, and he is further pained at the dark realization that he may not be above killing her if she tries to betray and leave him over this. After all, if he cannot have her, no one else will.

"Stay with me, wife. Stay with me, and you will be kept alive and safe.” Try to leave me, and you will not live to see the next sunrise. 

The unspoken threat hangs in the air, a chilling promise that holds its own through his silence and her sobs. She closes her eyes, her unease palpable, a fear of the man she shares her bed and heart with. Aemond, too, watches her drift away, inch by agonizing inch, knowing he will have to learn to endure. He’ll have to, if her place is by Aemond’s side - and the day he married her, he’d solidified that.

What he won’t quite get used to is realizing how much like Luke she looks in fear, and how her eyes make it seem as though he is boring into his nephew’s instead. The resemblance unnerves him as he is taken back to the skies of Storm’s End in his mind once again - Luke had looked just as fearful for his life in his last moments. She is a reminder of what he’s done, of the half of her who is now lost.

How could he have expected that his own living, breathing wife would haunt him so?

THE LIBRARY IS CLOAKED IN A HUSHED DARKNESS as Aemond buries himself in his book, the words flying over his head as he tries to comprehend them. The oppressive silence of the night presses upon him, mirroring the strain in his heart. His worry for his wife weighs heavily on his mind, a persistent ache that refuses to be ignored. She has withdrawn from him, choosing silence over conversation, and the void between them grows deeper with each passing day.

In dreams, Luke sits atop his fledgling dragon, looking at him with a somber expression that makes him appear at peace. They are in the skies of Storm’s End again, only this time, neither of them is involved in a chase. They face each other, and each time, Luke talks, and Aemond seems to have no choice but to listen.

This did not have to happen, uncle, he would say. You could have let me live.

Every time, he wakes and resists the urge to slam his fists and pull his spun silver hair out as he wills the fragments of Lucerys to leave him be. He had initially blamed the shock, but even as he gains his bearings, the visions, dreams, and voices only seem to become louder, stronger, and sharper. It would seem that the more desensitized and ready to face war he becomes, the more his nephew insists on haunting him - reminding him that he is no war god, but simply a boy forced to grow into a man too soon.

This did not have to happen, uncle. You made a terrible mistake.

“Leave me in peace bastard, be gone!” He would scream as he slams his fist into the table and sends parchment flying. 

Aemond's torment continues unabated, the ghost of Luke lingering in every corner of his life, a silent spirit that refuses to be exorcized. Late at night, as Aemond lies in bed, he catches glimpses of Luke's face in the shadows that dance on the walls, his eyes hauntingly fixed upon him. The weight of his gaze bears down on Aemond's soul, making sleep an elusive and tormenting escape.

In the courtyard, where the echoes of laughter resound, Aemond finds himself frozen in place, the air heavy with Luke's presence. The wind carries whispers that seem to be the soft murmur of Luke's voice, leaving Aemond questioning his sanity. He can almost feel Luke's hand on his shoulder, a touch that sends shivers down his spine and leaves him grasping at the emptiness.

During war strategy sessions, Aemond's mind plays cruel tricks on him. As he pores over maps of wargrounds and fortified keeps, Luke's reflection materializes beside him, scrutinizing terrains with an otherworldly knowledge. Aemond's fingers tremble as he traces the borders, half-expecting Luke to offer his uninvited and foolish insights, but the silence remains.

In the Great Hall, where feasts were once lively celebrations, Aemond finds himself unable to escape the ghostly presence. The sound of revelry - that Aegon insists upon as they celebrate Luke’s death - becomes a haunting cacophony, and he can almost hear Luke's laughter intermingling with the echoes of those who celebrate his demise. Aemond often finds himself raising his goblet in a futile toast, the wine swirling like a macabre dance, mirroring the torment within him.

Even in the solace of nature, where one would hope to find peace, Aemond can't escape the ghostly reminders. Trees cast shadows that resemble Luke's silhouette as Aemond and Vhagar fly overhead, and the chilly air seems to whisper secrets that he strains to understand.

As he closes the book, a phantom chill creeps into the room. A sense of unease claws at him as he tries to erase the recollections from mind, as though doing so would remove the occurrences altogether. The chilly night air outside intensifies, causing the candle flame to dance wildly before it sputters and extinguishes with a subtle hiss. Aemond dismisses the notion, attributing it to a mere draft, and turns away from the now darkened candle.

As he turns, his reflection in the ornate mirror catches his eye, but instead of his own weary countenance, the mirror unveils the ghostly image of Luke. Aemond's breath catches in his throat as he stares into the haunted eyes of his nephew. The dim light casts an eerie glow on his ethereal almost-figure, and the air in the library seems charged with an otherworldly energy. The weight of guilt and the eerie manifestations converged, leaving Aemond paralyzed in the haunting stillness of the library, caught between the realms of the living and the departed.

"This did not have to happen, uncle," Luke's voice carries a weight of unspoken sorrow, each word etched with the regret of an untimely departure. The ghostly echoes linger in the air, weaving through the ancient shelves of books that stand as silent witnesses to this mad exchange.

Aemond - his breath catching in his throat - struggles to find the right response. The weight of guilt presses upon him as he gazes into Luke, dazed. The regret, palpable and suffocating, threatens to consume him. Luke lingers, a reminder of all his irreversible choices. Caught in the grip of the moment, Aemond feels a lump forming in his throat. "I never wanted it to end this way," he whispers, his voice tinged with regret that he would never have admitted to feeling if he hadn't had to voice it out loud. 

"You made a terrible mistake," Luke's voice echoes, the accusatory tone cutting through the oppressive silence of the library. 

Aemond's eye meets the hollow gaze of his nephew. "I am aware, and I am burdened by it… by you." He confesses, the weight of guilt hanging heavily upon him. Memories of happier days in his marriage pass his mind, and he is once again left with the gnawing pain of not knowing if she will ever seek him out again. Is he going to be made to live with this chasm between them forever? How could she live without him?

And immediately, as thoughts of his sweet wife cross his mind, the image of Luke transforms into when he was much younger, his curls a lot more prominent and his face a bit more round. He says the words again, the same words that Aemond had heard him say about his marriage - and it is all he can do to not fall apart. "She's my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else's!" Luke's words resonated in the stillness, each repetition intensifying the haunting atmosphere.

The air crackles with unresolved tension as the words loop, a haunting refrain that refuses to fade. Each spoken phrase intertwines with the musty scent of ancient books, filling the room with a lingering sense of melancholy. As the words pass through the room, the library stands witness to the unfolding chaos. Dust motes, disturbed by the weight of the conversation, hang suspended in the air like transient memories. The ambient firelight, filtered through the stained glass windows, casts a surreal glow on the troubled face of a man who desperately tries to escape the consequences of his actions. The words create ripples in the stillness of the library, a transient disturbance.

His fists clench, and with a roar of frustration, he lashes out at the mirror. The impact shatters the haunting reflection, the fractured pieces falling like a cascade of broken memories. Aemond, panting and wild-eyed, stares at the shattered remnants of the mirror as drops of his blood stain them all an angry, bloody red.

ON A DARK, EERIE MORNING, Aemond decides he will seek refuge in combat training with Cole. The rhythmic clash of steel on steel promises a momentary escape from the haunting of his tormented mind. In these fleeting moments, he clings to the hope that the precision demanded by the dance of death will anchor his thoughts, keeping them disciplined and resolute.

But the training ground transforms, and the air shimmers with the echoes of unsheathed swords. In the midst of training, Luke materializes. The world blurs as Aemond's gaze locks onto his nephew's phantom form, the arrogance etched upon his face mirroring the smirk that haunts him. A tempest of confusion descends, and in the blink of an eye, he lunges forward, sword clashing against an illusion.

Reality slips away, and he finds himself ensnared in a mirage - a realm where the dead dance with the living, taunting them with all they have left. In the throbbing aftermath, the truth bears down on him like a relentless storm.

He killed him. The admission echoes in the hollow chambers of his conscience, overtaking him completely. The clash of blades morphs into a funeral dirge, and as he stands amidst the lingering consequences of his actions, the training ground transforms into a graveyard of memories. The air hangs heavy with the scent of remorse, and the phantom of Luke lingers, a silent witness to the torment that now possesses Aemond.

How he wills for his nephew to leave him alone. How he wishes he could turn back time, to a day when his wife was happy with him, when he was not the object of repulsion in her eyes. How he wishes she would welcome him with open arms again...

But why would she, uncle? Why would she, when you have slain her twin and taken me away from her? Her true other half?

He swings his sword once more, the blade cutting through the air with a desperate force. Each slash is a fervent plea, hoping that the slashes would tear up the ghost of his bastard nephew to ribbons that fly away with the wind. Even in death, his nephew is a stain on his life that refuses to let him live in peace. First his eye, now his wife.

Her place is by my side, uncle. And by killing me, you only reminded her of that.

The echoes of Luke's haunting words reverberate through the empty training ground, as Aemond battles not only the illusions before him but also the relentless demons within. The weight of his actions, the echoes of his nephew's voice, and the damning truth merge into a haunting symphony that accompanies each swing of his sword, forming an enemy much more dangerous than the Blacks that he’d sworn to kill.

The air is thick with the acrid scent of remorse. Aemond's movements become more desperate, as if trying to carve out a safe haven from the phantoms that encircle him. The blade slices through him, yet Luke's voice persists, an unyielding reminder of the havoc wrought upon not just his life but everyone’s around him.

Amidst his violent dance with illusions, Aemond longs for the solace that has eluded him since that fateful day at Storm's End. His sword becomes an extension of his anguish, a vessel through which he hopes to banish the nightmares that torment his every waking moment. The words resonate, mocking his attempts to escape the repercussions of his actions.

Aemond's grip tightens on the hilt of the sword, the struggle etched across his face as he battles the intangible. The illusion persists, refusing to be vanquished, a testament to the indomitable force of guilt and regret.

He lowers his sword and the ghostly echoes of Luke's voice linger. The training ground falls silent, a wave of unresolved grief as Aemond grapples with the realization that, even in death, his nephew remains an inescapable presence in the twisted tapestry of his existence.

Luke smiles once more, and Aemond slams the tip of his sword into the gravel, watching it fall to the side as he screams. Luke’s reflection is a sharp image on his blade, but when he looks up, the ground is empty, save for a worried mentor that watches him from the side. What must he do to gain solitude again?

The air in the training ground seems to thicken further as Aemond walks away to put his sword aside. The haunting memories of his past misdeeds cling to him like a shroud, and the distant echoes of Luke's words continue to reverberate in his mind. The once-familiar grounds feel like a journey through a desolate and forsaken landscape as he somehow registers the distant sounds of Cole calling out his name in worry.

As Aemond picks up the sheath, he senses an eerie silence enveloping the surroundings. The wind carries whispers of his regrets, and the atmosphere is charged with an unsettling energy. He looks up to see his wife standing at one of the windows, her gaze fixed on a seemingly endless point beyond the horizon. The pain of a fractured marriage weighs heavily on his shoulders, and his arrogance, once a shield, now crumbles under the weight of remorse.

Their eyes meet, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. He reads the emptiness in her eyes, an emptiness that reflects the void he has created between them. Aemond's heart sinks, realizing that his mistakes have irreparably damaged the bond he once took for granted. The echo of Luke's haunting voice intertwines with the desolation that surrounds him.

She is his, but he does not want to have her like this; unwilling. Unable to withstand the haunting gaze, Aemond turns away. The clang of metal against metal resonates in the air as he sheathed his sword. The once-sharp blade now feels heavy, burdened with the weight of his own sins.

Before he leaves, compelled by an unseen force, Aemond looks up at the tower once more. But this time, it is not his wife who meets his gaze. Instead, the window frames the ghostly figure of Luke, staring back with fear etched on his face. Before he can further contemplate the vision, she is right there again, looking away. With the many sightings of Luke that he is subjected to, Aemond is not fazed anymore. But he is once more reminded of how similar his nephew and wife look in fear. He does not like seeing her this way.

A shiver courses down Aemond's spine as his gaze meets the ghostly visage of his nephew. Before he can avert his eyes, the apparition transforms into his wife, each manifestation carrying an accusing, sorrowful, and frightened expression. The visions alternate with unsettling speed, a haunting dance where Luke and his wife exchange places in the blink of an eye. 

Aemond is unnerved by the rapidity with which the pair appears almost indistinguishable, their features blending into an eerie resemblance that sends chills through his soul. The accusatory eyes of Luke and the sorrowful gaze of his wife interchange with a disorienting fluidity, leaving Aemond trapped in a whirlwind of regret, fear, and a gnawing sense of the uncanny.

He walks away, steps definitive and terror-struck as he steps into the tower. The silence is deafening, broken only by the echoes of regrets and the distant wind. Aemond, haunted by the consequences of his actions, contemplates the surreal encounter. The armor-laden grounds, once a place of training, now serve as the stage for the haunting manifestations of his past. The ghost of Luke remains and so does his remembrance of a happier wife - who, for reasons he cannot fathom, reminds him of his biggest mistake. A constant reminder that redemption may be forever out of reach.

THE WORD HOLDS TOO MUCH EMOTION than he can bear to pour into his voice, but he says it all the same.

“Wife.”

As Aemond approaches her, he takes in the sight of her, a weak vision of House Strong's distinct features marked by dark hair and blue eyes. The vibrant happiness that once defined her has been replaced by weariness, one that seems to have settled into the very core of her being.

Her brown hair, once a shiny cascade, now hangs in loose tendrils, lacking the luster it once possessed. The dim light highlights her fatigue, revealing the toll that the sorrow of losing her brother has taken on her. The lines etched upon her face speak of countless nights spent wrestling nightmares and the strain of unanswered questions. Her eyes, once bright and expressive, now carry a perpetual sadness and seem to bear the weight of all her losses.

Does she grieve for them too? For their marriage? For him and all the time they’ve lost?

As Aemond gathers the courage to approach, he can't help but feel a pang of regret for the role he played in casting this shadow over the woman he once knew and still loves. The air around her seems heavy with declarations unmade, the room echoing with the quiet desperation of a fractured connection that he is grasping at to mend. Aemond, yearning for reconciliation, steels himself to bridge the gap that has grown between them, hoping to heal not just their relationship, but her as well. 

She turns to look at him, the faint moonlight from the window hitting her face as she assesses the man that stands before her. Not her husband, no - Aemond knows how she looked at him when she loved him. Now she simply stares through him, understanding that it’s her brother’s killer that she is facing. He doesn’t know what hurts him more - her grief, or her cluelessness. 

She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t walk away either, empowering him to take a few steps further. He reaches out to her and takes her hand, and smiles by the corner of his lips when she doesn’t grab her hand back. 

“Are you… well?”

The idiocy of the question while he sees how tired she is does not escape him, but in all honesty, she has him tongue-tied. Aemond has missed her touch, and simply getting to hold her hand again has set a fire ablaze in him that he cannot seem to quell.

“As well as one can be, considering the circumstances.”

Time stands still as he takes in the sound of her voice, hoarse from not having said much in a long while. His mother tries with her, but even the Queen can’t make his grief-stricken wife budge - she would stay until she couldn’t, leaving his wife to her thoughts. What could she say to make things better anyhow?  I’m sorry my son killed your brother? I’m sorry you’re caught in a war that is not of your making? I’m sorry you cannot look at your husband with anything but disdain?

He is rendered well and truly silent as he tries to measure her feelings, but she beats him to it as she speaks again - addressing the elephant in the room as quickly as she is able. “Are you here to apologize for murdering my brother?”

“It was an accident.”

He knows he shouldn’t be arguing, but what was he to do? He’d let the world speak cruelly of him and brand him a kinslayer, but he cannot have his own wife hate him so. His defense of his actions only seem to spur her further as she pushes her free hand into his chest, and he holds onto her hand tighter, unwilling to let her go like she wants to.

“Don’t demean yourself by justifying your venom, Aemond. You have hated Luke your entire life, and I’d rather you not make years of hatred seem like nothing in your pursuit to make a better name for yourself with me now. You’re well past that, valzȳrys.” She spits out the last word, making him feel hurt and horrendously out of place. husband

“You don’t believe me.”

“You killed him!”

She sobs, her tears making it very clear that he is a lot less in her eyes now than he used to be. He fights the urge to scream, to hold her by the shoulders and shake sense into her. He wants to remind her that he is not what she thinks him to be, and that he genuinely would never do anything to hurt her. But he has. And he is now facing the consequences of weighing the choices and choosing wrong. How he wishes he’d simply let Luke leave - Aemond had won, why didn’t he?

Her sobs echo in the strained silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken grievances. In a moment of raw vulnerability, she hits him square on his chest - each strike of her closed fists carrying the weight of accumulated sorrow, an outward manifestation of the tumultuous emotions that have festered within. Aemond, initially taken aback, winces. 

Yet, even as the blows intensify, Aemond doesn't recoil. Instead, he envelops her in a desperate embrace, a gesture born not out of defiance but of a shared longing for understanding. The chamber becomes a battleground of emotions, the struggle to make sense of their fractured marriage playing out in light of all that has taken place.

“I want to hate you so much.” She says, the words choked out as her voice comes out muffled. Her lips are branded onto his chest as she mouths the words over the leathers he wears. “I want to. You’re a monster, that's all I see. I hate you so much.”

He pretends to not hear any of the damning words, for fear of hurting her in the anger that they rouse in him. She looks up at him, and all he wants is to crush her in his hold as he feels the anger creep up on him. But what she says next knocks the wind out of him, reminding him of why he has taken the trouble to come here to try and repair their marriage. 

“But I love you all the same, and I don’t know if I hate you or the love I hold more.”

It is all the confirmation he needs. She is not out of reach just yet. Aemond, grappling with the weight of her words, feels a heavy tension in the air as her lips remain pressed against his chest, the muffled admissions still hanging in the space between them.

As she lifts her head, her eyes, red and swollen, meet his. Aemond sees the internal conflict etched into the lines of her face, torn between the desire to loathe him and the persistent, undeniable love that refuses to be extinguished. He remains silent, understanding the gravity of her admission, aware that any response from him could tip the fragile balance they are trying to restore.

In a moment suspended between resentment and longing, she tentatively reaches up to touch his face, her fingertips tracing the contours of his jaw. Aemond, still holding back the urge to speak, feels the warmth of her touch, a gesture that speaks volumes. Then, as if guided by an invisible force, their lips meet in a hesitant, exploratory kiss. It is not a fiery embrace born out of passion; rather, it is a delicate connection, an attempt to bridge the emotional distance that has grown between them. 

And then Luke surfaces, yet again.

He holds her tighter and kisses her deep, his tongue begging for entrance as he fights the ghost of Luke, staring right at him as he tries to make his wife forgive him. With every movement of their joined lips, he refutes his dead nephew’s words. He is hers, and she is his. From this day, till the end of their days. 

Not Luke’s. His.

“Mine,” he mumbles in between kisses. Over and over until the blasted bastard’s spirit hears and lets him live. But why should he, when Aemond did not offer him the same courtesy? “You’re mine. No one else’s.”

“What?” He doesn’t answer her murmured question, not quite ready to make her privy to the haunting of his mind by her twin. He does not want to let him ruin this moment for them, not any more than he already has. His hands involuntarily find her skirts, pushing them up as he lowers his lips to kiss her neck.

The skin of her thighs are as soft as he’d remembered, his hands relishing in the touch as it disappears under her dress. She clings to him, a slight whine escaping her lips as his fingertips graze her skin, holding onto her backside as he lifts her up effortlessly, feet carrying them both and pushing her into the nearest wall. The kiss is never ending, and he’d not have it any other way.He presses into her, his hands holding her by the hip so tight that he’s probably bruising her, but he is too far gone to care. He needs to prove his nephew wrong, and with each moment he believes he is closer to vanquishing the ghost of the Strong pup from his consciousness.

“Take me,” she says. He hears her, but he is not quite sure he is listening. However, he does as she says. He has wanted this for long, having missed her touch for long, having missed her wanting him for long. He has wanted this for too long to do anything otherwise, and so he does. He growls as he bites her neck, while she unlaces his breeches and lets his cock spring free. The weeping tip is erect and stands proud, and he hopes she can see what she could have had in the time that she pushed him away. No matter, she’s here now.

He is taken aback by how tight she is, how warm and inviting she is despite it all. Her wetness engulfs him as he thrusts into her, making up for wasted time. With each thrust and with each moan that she lets out, he hopes and prays that their marriage will endure - but the phantom of his nephew is never ending as he refuses to fade. Aemond claims her as is his right, but as he does, he realizes his true goal is to simply remind the ghost in his head that she is his, and no one else’s.

“Mine.”

She leans into him, meeting his forehead with hers as her hair falls around them. Her panting breaths and heaving chest has him in a tight chokehold, and it almost keeps him from being haunted by her twin. Almost.

She peaks with a shuddering moan, and as she falls into him - limp and willing - he chases his pleasure. He brings her down to stand and mindlessly thrusts into her as he chants mine, mine, mine over and over again and when he does spill in her, he wants to be able to only experience pleasure, and nothing else. 

Surely his mind is playing tricks on him, or Luke has simply taken over Aemond in a capacity far beyond his control - for he is certain he sees him in her eyes for just a moment, taunting him and reveling in his misery.  

The memory hits him like whiplash, and it is all he can think of.

Aemond’s hands encircle her delicate throat, pressing her frail form against the unforgiving stone wall, as though he intends to merge her essence with its cold surface. The echoes of her labored panting reverberate in the air, a desperate struggle for breath, while he, consumed by an unrelenting force, cannot cease his actions. 

Her blue eyes roll back in agony, and the veins on her neck stand out more prominently than usual, appearing blue in certain lights and green in others - details he might have discerned if not blinded by rage and madness.

He sees clearly, he always does. But in this moment, the intensity of his anger clouds his judgment, rendering him as blind as he is perceptive in moments of calm. Her pallor intensifies, and her hands futilely attempt to pry his fingers from her skin, seeking reprieve - he wants to let go, but he cannot. How could he?

His nephew has haunted him for years, much like the famed phantom of Harrenhal. Luke may have only been nine years of age when he took Aemond’s eye, but it has wielded a malevolent influence throughout his journey from boyhood to manhood. It has been the root cause for a lot of what he’s done - right from marrying her, to now killing her so she can join her brother wherever he is.

He needs to banish the haunting memory of his nephew from his tormented consciousness. He wants so badly for the words to stop playing in his head, weaving a harsh thread of thoughts that he cannot seem to find his way out of. Her life hangs by a thread, one that he stretches taut until she snaps.

As much as he resents acknowledging it, perhaps Lucerys was right. He isn't killing her; he is merely guiding her to where she belongs, by his side. “Aemond…” Her plea is feeble, choked, and nearly devoid of a voice. “Husband, please…” He hears his sweet wife’s last words, but he refuses to listen.

As the light in her eyes slowly dims, he watches as she struggles to keep her eyes open. Her hold on his choking hand loosens and loses its fight, and she gives in. It is almost as though they are back to how they were, in the days when they were happier, and his hands had been around her neck in much more sensual moments - always just enough, never as tight and deadly as this.

She looks almost peaceful in this state, in the last moments where she’s accepted that she has outrun her course. He cannot have her this way, does not want her this way -  where she fears him and what he has truly become; where every moment that she looks at him with mixed emotions, he is reminded of his nephew and the day he died.

Cursed bastard.

Her once kind smiles, the very essence that once distinguished her from her twin, have undergone a haunting transformation. Her face has since been etched with an unspoken terror, a fear that clings to her like a shroud of impending doom. Every glance she casts seems laden with an eerie anticipation, as if she is poised to deliver a fatal blow.

In those harrowing moments, the resemblance between them becomes a grotesque mirror, reflecting a likeness he cannot bear to acknowledge. The weight of her presence - his presence - is suffocating, an unsettling reminder of his own recklessness. He cannot afford the luxury of a wavering mind, not in the midst of a relentless war that demands his unwavering focus.

This connection has become an unbearable burden, stoking a fury within him that knows no bounds. All he craves is the dissolution of his nephew's haunting memory, an obliteration that refuses to comply with the confines of his subconscious. Instead, it lingers, an ominous specter that shadows his every waking moment, intensifying the horrors that plague him day and night.

And then, her breathing ceases.

The chilling realization of what he’s done crashes over him like a wave, dragging him into the abyss of his own making. The haunting echoes of his nephew's voice, the relentless specter that had tormented his every waking moment ever since the fateful day at Storm’s End, had finally ceased. However, the newfound silence is shattered by the ghastly thud of her lifeless form crumpling to the floor, unleashing an eerie force that wraps its tendrils around his soul.

She seems liberated from the oppressive shackles of fear and her lifeless face descends into an eerie calm that chills the marrow of his bones. In death, she appears more tranquil than any moment he witnessed in life since her twin’s passing. The grotesque disparity between her and Lucerys’ final moments sends a shiver down his spine, the air thick with the stench of regret and the palpable weight of his transgressions.

With a trembling hand, he reaches out to touch her slowly chilling forehead, pressing a sorrowful kiss upon it. The chamber becomes suffocating, the air thickening with an oppressive calm that clings to the shadows. In that macabre stillness, a chilling certainty takes hold — Lucerys will no longer haunt him, but the cost is etched in the lines of his lovely wife’s lifeless face.

As the reality of his irreversible choice seeps into his bones, a haunting question claws at the edges of his conscience: Was the liberation from the phantom of his nephew's influence worth the mad ending of his wife's life? The Seven bear witness to another one of his kinslaying crimes and the heavy silence that follows - a testament to the darkness that now envelopes his soul, as the shadows of the hearth themselves seem to recoil from the stench of blood that stains the very fabric of the air.

Now the twins are together in death, by each other’s side. 

Aemond is free.

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MASTERLIST

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #ewan mitchell #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond smut #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond fic #aemond #pro aemond targaryen #aemond stannies #aemond angst #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fanfiction

[vaenaera]

imagine being upset at seeing a fourteen year old be killed but then looking forward to seeing a toddler be killed

#team green #anti team black stans #anti blood and cheese #pro helaena targaryen #pro aemond targaryen #pro aegon ii targaryen #pro alicent hightower #anti daemon targaryen #anti daemon stans

[spacerockfloater]

In the show, Rhaenyra is just as weak and self centred as Viserys is.

The fact that she repeats her father’s mistake, remarrying and producing legitimate children who would overshadow her chosen yet questionable heir, is so stupid.

Viserys desires another woman and male heirs, therefore he gives into the temptation of obtaining Alicent and having male children, without realising that by doing this he’s making it difficult for Rhaenyra, a girl, to keep the throne.

Rhaenyra desires her uncle above everything else, therefore she gives into the temptation of obtaining Daemon and having children with him, without realising that by doing this she’s making it difficult for Jacaerys, a bastard, to keep the throne.

The dance would have happened anyway, maybe it could be postponed for one generation had Otto not been so eager to chase the throne, but it would still happen.

And let’s be real: had Viserys not chosen Alicent, he’d pick another girl, like Laena, whose father would want the exact same thing Otto wanted: his blood on the throne. Corlys admits that’s what he’s after. Anyone would do the same thing. All the great houses are ambitious. The issue is that Viserys and Rhaenyra kept making stupid choices that made it easier for them to be undermined and then they cry about it.

#house of the dragon #team green #anti rhaenyra targaryen #hotd #house hightower #pro team green #alicent hightower #anti hotd #anti targaryen #anti house targaryen #pro house hightower #targtowers #anti rhaenyra stans #anti daemyra #pro alicent stans #pro alicent hightower #pro aemond targaryen #anti targ restoration #anti targ stans

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Ever since that running aemond pic came out I've been thinking non stop about his thighs so... would you like to write something involving riding aemond's thigh? I have no other wishes and I totally get it if you think that's not enough of a prompt. You can ignore this if you want but I'd love to see what you can come up with!

You asked for this back in June, I'm so sorry for how long this has taken me. I am a shambles of a human being, truly. I hope you've stuck around long enough to see this!

Warnings: Thigh riding, smut, me playing fast and loose with canon. Word count: ~1.3k

The candle that rests beside her on the reading table burns low as she sits in her and Aemond’s marital chambers. The book that is spread out in front of her, Coming of the Andals, lays unread; her fingers tap anxiously against its pages, as her eyes remain fixed upon the door.

Aemond had been called to a meeting of the Small Council. They both knew why, it has been a long time coming. The injuries that Aegon sustained during the battle of Rook’s Rest have left him bedridden, he is no longer fit to rule, and their grandsire’s capacity for what he can do in his stead has reached its limit. Westeros needs a Targaryen upon the throne, and Aemond is next in line. It is a position she knows that her husband is all too eager to fill.

He ought to be back by now though, it has been hours. The evening grows late, and she has long since sent away her chambermaids, refusing to be readied for bed. She has no desire to sleep until Aemond returns, so she forgoes the comfort of her nightgown, despite longing to unlace the meticulously fastened ribbons that hold her bodice tightly in place against her ribcage.

Tiredness and impatience pluck at her nerves, making her shift irritably in her chair. She startles at a polite rap at the door, if it was Aemond then he would simply walk in, he would not bother to knock. Her brow furrows in confusion as she rises, walking towards the door to open it.

She looks down into the wide eyed anticipation of one of the Keep’s page boys. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Apologies for the disturbance at such a late hour, Princess, Prince Aemond has requested your presence in the throne room.”

She sighs, nodding and bidding the young lad goodnight, before snuffing out the candle and making her way through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards the Great Hall. The walk is long, and she is grateful she has not yet changed into her nightclothes, as the gown she wears does little to keep the chill of the castle air from nipping at her skin. She would feel annoyed at Aemond insisting she come all this way, were it not for the mixture of curiosity and excitement that flutters lightly in her chest.

Pushing open the great oak and bronze doors, her eyes scan the long carpet that stretches the length of the room, up to the high, narrow steps that lead to the raised iron dais. Aemond sits upon the throne. She stands silently as she regards him. His arms rest on either side of the asymmetrical tangle of jagged and twisted blades, long fingers curled around the makeshift armrests.

He is dressed as he was when he had left her earlier that evening; black, leather tunic, black breeches and leather boots, except this time the Conqueror’s crown sits atop his snowy head of hair, the Valyrian steel and rubies gleaming iridescent in the moonlight. He cuts quite the imposing figure as his single eye stares at her impassively.

Slowly, she descends the steps into the Hall, making her way along the carpet, maintaining eye contact with her husband the entire time. His lips quirk, the faintest trace of amusement tugging at their corners as he observes the unhurried pace with which she moves. It is not until she stands before the throne that he bothers to speak.

“It is not polite to keep your King waiting,” he utters quietly.

“Prince Regent,” she corrects him. “And it is not becoming of a King to rouse ladies from their slumber in the middle of the night.”

He huffs through his nose, smirking at her as he leans forward slightly. “You do not appear to be dressed for sleep. I must say, I am disappointed.”

“It is improper for a lady to greet the King in such a state of undress, or is that how you will have all the ladies of the court attend to you?”

“Hmmm. I have not yet decided how I would like you to attend to me. Will you curtsy to me?”

“Never,” she whispers with a playful giggle.

“Such insolence must be met with the King’s justice.”

She takes his hand as he offers it out, gasping as he tugs her forcefully up to him, her knees landing either side of one of his, as she sits against his thigh. Even through her skirts she can feel the unyielding sharpness of the throne beneath them. She steadies herself, placing her hands upon the smooth suppleness of the leather that covers his shoulders.

Aemond grasps her waist with one hand, the other moving to weave itself into her hair, as his eye drinks her in. She allows her gaze to wander to the crown, taking in the way it sinks into the thick silkiness of his hair.

“It suits you,” she says quietly.

“It looks better on me than it ever did on him.”

“And is this what has kept you from our bed?”

“I wanted you to see.”

He flexes his thigh, raising his leg to brush against her clothed core and she sucks in a shaky breath, the sensation causing a jolt that makes her throb with want.

“I would have seen…” she retorts with a slight whine, as the hand holding her waist moves to her hip, gripping it tightly and encouraging her to grind against him.

“Not like this,” he hisses, tugging her head back by her hair and mouthing hotly at her neck.

She moans, her nails digging into his shoulders to ground herself, as she fucks herself against his thigh, aided by the occasional bounce and flex of the muscle from Aemond. The ache between her legs is almost unbearable, the gusset of her smallclothes growing sticky with arousal, as the sensation of his lips upon her flesh makes her shudder.

“This moment is just for us,” he mutters, pushing and pulling her more forcefully against him, encouraging her to move faster. “But we shall have many more like it.”

“Gods, Aemond, please,” she whimpers, insides clenching around nothing as the friction against her aching pearl grows more intense.

“I will fuck a babe into you upon this throne,” he snarls, shifting his hand from her hair to pluck harshly at the lacings of her gown, before tugging down her bodice and wrapping his lips around the peak of her breast.

Arching against him, she buries her hands in his hair, keeping him anchored to her chest. The warmth of his scalp and the softness of the tresses between her fingers are oddly juxtaposed with the hardened coolness of the Valyrian steel that crowns Aemond’s head, but she has little time to dwell upon it.

She cants wantonly against Aemond’s leg, the pressure in her lower belly increasing, aided by the swirl of his wet tongue against her sensitive nipple. When it finally yields, she collapses forward against him with a strangled cry of pleasure, a rush of wetness soaking her smallclothes and leaving a damp patch on the area of her husband’s trousers that she rests against. Warmth cascades over her body, making her feel boneless as she pants for breath and Aemond’s lips release her with a wet pop.

He holds her steady, leaning back to look at her, as a cat might regard a mouse it toys with. His hooded eye roves over her glassy eyes, her parted lips, her bare chest, before he lifts a hand to adjust his crown slightly. “Hmmm. Yes. It makes everything look better.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #pro aemond targaryen #aemond stannies #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fan fic #hotd #hotd smut #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fic #aemond fan fiction #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic

[two-white-butterflies]

my way, back home | aem. targaryen

Description: Aemond wants to build a big family with you. One that rivals his great-grandfather's. (the dance never happens)

Rating: Teen [fluff]

It was uncommon to see a wedding happen because of love. It was rare to see a wedding happen because of love and political advancement. You were lucky to have the latter.

It was a hot day in Kingslanding - like the many days before. Of course, your sons took it as a reason to go to Dragonstone - where the shores and the heat were more forgiving.

"At this rate we'll need to create a beach just for our children," Aemond mused, allowing the waves to kiss his ankles. "If there is enough coin in our coffers, maybe." you replied as he leaned down to peck your lips. "I always find a way," he hummed, sitting on the sand.

His hands trail down to your swollen belly. A babe of five moons, another price or princess for the realm to adore. "What do you think it'll be?" you inquired - staring deep into his eye. "A loved child," he replied - not caring for the gender. He was a relief to have in this world - a world where girls were viewed as liability.

You turned to the side - eyes narrowing to see the figure of your sons and their handmaidens properly. "Not too far, my darlings." you gently warn, seeing that the water was beginning to reach Rhaenar's shoulders. "Yes, mother." your youngest, Aenar, responded.

Aemond kept his hand on your stomach, rubbing slow circles while he watched his sons play in the waters. A small thought runs through his head - a plan and a vision of his life.

"You have been far too silent, my husband." you pointed out, using the cloth to dry your hair properly. "I have been thinking," he professed - taking a lazy sip of his dornish wine.

"Thinking about what?" you raised an eyebrow.

The sides of his lips turned upwards - slowly leaning towards a smile. He takes another sip of his wine, allowing the silence to permeate throughout the atmosphere. "I want more children with you," he stated and a playful laugh escapes your mouth.

"This one is yet to escape my womb, and you already plan to have a fifth?" your eyebrows bumped into each other. The pain of childbirth was great - but the joy of having a babe in your arms, it was greater. "And a sixth, a seventh and an eighth." he professed - already having a few names in mind for his heirs.

"Is this the wine speaking, or does the plan of replacing King Jaehaerys' records lay rampant in your head?" you accused, taking a step forward and sitting on his lap. His hands inch towards your belly again - seeing that it was it's perfect place. "I always intended it to be that way," he whispered - burying his face on your neck.

"But we won't be like them, you know that - right?" you frown, remembering his children's cruel fates. "We'll be better." you add with certainty. Your daughters will not be subjected to cruel matches - and your sons will be raised with vigor and love. Your daughters will know that their beauty increases their worth - and that it doesn't diminish their intellect. Your sons will know that they are not only meant to be princes and heirs - they can venture far.

"Yes," he answered, removing his hand from your belly - reaching for your jaw and merging your lips together.

@bellstwd @nyctophilic0vitnir @fan-goddess @mizfortuna @watercolorskyy

#aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond one eye #the one eyed prince #prince aemond targaryen #aemond stannies #pro aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x reader #modern aemond #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond targayren fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fan fic #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd smut #hotd angst #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fan fiction

[tyranasauruslex]

Ok but Aemond being really sick after having his eye cut out so MeeMaw Vhagar sets herself up on the beach at Blackwater Bay to keep watch over him because these dumb humans have already proved how inept they are at looking after her new, small child.

Nobody dares to try and get her to move and she remains there until Aemond is well enough to watch her through the window. He’s desperate to go flying again but Alicent refuses point blank until Aegon steps in tells her she needs to let Aemond do this.

And MeeMaw Vhagar is like “OK kid, let’s ride” and doing all these aerial stunts with her tiny rider because she’s old as fuck and knows what she’s doing whilst everyone freaks out below.

#vhagar #MeeMaw Vhagar loves her mini me #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #pro aemond targaryen #war criminal besties #aegon ii #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #alicent hightower #helaena targaryen #hotd #hotd thoughts #team green #pro team green

[cambion-companion]

tell me why i imagine sweet daeron having a little boy's crush on aemond's wife because she's so gentle and kind with him

i saw someone else's ask about how he wants to be just like aemond, not only out of admiration but because he thinks "if someone like aemond can get a wife like (y/n) then so can i if i'm like that!!"

and sweet boy copying his mannerisms, pulling her chair out at dinners before aemond can and even though the chair basically towers over him, she's coddling and gushing at how polite and thoughtful he is and he MILKS that

so it becomes a playful rivalry between aemond and him and she's just "it's like you're actually intimidated by your baby brother"

and aemond who's hiding a giant bouquet of flowers behind his back only to one up the little rose daeron gave you "absolutely not. me? be rivaled by the twerp? never-"

Hi!! Oh my god this is darling, I cannot wait to write for these prompts! Cute little Daeron is 4 years younger than Aemond...so we will say he's 15 during this. Adorable.

Aemond x wife!reader | Daeron learning from his brother | admiration crush | playful brother rivalry

"Thank you Daeron, you're so sweet!" You smiled brightly at the boy as he extended to you a bouquet of wildflowers. "Ouch!" A stinging sensation spread around where a sprig of green had touched your hand.

"Ah, stinging nettle." Your husband mused, eyebrow raised at his younger brother as you dropped the offending bunch of flowers to the ground. "An interesting addition, Daeron."

"Gods I am so sorry Y/N!" Daeron looked from your wincing face to his bouquet now scattered upon the stone ground in alarm. "I have gloves on...and a very mediocre knowledge of local flora it seems."

Aemond took your sore hand in his, placing a gentle kiss to where your skin was reddening and swelling. Daeron noted his brother's movements with a studious gaze.

"Let's get you to the maester, I'm sure they have ointment on hand for such an affliction." Giving Daeron one last severe look, Aemond swept you from the room, leaving the crestfallen prince standing alone chewing his lip.

Later that evening, your finger lightly bandaged and no longer hurting, you found yourself entering the dining hall on Aemond's arm.

Daeron took note of your entrance, waving to you enthusiastically and striding over, a look of concern on his face. "Are you alright? I truly apologize for my earlier blunder." He extended a single red rose to you, giving you a slight bow.

You took the delicate flower, trying hard not to let your amusement show, especially as you felt Aemond shift in annoyance beside you. "Thank you Daeron, that is very thoughtful. I am quite alright."

"No loss of limb yet." Aemond agreed, shaking his head at Daeron's earnest expression. "Though I cannot speak for yourself should you continue giving my wife flowers."

Daeron frowned only slightly before he gestured for you towards the dining table, sweeping your chair out from its place for you to sit. He bowed again as you carefully took your place, sinking into the welcoming cushion. You scooted forward as Daeron pushed you into table. He overdid it in his eagerness to help, and your midriff was pressed uncomfortably hard against the wood. You let out a slight "oof" as some air was expelled from your lungs and pushed back with your hands.

From your peripheral vision you saw Aemond take his brother by the scruff of his collar, forcefully seating the young man into his own seat and giving him a hard pat on the shoulder. "If you want to impress a lady, Daeron, I suggest resisting the urge to bisect her."

You hid your laugh in the goblet of wine you brought to your lips, pretending to take a sip as Aemond took his place beside you, his hand resting briefly atop your knee. "Did my oaf of a brother do any permanent damage?" He was only half-joking, the annoyance still evident in the timber of his voice.

"I may never recover." You jested, leaning into him slightly, turning your face to place a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. "He is simply trying to mirror what he sees you do for me."

"He's failing spectacularly."

"Aemond." You chided, taking a moment to make sure Daeron couldn't overhear. "He looks up to you. Clearly he wants to learn from you."

Aemond huffed, bringing his own goblet to his lips. He didn't answer you, seeming to sink into deep contemplation as he often did when something troubled him.

------

The next day was clear and crisp, the winter air still chill despite the shining sun. You descended a set of marble stairs to the room you usually took your luncheon in. To your surprise you found Daeron and Aemond within, deep in conversation with each other. Daeron was nodding and Aemond had his hands clasped tight behind his back. They ceased speaking as soon as you entered, looking almost guiltily at you.

"I hope you're not up to anything that will raze King's Landing." You teased, your skirts rustling as you moved toward the table.

You stopped, looking at the spread of food laid before you. It was all of your favorite things to eat and drink. A little sample of each treat you so adored. "Aemond?" You asked, not taking your eyes off the delicious array of delicacies.

"I arranged for your favorite foods to be brought up for your enjoyment." Your husband inclined his head as you finally looked at him.

"I brought some books I thought you'd like to read while you took your afternoon meal." Daeron volunteered, looking slightly guilty as Aemond shot him a bemused glare.

"That was so very thoughtful of you Daeron, thank you for thinking of me." You smiled graciously at the young Targaryen.

Daeron beamed.

You moved to Aemond, tilting his head toward you with a finger to his sharp jaw. "Thank you my dearest." You kissed him softly upon his plush lips. You moved your mouth to his ear, whispering so only he could hear. "Though you do not need to compete with your brother."

"Speaking of my brother." Aemond said loudly, turning to face Daeron, an impish smile on his curved lips. "I've arranged for you to meet with several ladies your age from notable noble houses this eve."

Daeron's face blanched. "I...meet...tonight?"

"Indeed." Aemond shook his head, chuckling. "You seem intent on practicing your courtship skills on my wife, it's only fair you get more experience with other women." He patted Daeron on the shoulder. "Though do try not to maim them too badly."

"I'd never!" Daeron spluttered, glancing at you guiltily. "Not on purpose!"

"Remember what I told you regarding..." Aemond started but Daeron waved him off.

"Yes, yes, no need to repeat it in front of Y/N." A faint blush painted the younger Targaryen's cheeks, causing your brow to raise as you looked inquisitively between the brothers.

"You're lucky Aegon hasn't gotten wind of what you've been up to." Aemond continued. "He'd give you unending grief."

"Helaena's given me some useful tips I think." Daeron looked at you. "She told me flowers and chocolates are a sure way to a girl's heart."

"Being interested in her and listening to what she has to say, what she's interested in, is also a solid start." You agreed, smiling knowingly at Aemond as his eye found yours. "Though chocolate does go a long way."

The three of you laughed, Aemond's arm snaking around your waist, pulling you against his side. Daeron watched each movement Aemond made around you with attention, his lilac eyes bright with interest.

"Don't go to Aegon for advice on women." Aemond warned suddenly, his face grave as he looked down at his younger brother. "And if he offers to teach you anything about them, you come to me instead. Understand?"

"Yes." Daeron nodded, looking mildly confused at Aemond's unexpected severity.

You squeezed Aemond's waist lightly, reassuring him with your presence. "All will be well. Daeron, you are a dashing young man who is sure to sweep the right girl off her feet in no time."

"Thank you, Y/N. I can only hope to be as lucky as Aemond."

#aemond fluff #aemond x reader #daeron targaryen #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fanfic #aemond imagine #aemond drabble #hotd x reader #hotd drabble #aemond one eye x reader #hotd aemond x reader #prince aemond x reader #pro aemond targaryen #pro team green #house of the dragon imagine #hotd x you #aemond one eye #daeron the good #hotd drabbles #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction

[cleopatra-x]

The Garden (18+)

Pairing | Aemond Targaryen x female reader

Summary | An heated argument in the gardens with your husband leads to something else.

Warnings | SEXUAL CONTENT - MINORS DNI; oral (f receiving), exhibitionism, spanking, rimming (f receiving), hair pulling, aegon making a small appearance

word count | 1.5k

Notes | The reader is a Martell but you may imagine her however you see fit. Please don't put a community label on this.

“You are unbelievable,” you grumble loud enough for him to hear, stalking away from your husband, to annoyed to be in his presence.

It’s been a year since you and your husband have been wed. Leaving your home in Dorne was not easy, but with time Kings Landing became your second home. Your marriage with Prince Aemond has been a dream come true. Despite him being cold in the beginning. He was always understanding of you, caring, and catering to your every need.

But sometimes he did things you hated. Like, making decisions without consulting you. The both of you are a pair, you felt you should be included.  

As you enter the gardens, you are greeted by the fresh scent of flowers and the sound of rustling leaves. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, the sky transforming into a canvas of vibrant colors.

You could hear his heavy footsteps catch up to yours, “Stop making a scene,” He gripped your forearm, causing you to face him.

“Let’s go back inside.” He attempts to stay calm, although you could tell he was ready to pounce.

You scoffed, releasing your arm from his tortuous grip. “It’s like you to back down from a fight.”

Not being able to stop your rouge tongue, your blood boiling at the fact that he’s always so calm. You wanted him to lose control.

He fixes you with a curious stare and tilts his head to the side, studying you intently as you stand there. “You want a fight?”

You can’t help but let your eyes wander his prominent Adam’s apple as he swallows heavily, framed by the shades of orange and red hat colored the sky. Whether it was just from him sleeping, reading, or doing basic activities, the very sight of your husband always made our stomach churn. You were obsessed.

Aemond takes a step closer towards you, and you put your hands on your hips, standing your ground. You glance around the deserted garden, knowing it was most inappropriate to be this close in public, even as man and wife.

“You are clearly aroused by this, my love.” His voice noticeably dropped an octave as he corned you.

My love. A static hot shiver slides down your spine. Your arousal seeping out of you, to trail down your thighs. You look down at the ground as a silent confirmation, suddenly not having the courage to look him in the eye.

His grin widens into that rare, arrogant face he typically reserves for when you're pleading for him in bed.

“Turn around” he commands, his hands clasped behind his back, waiting for your movement.

“Aem-,” you begin, your eyes widening in pure shock. Aemond was not the kind to do such things in public. Everything was saved for the privacy of your martial chambers.

He dares to take another step closer, your breasts now pressed up against his chiseled chest. “don’t make me repeat myself, dōnus riñus.” Sweet girl.

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, before turning your body away from him. Your chest heaved heavily at the thought of what’s to come. You could not believe that he would touch you where anyone could see.

You grip onto the wooden edge of a picnic bench; you knew that you should prepare yourself before he ruts into you.

You hear your husband drop to his knees behind you, causing you to turn your head to glance at him. His eyepatch abandoned onto the stone ground, the sapphire that sat in his empty socket, shining in the sunlight. You clenched down on nothing at the sight.

More often than not, Aemond would bring you to release with his tongue or fingers, but never from behind. You would always look upon his face. You audibly swallowed, opening your mouth to protest.

“Do I have to keep telling you, wife?” A slap to your backside caused you to let out a high-pitched, breathy whimper. You chew on your lip once again, before turning back around.

You feel him lift your dress up, settling it at your hips. Both of his hands grabbed your ass cheeks, pulling them apart and exposing you.  The wind grazing against your most sensitive parts had you whimpering. Your hips rolled against the air, seeking out any kind of friction. He groaned from behind you, squeezing your cheeks.

“You’re fucking dripping.” His finger ran up the back of your thigh until it ghosted over your cunt, collecting some of your slick. He popped a finger in his mouth and swirled his tongue around it, making sure it was nice and clean. “Gods, I can’t get enough of how you taste.”

You gripped the edge of the bench, trying to compose yourself. 

Aemond slapped your bottom again, making you jolt forward. He placed a hand on your lower back, bending you over the bench. 

You let out a shocked moan the second you felt Aemond lick up from your sopping wet cunt all the way up to your puckered, brown hole. You squeezed your eyes closed, embarrassment flooding through you as you moaned loudly. It was always lewd when Aemond fucked you, but this was new and entirely improper.

A stinging slap was served to your backside, causing your eyes to snap open. “You know you like it.” Aemond mumbled behind you, the vibrations of his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“Aemond, please.” Your eyes rolled in the back of your head just as the tip of his tongue circled your tight hole. Your husband is a patient man, he could tease you for hour on end, if he truly wanted. It was dirty and disgusting, yet you feel your stomach clenching from the extreme pleasure.

You were mewling freely now and attempted to sneak a hand between your soaked thighs to relieve the ache. Aemond slapped it away immediately, a silent warning to not do it again.

Aemond finally wrapped his lips around your pearl. “Oh- yes!” You reached a hand around and held into the back of his head, grinding your hips back against his exploring tongue. 

“Mm, mhm.” He couldn’t say much, but Aemond was showing just how much he loved the taste of you. Letting his tongue dip into your cunt for a moment before licking up towards your ass, getting it all nice and wet with his spit. 

Aemond was slurping, licking, and sucking. He was doing everything just right and you felt as if you were in heaven. You aren’t certain how he can much air with his face pressed so deeply against you, but you cared naught. Not when you felt this good.

The hand you had in Aemond’s hair pulled at silver strands. “So good, Aemond, so fucking good!” 

It was hard to keep your balance and not fall straight to your knees. The pleasure was growing and you could feel your release fast approaching, making your toes curl in your shoes.

Aemond knew you were close too, and he wanted to feel you spill all over his face. He pulled your folds apart and suckled your pearl back into his mouth, shaking his head side to side, letting his teeth barely graze it. 

Your pearl throbbed in his mouth as your stomach caved in, your wanton moans loud and clear for anyone to hear. You were humping his face, needing everything he had to offer.

“I-Im close!” You were afraid that Aemond would stop, edge you until you couldn’t take it anymore. But he let you speak, kept sucking at your pearl like his life depended on it, making obscene slurping noises. 

You squeezed your eyes shut and slammed your hand on the bench, spilling yourself on his tongue. It was taking its time running through you, letting you feel every bit of pleasure it had to give. “Fuck, fuck!” 

He drunk every last bit of your spend, groaning at the taste. “So delicious.” He spanked you again before standing on his feet again.

Your brain turned the mush, vision blurry, barely registering your husband’s words. Your thighs shook as he pulled your dress back down. He snaked his arms around you, helping you stand up straight.

Aemond wiped his mouth before pressed a loving kiss to your temple, parting his lips to speak.

“Yet, you call me depraved.”

Both you and Aemond turn to the unwanted voice behind you and you were met with eyes of his brother, Aegon.

A pang of cold sweat ran through you as your heart dropped to your gut. Has he been there the whole time? Did he see everything? Will he tell everyone?

You watched as Aemond’s lips pursed into a tine line. If looks could kill, you were sure Aegon Targaryen would be long gone.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Aemond seethed. “Before I kill you.”

Aegon drunkenly giggled before taking a sip of wine from his giblet. He turned his back not before mumbling, “Can’t even enjoy a stroll in the garden these days.”

You wished you could vanish into a hole at that very moment.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond x you #fic rec #hotd x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd fandom #aemond the kinslayer #aemond smut #hotd smut #pro aemond targaryen

[sidraofthewildflowers]

Aemond with Alicent Aemond with anyone else

#love my little mamas boy #he loves his mom sm 😭🤍 #aemond targaryen #ice bear is my life #aemond the kinslayer #alicent hightower #alicent and aemond #team green #hotd #pro alicent hightower #pro aemond targaryen #pro team green #house of the dragon

[hightowersbeacon]

Can't stand Rhaenyra's and TB's hypocrite ass like they accused and hate teenage Alicent for comforting (nonsexual) Viserys on her father's advice and prodding and how they as in both the characters and their stans refuse to empathize with Alicent because she was asking for it or she deserved it

and hate/dislike child Aemond for claiming Vhagar saying he stole her and disrespected Laena's memory and victim blame him saying he deserved getting his eye slashed for his actions

BUT when adult Rhaenyra has sex with Laena's husband ON the day of her funeral on the BEACH (her sister in law & cousin who she grew up with) then its ok... they were celebrating Laena blah blah blah

Not to mention they had Laenor fake his death so they could get married.. I felt so bad for all their children at that moment, even at their Valyrian wedding (not a respectable mourning period I'm sure), all children looked so fucking miserable.

she's such a hypocrite, she lives in her own delulu bubble I swear 😭😭😭she's like one of those white liberals who only cares about an issue as long as it affects her.

(also something something about Alicent's eye for eye was her being cruel and dramatic Rhaenyra's son for son was her being in mourning her son and completely justified oh well)

#alicent hightower #aemond targaryen #team green #pro alicent hightower #pro aemond targaryen #pro team green #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti team black #anti team black stans #anti rhaenyra stans #anti viserys targaryen #anti daemon targaryen #hightowersbeacon

[randomdragonfires]

I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife. 

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age. 

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved. 

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love. 

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens. 

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation  clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did. 

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to. 

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. 

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought. 

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband? 

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance… 

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him. 

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them. 

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was. 

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her. 

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get.  Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately. 

How she wished it was her. 

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals.  Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?”  she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?” 

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now. 

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut. 

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger,  it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face. 

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him. 

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these,  he needed a champion too. 

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife. 

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor. 

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit. 

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife. 

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right. 

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron. 

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive. 

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him? 

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there. 

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked. 

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.  

Oh yes, their marriage had grown. 

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either. 

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige. 

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do. 

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own. 

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened. 

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place  a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.” 

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care. 

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears. 

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into. 

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up. 

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?” 

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.” 

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full. 

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind. 

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips. 

“Thank you, for everything.” 

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did. 

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago. 

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria. 

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries. 

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said. 

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored. 

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself. 

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim. 

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such  reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed. 

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally. 

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

NO TAG LIST. Please follow @randomdragonfics and turn on post notifications for all my fic updates!

MASTERLIST

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #ewan mitchell #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond smut #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond fic #aemond #pro aemond targaryen #aemond stannies #aemond angst #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fanfiction

[vaenaera]

team black looking forward to blood threatening to rape little jaehaera if helaena didnt chose between her toddler and her babe but then little jaehaerys being beheaded when she ended up choosing babe maelor is sick and twisted

#anti blood and cheese #team green #pro team green #anti team black #anti team black stans #anti daemon targaryen #anti daemon stans #anti mysaria #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti lucerys velaryon #pro helaena targaryen #pro aemond targaryen #pro aegon ii targaryen #pro alicent hightower

[spacerockfloater]

I’m going to preface this post by saying I don’t give a flying fuck about the hate I’m going to receive for the opinion I will be sharing and I won’t bother replying to any comments attacking me for it.

I fucking LOVE that Aemond killed Luke and I wish it wasn’t accidental. I wish Luke’s death was full on intentional, lol.

As a victim of bullying, I’ve been in situations where I have had to fend off 20+ kids as a kid myself. I’ve been verbally, physically, emotionally and psychologically assaulted as a child by other children, simply because I wanted, strived for and had good grades in school, actions that did not affect any of my classmates in the slightest. Therefore, I absolutely sympathise with Aemond, whose lack of dragon and later on his acquisition of one hurt no one (dragons belong to no one, you snooze you lose), yet he still got ridiculed and attacked for it. Yes, Aegon was also a bully and I hate him for it, but ultimately he grows out of it and supports his family, unlike the Strong bastards who remain bullies and assaulters. Oh, and Aemond tried to hit Jace with a rock because he attacked him first. Accusing him for standing up for himself is victim blaming. People who defend the Strong boys are bullies and that’s final.

No, I don’t give a rat’s ass that his attackers were children. Aemond was a child, too, and they ganked him 4v1. It’s crazy how some of y’all support physically attacking someone because you don’t agree with them. It was satisfying to see him kick their teeth in. Aemond and Luke are only 2 years apart, even if the actors’ appearances suggest otherwise. Your age does not excuse you being a fucking piece of shit. Children and teenagers appear on the news daily as rapists, killers, assaulters and all kind of criminals. That’s the reason juvie exists. Children should face the consequences of their actions.

“Are you excusing child murder?” if it is by the hand of the child they unapologetically disabled, fuck yeah. Besides, at the end of the day, Aemond dies, too, so you could say justice is served.

Still, I would have given the Strong boy the benefit of the doubt if it weren’t for this scene:

Lucerys is laughing at Aemond.

He is looking him in the eye and he is laughing at him. It’s been 6 fucking years. Lucerys is 17 (confirmed by the writers) and he feels no remorse for what he did. He was not punished for his action, so he has learned nothing.

He feels safe to mock Aemond, in the comfort and safety of his grandfather’s house, where his guard and stepdad can stop Aemond, whom he cannot beat on his own, from bashing his head against the wall. He feels safe to attack Aemond when he calls him Strong, knowing that other people will finish the fight he started but can’t win.

But what happens when no one is around to protect him from the consequences of his own actions? He shits himself. His face falls, he stumbles backwards and does not object to Aemond calling him Strong.

Not laughing now, huh, you little shit stain?

#hotd #hotd critical #pro team green #anti targ stans #anti team black #team green #team black #lucerys targaryen #prince lucerys #lucerys strong #lucerys velaryon #anti lucerys velaryon #pro aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #anti rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #pro alicent hightower #alicent hightower #anti daemon targaryen #anti targ restoration #anti targaryen #anti bullying #asoiaf #asoif/got #house targaryen #house hightower

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Dream of Me

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen (House of the Dragon) x f!reader Warnings: Dirty talk, smut. Word count: ~1.2k

Summary: Upon learning of Helaena's lady in waiting's dream of him, Aemond is plagued by his own.

Author's note: Can be read as part two of this fic, but also works as a standalone. Day two of the Smuffmas prompts - "dreams and dirty talk". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

“Just so you know, if I were going to pleasure you with my mouth, I would do it before I stuck my cock in your cunt, not after.”

The words Aemond had spoken to her play on a loop in his mind as he readies himself for bed, a smug smirk of satisfaction playing delicately upon his lips.

Her shocked expression is one he wants to keep in his mind’s eye as he pleasures himself, but is frustrated to find that his overindulgence of wine at that evening’s supper renders him unable to rouse his cock to attention, it lays flaccid and useless in his palm, causing him to tuck it away with a frustrated sigh.

As he lays tangled in the soft cotton of the bedsheets, his final thought as sleep tugs him towards hazy unconsciousness is that he hopes she will dream of him again.

She has her back turned to him, fingers tracing carefully over the spines of the books on the shelf she faces in the library. He strides purposefully towards her, the dulcet tone of her gasp shooting straight to his stones, making them ache, as he wraps a deft hand around her throat. 

He can feel the heat of her body through his jerkin as he pulls her back against his chest, the skin of her jaw soft as peach flesh as he trails his mouth against it. She shivers against him, not fighting his advances, simply allowing him to do with her as he pleases.

The lacings that fasten the back of her gown tear effortlessly in his grasp as his free hand rips at them, the garment falling from her body, leaving her completely bare to him.

Her hands reach up the shelves, gripping for purchase, whether it is to keep herself steady, or an attempt to get away from him, Aemond is unsure, but desire boils too hotly in his blood for him to care.

He is swift to untie his breeches, grabbing her hips and sinking himself into her tight, wet heat. His name has never sounded sweeter than it does when it topples from her lips in the throes of ecstasy, coupled with the sticky sounds that accompany every push into her. She is so warm, so warm, so very warm…

There is warmth against his flesh when Aemond opens his eye, the bright sunlight that bleeds through the crack in the curtains making him grimace as he scrubs a hand across his face.

He has been dreaming, and yet it had felt so real. He swears he can feel her arousal, the heat of her, and then he sees the sticky translucence that coats his lower abdomen.

Just a dream.

The shame of which he will wash away in his morning bath.

He feels restless throughout the day, nothing satisfies the pulsating ache of want that simmers hotly in his lower abdomen.

The burning in his shoulder from wielding his sword, bringing it down upon Ser Criston’s upturned shield, and watching the wood splinter into fragments across the gravel of the training yard does nothing to quell the storm that rages inside him.

Perhaps it is not physical stimulation that he needs he reasons, nowhere has offered him solace quite like the quiet solitude that can be found between the yellowing pages of a historical tome.

The library is silent as he enters it, the thud of his boots against the flagstone floor echoing off of the vaulted ceiling as he makes his way slowly between the towering shelves. The supple leather that binds the covers of his favourite philosophy and history books feels rough against his fingertips. Nothing could compare with the velvety softness of how her flesh had dimpled beneath the press of his fingertips, but that was all in his imagination. How could a simple dream have rendered him so listless?

He swallows, screwing his eye shut, attempting to ignore the throbbing between his legs.

Just a dream. No reality would ever yield such pleasure. The depravity he had dared to peruse since learning of her dream of him would never be as pleasurable as he had built it up in his mind to be.

He exhales a shaky breath, attempting to calm himself, and when he opens his eye she is there, much more real than anything he could imagine. Yet the sight of her, back turned to him as her eyes wander the shelves feels so familiar. He is frozen in place, until she feels his attention on her and turns slightly, offering the softest of smiles.

He clears his throat, stepping towards her, his voice low.

“I trust you slept well, my lady?”

“Mmm, yes, my Prince, very well indeed,” she responds politely, turning to face him.

His eye roves across her, taking in her delicate features, the gentle slope of her neck, the swell of her breasts in her bodice, the subtle curve of her hips beneath her skirts, before lifting once more to her face.

“Were your dreams pleasant?” He asks with a smirk.

“You mean did I dream of you?” She replies cheeikly.

Little temptress.

“I dreamed of you,” he whispers, stepping towards her, backing her against the shelves. There is no fear reflected back at him in her eyes, as she stares up at him, only glittering excitement. It takes all of his restraint not to grab her by the waist and pull her to him.

“Pleasant, I hope?” Her chest rises and falls in a sudden state of breathlessness.

“You drive me to distraction,” he utters. “Tell me, how easily would your dress tear from your body if I were to tug hard enough?”

Her eyes go wide as her breath hitches, but still she does not look away. “I–I do not know,” is all she is able to offer.

“I ripped it from you in my dreams,” he whispers, ducking his head low to whisper against the shell of her air, delighting in the way her skin erupts into gooseflesh at the feel of his breath. “I sank inside of you, and you screamed my name in ecstasy.”

“Aemond…” she gasps helplessly, hands clutching at the black material of his jerkin.

“It sounds so sweet from your mouth. Does it leave your lips so freely when you pleasure yourself?”

Finally she averts her gaze, her voice small and embarrassed sounding when she answers. “...yes.”

His nose trails a path from her ear, down her neck, stopping when he reaches her clavicle. She smells sweet, like rosewater, her flesh as delicate as the petals from which it derives its scent, exactly as he had dreamed it would.

“Please…” she whines, her fists coiling tighter in the leather that covers his chest.

“Please what?” He asks coyly, lifting his gaze, his face mere inches away from hers.

“Touch me.”

“You would like that, would you not? For me to soak my cock with your maidenhead, leave your betrothed dissatisfied with what he finds on your wedding night?”

“But I want you,” she pleads quietly.

“And I you, my lady,” he grips her jaw tightly in his hand, running his thumb over the plumpness of her bottom lip. “But for now, sweet dreams of each other will have to do. I hope to visit you in yours again soon.”

With that, Aemond abruptly steps away from her, leaving the library in desperate need to relieve the way he strains against the confines of his trousers. He hopes he dreams of her again tonight, and every night after that.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond imagine #aemond smut #aemond targaryen imagine #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #pro aemond targaryen #aemond stannies #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond hotd #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fan fic #hotd #hotd smut #house of the dragon #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fic #hotd fanfiction

[two-white-butterflies]

peaches - am. targaryen

Description: Your father decided to marry you to the elusive, Aemond Targaryen. After a year of marriage, he still refuses to acknowledge your existence - that is until after Criston Cole becomes his son's teaching instructor. Cole isn't only interested in teaching your son. (MODERN AU) Rating: Mature 18+ (breast play, jealousy sex, desk sex, slight breeding kink, size kink, spit kink because it wouldn't be an aemond fic without it.)

There was nothing to love - no personality or show of appreciation. He kept to himself and expected you to do the same. "Aegon, please calm down." you mumble aware of Aemond's gaze from inside his office. "I wanna go swimming!" the child demands staring at the pool with his adorable purple eyes.

Aemond has shown no interest in helping you raise his son. He's there for parties and events - there when the child has a nightmare, but when it comes to Aegon's day-to-day activities - he's absent. You sigh. Aemond is a great father, but he's occupied with his work.

"We have to wait for the instructor, ñuha tresy." you smile, adjusting the skimpy swimsuit that you wore. It was revealing - it exaggerated the best parts of your body, while hiding the parts that you hated. Any husband wouldn't be able to keep his hands off you - but he was able to. Aemond has never touched you before - not even a strand of your hair. "Please, I won't go in the deep parts." he promised, jumping up and down with excitement.

A laugh escapes your lips, not trusting the little boy.

You lean down to his body - pushing a strand of his hair away from his face. "Have patience, little one." you answered firmly, prompting the boy to give you his best puppy eyes. You were about to allow him down the pool but someone clears their throat from behind you.

Criston Cole was staring at you - specifically your endowments. Your posture shifts as your body regains it's full height. He had that porno look in his eyes. The one that a man has before fucking a girl in a pornhub video. You didn't like it - you felt disgusted.

"Well, Mr. Cole will take care of you now." you walked to the side - gathering the robe on the daybed. You walk away from the pool - trusting the maids to supervise your step-son.

Completely unaware of Aemond's gaze.

He tried to focus on the mountains of paperwork on his desk - but he couldn't. His mind was elsewhere. He imagines you wearing that red swimsuit. The fucking swimsuit that you bought for him - the swimsuit that he should be the only one looking when you wore. He sees the way Criston Cole stares at you.

He places his pen down, opening his venetian blind slightly to watch his son learning to swim. You were standing there again - hovering over them with a blue-towel on your hands.

His son wasn't learning to swim - he was on top of a fucking floater while the instructor ogled at your breasts. His grip on his fountain pen tightens, spilling ink on his brand new pants.

He'll fucking gouge that man's eyes.

He reaches for his telephone, dialing his sister. "Helaena, are you there?" he pauses waiting for his sister's reply.

"Yeah?" she questioned.

"Can you escort Mr. Cole to his car? We won't be needing his services any longer." he commands, earning a snort from his older sister. "Is this because of his wandering eye?" she inquired, and he could hear the faint sound of someone slurping milkshake on the other line.

"If you have a problem with him staring at (your name)'s body, then you should fire all of your house-staff." she taunted, not telling the full truth - but also wanting to see how the situation would turn out. You were a pretty little thing - the eye-candy inside the Targaryen manor.

Everyone but Aemond seemed to be engrossed with you.

"What?" he interrogated, voice suddenly raising with anger. He could imagine all of his servants staring at you, watching you strut like a model on fashion-week.

"Fire Mr. Cole, right? I'm on it." she promised, ignoring his outburst and hanging up on him.

You were annoyed with everything.

Annoyed with Aegon singing his favorite nursery rhyme while underwater. Annoyed by your husband's lack of emotion and annoyed with Cole trying to talk to you.

Helaena comes to save you.

"Mr. Cole." she looks down with her sweet voice. "Yes?" he asked, pretending to hold little Aegon. "The maids have prepared your towels and the shower that you will be using. We do not need your lessons anymore." she announced and his face falls flat on the ground. "What? That's impossible - Aeg doesn't know how to swim yet." he defended but Helaena's thin-lipped smile proved that he wasn't doing shit.

"We can have that arranged, but as of the moment we have no need of you." the woman added, one of the maids held unto the boy while Criston emerged from the pool - mumbling strings of insults.

There were three rules before your marriage to him. One, don't do anything that would ruin his reputation. Two, remain loyal to him. And three, never go inside his rooms.

This was your first time stepping on the carpet that was outside his office door.

"Aemond." you call out.

The door opens automatically and you welcome yourself inside.

He doesn't stare at you - or even acknowledges your existence. He keeps on jotting down his notebook. "Did you have to fire Mr. Criston? I don't like him but Aegon adores him." you ask in a soft tone, careful to not offend him.

It was impossible to offend him - no matter how hard you tried, he always kept his cool.

"He's incompetent. There's no room for that in my household." he replies in a cold tone, continuing to sign a few bands of contracts. "I suppose," you look around the room - scanning around his decor. There were pictures of history around the walls - the beginning of industrialism and the decline of tradition.

He was a man of the arts - and you didn't know that.

You knew nothing about your husband. How fucking stupid.

" - and don't wear that swimsuit again." he added after a deep breath. Your eyebrows merged into each other. He wasn't going to tell you what you could and couldn't wear. "I beg your pardon?" you inquire.

He looks up from his paper - and unto you. The girl who was still wearing the said swimsuit.

"It's not appropriate." he asserted through gritted teeth. He couldn't understand why he was riled up at the thought of other man staring at you - and your round and perfect peaches. "What is appropriate to you? I cannot wear my pajamas around the pool." you responded in a brash manner, his eye widens at your show of rebellion.

"You can wear a bikini but not around men." he tried to reason, navigating himself around the labyrinth of his own reasoning. He didn't make sense. "Not around you, then?" you take a step forward, dominating over him in front of his desk.

He stands up, reaching for the collar of the bathrobe that you wore - he pulls your body closer, merging his lips with yours.

What is his is yours.

His money, his empire, even his son - but you were only his.

His to fuck. His to breed.

A moan escapes your mouth as you began climbing over the desk. Kneeling but you weren't able to reach his height. Your head only reached his eyebrows. "He was staring at you, huh?" he asked, slowly untangling the strings that held your top.

With a tug of a string, your breasts were revealed to him. Taut and bouncy, like he imagined them. His hands fondled your breasts, playing and teasing them. He lowers his head, sniffing your neck and placing a nipple inside of his mouth.

He was sucking you - like a newborn babe searching for milk.

"Aemond." you moaned, pulling his head closer.

His right hand trails down to your mound, teasing it through the cloth. "You are mine." he announced, pressing kisses on both of your breast - alternating between the two of them. "Yours." you replied, his hands untangling the string that held your bottom - letting it loose.

He frees himself from your grasp, reaching down to unbuckle his belt. He lowers his boxers - freeing his cock that stood tall and proud. Your eyes widened at his length - it was going to fit, but it was going to hurt.

You sit properly on his desk, legs wide open as you welcomed him. "Do it." you demanded earning an amused chuckle from the business magnate. He places a hand on your face - cupping your cheeks. He inserts a finger inside your mouth, allowing you to suck on it as his cock enters your hole.

It was pleasure - breath taking pleasure.

Your grip on his shoulder tightens, telling him to go deeper.

"Harder." you moaned.

He complies with your order, lifting your leg to reach the top of his elbows. "Fuck - shit." you cursed, entering a new realm of pleasure. There were stars in your eyes. You hold unto his shoulder, eyes gazing up to interlock with his.

His eye was beautiful.

It was a deep shade of lavender.

"Keep moaning and I'll cum." he threatened, pulling your body closer and rocking his desk. The paperwork was forgotten - all in favor of his beautiful girl. "Cum inside of me." you moaned again, feeling his length prod inside your cervix. "You want to give our son a sibling?" he chuckled darkly.

"Yes!" you moan. His cock was reaching places you didn't believe was possible.

You hear the desk rock loudly - like an earthquake. Your leg falls on his side, and he raises the other one over his shoulder - slightly tipping your body to be lying down. "Oh - Aemond!" you scream feeling otherworldly bliss.

His hands squeeze around your cheeks, staring at your face - mouth wide open with lust. "Who owns you?" he asks, squeezing it tightly. "You do!" you answer, and he smiles.

Rocking on a steady rhythm.

"Open your mouth, princess." he commands and you follow him, opening wider. He closes his mouth - gathering the spit on his tongue, releasing it on your mouth. "Swallow." he ordered and you obeyed him - the faint taste of whiskey lathering inside your mouth.

"I love you," you confess feeling a hot sensation in the bottom of your stomach. "I love you to, princess." he replies, merging your lips together as thick ropes of cum populate your ovaries.

#aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond one eye #the one eyed prince #prince aemond targaryen #aemond stannies #pro aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x reader #modern aemond #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond targayren fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fan fic #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd smut #hotd angst #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fan fiction

[thesunfyre4446]

i'm getting really tired of the "Aemond had no right to claim Vhagar" bs.

first of all, if justify Rhaenyra - Laena's cousin who grew up with her, and Daemon -Laena's husband - having sex on her goddamn funeral then you're in no position to criticize Aemond - who has literally never met Laena in his life - for trying to claim her dragon.

Aemond saw Vhagar and decided to go for it. Vhagar disappeared for years after baelon died, who knows if he'll ever get the chance to get close to her again? and maybe Rhaena will succeed in claiming her before him? it was a now or never moment for aemond.

baela and rhaena were justified in their anger, it's their mom's dragon. it's the last thing they had left from her. BUT aemond has never met these girls. he's desperate for a dragon. he's desperate to prove himself. so yeah, he's going to put himself before two strangers.

now let's talk about "Aemond paid the prince for claiming Vhagar \ Aemond deserved losing his eye" bs

no. no he didn't. aemond did not "pay the price for claiming Vhagar". it wasn't a sacrifice he had to make. vhagar accepted him as her rider, he had already claimed her when he was attacked by the strongs and the twins. aemond lost his eye because Luke cut it out. that's it.

Aemond's insult towards Rhaena was obvs directed at the strongs. for aemond, this wasn't even about rhaena. it was about finally winning against his bullies. and don't get me wrong, it was a shitty thing to say. but guess what guys, aemond's a kid too. he's like what, a year, two years older then Jace? kids can be selfish. kids can be really fucking mean. was insulting rhaena the empathic and mature thing to do? of course not! but it's clear that all aemond cared about was just getting back at the strongs. aemond's behavior was really normal for a bullied 10yo.

[and btw, Rhaena and Baela getting really angry and attacking aemond is also really understandable . from their POV, they've just lost their mom, and this random kid has just claimed her dragon & insulting them. ]

#house of the dragon #hotd #team green #pro team green #aemond targaryen #pro aemond targaryen #rhaena and baela #media literacy #nuance #vhagar #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti daemon targaryen #anti daemyra #anti team black stans