#aemond Targaryen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

liannafae · 2 days ago

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And if I say I need a sequel, what then?

whatever may come

⋆. 𐙚 ˚masterlist ✧₊⁺AO3 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ taglist

⟢summary: aemond punishes his maidservant after catching her talking to a stableboy. he, however, will not recognize the consequences to his actions later on.

⟢pairing: dark! aemond targaryen x servant reader

⟢warnings: 18+, MDNI, noncon, dubcon, oral m receiving, cum play?, p in v sex, rough sex, possessiveness, degradation. I think that's it?

⟢wc: 2,700

⟢notes: lol this was inspired by a tiktok edit?? anyways I think this is dark? I apologize if this sounds like crap, I ruined my sleep schedule for this?? haha

⟢byka līve: little whore

She silenced her whimpers to the best of her ability, her lower lip caught between her teeth so tightly that she could taste the metallic drops of her blood as the man above her painfully gripped the very roots of her hair jerking her trembling body away from his lap to the stone cold floor.

She looked up through her eyelashes as she watched him correct her posture to his liking like a mere doll, the same ones she would watch him play with in the privacy of his sister’s chambers whenever she did her maid duties.

After he had settled her into her knees, she immediately let out a sigh of relief as that burn waved itself away to solace. She continued to look at him, back and forth between his lone violet eye and his sparkling sapphire that only seemed to strangely glow whenever she was present. His expression was unreadable from the previous austere one where moments ago he remorselessly and brutally, to be quite clear, hit multiple blows against her bottom, making her count each and every single one without tears in her eyes. She never knew how to count, but Aemond made sure to teach her with each hit upwards to twenty.

She knew Aemond was angry and he had every right to be. Earlier on the day as he was training with his mother’s knight, Criston Cole, out in the outer yard when he spotted his favorite maidservant blushing and laughing with a plainly featured stableboy as his dirty little fingers swept back a piece of loose hair out of her face.

Never once did Aemond ever see his maidservant smile that brightly before much less directed towards him. And she had no reason to whatsoever. His presence did not bring her joy or an ounce of merriment, it was much the opposite of that. So why did Aemond believe that he deserved a little smile when all he ever did was defile, break and use her all whilst making her cry in the end?

There was only one reason a low born male like him smiled that way and Aemond shunned those ill fitting thoughts out of his mind for he did not want to think of another man touching his maidservant.

She was his and his only, no one else’s. And she’d do well to remember that.

“Undress me, byka līve” Aemond demands, speaking the last two phrases in his ancestral language. Never knowing what they meant, if they were expressed appreciatively or aimed in an appraising matter.

Deep down she had an inkling that they were not.

She blinked, hesitantly bringing herself up from the floor. Just as she began to unfasten his black leather doublet, her hair was tugged yet again before her knees were bent back down against the stone.

She winced, carefully not to make any sound.

“No, byka līve, not there. Here—” His fingers threaded her hair more tightly, pressing her face flat against his pelvis. She could feel the swellness of his cock across her face, where the base of his manhood started nudging at the bottom of her chin and where the pulsating tip pressed a little above her eyes.

But what astonished her the most was the small wet patch that amplified the smell of his sex. Surely, this was not what she thought it was.

There was only one way to find out.

The one eyed prince released his tight grip on the roots of her hair. She wondered that by the end of the night, after he was done with her if there would be any hair left. Her hair was the only thing she liked about her appearance, the smooth texture with hidden silver highlights.

“Look at me while you undress me”

With a shaky breath, she nodded as her hands moved to unlace his breeches, tugging down just below where his stones ended until the garment pooled at his feet. A part of her felt grateful it was him she was looking and not his throbbing parts.

Aemond was determined to peak again, seeing his red faced maidservant so obedient and frightened before him. It almost made him want to reward her with either his fingers or tongue or mayhaps both.

But she wasn’t here for a reward. She was unbefitting for such a thing. It was because of her whore like behavior akin to the sordid ones in the Silk of Street that filthy stableboy had his eyes already set on her.

And he can not have that happening.

Without further warning, she feels two of his fingers ruthlessly being shoved at the back of her throat. He gives her no time to settle what he was doing to her as his long digits begin to pump in and out of her at an outrageous pace that involuntarily makes her eyes produce tears.

Above her, she hears her prince hum with a dark look in his eye that sends shivers down her spine. She shouldn’t be enjoying this, it was wrong. This act, along with the various ones from previous nights and mayhaps the forthcoming ones, were suitable for a married woman and her husband. Not a prince and his maidservant. She stood to gain nothing from this.

“This mouth is mine” Aemond breathlessly whispered as his fingers curled in a come hither motion, her lips kissing his knuckles. At his words, she lets out a series of sobs loud enough for Aemond to tug her head back in distaste.

“What? Do you have something to say in the matter? Do you not think you belong to me?”

She shut her eyes, flinching at the sonority of his voice, thinking by doing that he would go away dissatisfied and search for someone to take her place.

But her silence only seemed to anger him more.

“Fucking answer me, byka līve!” he yells close to her ear.

For the first time since her counting, she spoke with a shaking voice. “Y-y-yes, Your Grace”

“Yes what? Hmm?”

She gasps and opens her eyes feeling her prince’s fingers twist and pinch her covered hard nipple, “I’m- I’m yours, my prince”

“You don’t sound so convinced that you are, byka līve” he licks his lips before tutting. Such a sound made her feel alarmed and more frightened. “Do I need to remind you, again?” Aemond asks, bringing his hand to his manhood.

As familiarized as she was with his nakedness, she could not help to invite herself to look at all of him. Centimeters close to her face, stood his very erect cock, thick and heavy as she saw last, skin pulled back to reveal his needy red tip with mix remnants of arousal and spend.

It brought her shame and disgust the way her core seemed to long and yearn for the fullness he brought upon her.

Aemond, frustrated in her lack of words, taps the tip of his cock on her bottom lip before he shoves his way into her warm mouth. He could feel his maidservant whine uncomfortably from only taking half of him. Fucking weak whore. Aemond cursed to himself. He knew she could take more, she had done so before.

“Fuck”

Her chest heaves rapidly trying to keep her air supply to the best she can and opening her mouth wider to make it easier for her to suit his thickness since it had been a while since his cock rested around her lips. Her prince, as of late, preferred to be inside her walls in all the hours of the day and night. In that order.

Once the one eyed prince was certain her mouth had accommodated his size, he took no more time yanking her head down sheathing every inch to the back of her throat, sighing in pleasure.

The vibrations of her whimpers spurred Aemond on as his hips started to thrust in and out of her lips, slowly at first to enjoy the soft ridges that her throat had to offer and her tongue. Seven Hells, her tongue instinctively raising up whenever his tip rested there for a second, making him forget the reason why he was doing this in the first place. Her punishment.

“Are–you…fuck– starting to fucking remember who you b-belong to, byka līve? Hmm?” Aemond asked, wrapping his hand around her throat to feel the bulge of his cock sliding in and out.

“Y-yes” she forces out through the tightness of her throat, trails of drool escaping the corners of her mouth. Aemond darkly laughs and moans at her response as his hips hasten their speed, chasing his nearing peak.

“Good girl” he coos, his eye looking down at her flushed face. “My good sweet girl” —thrust— “I’m going to cum on your face” (a/n: listen to this tiktok if you want to hear him say it lol xD okay byeee)

She has no time to react as she feels hot ropes of his seed spurting all across her face. From her eyes to her cheeks and lips she feels it all.

She hears her prince groan, as he pumps his cock faster feeling his second release coming again.

And this time she knew to tilt her away to not get any more on her eyes or her hair. She heard stories from other maids that a man’s seed would knot into hair, making it impossible to get rid of. She didn’t know if it was true or not but she did not want to take her chances.

“Just as I was beginning to think to reward you” He hissed, pulling her to stand. She whimpers, her head hot and spinning from getting up too fast.

The raged prince spins his maidservant around, using the dagger Cole gifted him for his fourteenth nameday to rip through her night shift right below the dimples of her arse. The temperature of his chambers, which wasn’t too cold nor warm, caused the little hairs around on her body to raise.

She tried to cover her bareness with her hands, whatever could fit on her palms. Since the beginning of their coupling, Aemond commanded her that she was to keep her shift on, only slightly raised to her hips. Not that she had any complaints, but it made her truly wonder why he’d be bare and not her.

“This” Aemond cups her soaked mound, “Cunt is mine. Mine only to fuck and to do whatever I please. It’s not some filthy– dolt stableboy’s” He growls next to her.

She parts open her lips at the realization that he was the heated gaze she felt on her back when she was discussing with Linus at the outer yard. She should have known her prince would be there training every morning like he always was. But it must have slipped her mind somehow.

Aemond scowls, “I saw you, byka līve. Saw you speaking to him and letting him touch you. Saw him leave your room”

She doesn’t get the chance to reply; to tell him that what he saw was not what it looked like. But her tongue was caught between her teeth before he roughly drags her body to slightly bend her over by his dressing mirror, giving himself a few vigorous pumps as he watches his proud work dripping on his pretty maidservant’s face.

“Please, my prince. It isn’t…oh!” Feeling him enter in one sharp thrust deep, she gasps at the sudden fullness. There wasn’t any part of her that was empty, her cunt felt so deliciously stuffed to the brim.

“It isn’t what? Are you telling me that my eye deceives me?” He asks in a strain voice, trying to hold his authority over her whilst controlling his sounds of pleasure. “Did I or did I not see you fucking laughing with him or—Seven Hells—letting his dirty little fingers touch you? Must I remind you it is a grave offense to lie to your prince, byka līve?”

White hot pleasure runs deep inside her belly as his thrusts quicken to get an answer from her yet she struggles to keep her composure. “N-no, my prince, Linus came t-t-to meee. He said I had a ladybug on my hair and—” she rolls her head back to rest on his shoulder feeling her peak coming closer and closer. “Said I was pretty b-but, my prince—”

Wanting to hear no more of this, Aemond stopped his movements, much to his dismay, wrapping his hand around her throat so tightly she knew it would bruise like the other times he took her from the same exact position.

“Oh, he called you pretty did he? I wonder what he’ll think now with my spend on your face”

Fear and embarrassment wormed itself to her body. She did not want anyone to see her this way, exposed, bare, and being fucked by the prince of the Queen’s second eldest son. Soon enough when the time came when she was no longer useful to him, she thought about lying to her future husband–if she ever met one worthy of taking her far away from King’s Landing–persuading him she was still pure, not touched by a possessive prince.

“No please, my prince” She protested as Aemond grabbed the small little bell that was used to call in a Kingsguard.

He ignored her pleas not even attempting to hide her nakedness or her pearly white soaked face as Ser Arryk walked into the chamber being instructed to bring Linus from the stables.

“Hush, byka līve” He cooed behind her, repositioning his cock back into her entrance. Any moment longer, he felt like his cock would explode from another release being denied. “Now, I might not let him in but only if you do not hide your sounds”

She nods to the vigorous deep thrusts Aemond sets in, feeling more of her slick dripping down her thighs, aiding to the heavy slapping sound of their sex coming as one. She arched her back against Aemond’s chest, releasing mixes of intense pants and moans, gazing at the way Aemond’s face scrunches from bliss through the mirror.

“Give it to me” Aemond groans, feeling his maidservant’s cunt flutter and clench around him. A sign that her peak was forthcoming. He snakes his hand down to her bud and curses loudly at how wet she was.

She is a whore. Aemond thinks as he circles the bundle of nerves.

At this, she gives Aemond a series of loud cries that she knew would be heard throughout the Keep. And in the morrow the castle would be surrounded with heavy gossip of who the lewd sounds belonged to and who caused them.

“Gods, fuck!”

Aemond smiled through the mirror, fucking her through her peak until he too began to yell out in ecstasy. His seed spilling deep into her womb.

After their breaths settled, two loud knocks followed by the voice of Ser Arryk caused her to look at her prince in panic, hoping he’d dismiss them since she did what he asked her to do.

“Come,” Aemond loudly announced, grabbing a cup of Pentoshi wine from his dinner table, ignoring the sobbing pleas from his maidservant.

She tried to back away, desperately needing to shield herself away but that only caused the silver prince to tut and shake his head as a warning.

The door shut loudly behind Linus as he came into the chambers, slowly and unsure why he was being called into the Prince’s chambers at this hour when he should be sleeping.

“Linus, is it?” Aemond questioned, even though he knew the answer.

Linus averts his gaze from the Prince’s nakedness, and nods. “Y-yes, my prince, if it pleases you”

“Well, Linus. I am in need of your opinion, and I want you to be honest with me. Do you think that she looks glorious—pretty even, with my cum on her face?”

She can not bring herself to look at the red headed man she considered a friend, knowing that the loud silence lingering around confirmed that he did not find her pretty like he had called her, hours ago.

In fact, no one would ever find her pretty now. She was ruined and now a whore, like her mother had been when she too was seduced by a prince.

a/n: if requested ill release two parts of this (one when aemond meets her and another for what happens next lol)

taglist: @ramsip @silentf @thenightmistress @dixie-elocin @namelesslosers @watercolorskyy @seabasscevans @fullmoonworshipper @dreaming-for-an-escape @marvelescvpe @omgisrdj @gigi-panecillo @laureeedn @kittendoll05

bold is who I couldn't tag!

if you wish to be tagged in my general taglist go here!

#aemond targaryen #dark aemond targaryen #dark aemond x reader #aemond x reader #one shot #aemond targaryen x oc #maybe??#lol I need sleep its 8am #ewan mitchell #Spotify #prince aemond

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silverspotted · 2 days ago

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toughest picture of the century lowkey

george rr. martin holding genetically engineered and newly “resurrected” dire wolf remus

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triscy · 2 days ago

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Whatever you say, My Prince 🫦

#ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #Seven save me

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mourning-sapphire · 22 hours ago

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underflow | aemond targaryen

Summary: oh how your husband hated the rain.

Pairing: aemond targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings (not in order): light smut (MDNI), fluff, a little angst, grumpy aemond but he's still full of love, mentions of thunder storms, and past injury.

Word count: 5k

authors note: a lil shortie, but this could be considered a sequel to mystery of love in a way, enjoy my loves <3

Masterlist

Rain was a rare visitor to King’s Landing.

Despite its location, the Kings Landing was often spared the relentless tempests that plagued somewhere like Storm’s End, where the sea hurled storm clouds against the cliffs in an unyielding assault that rightfully gave it the name. Kings Landing and its people were used to warmth and dense humidity that suffocated you and stunk up the streets.

But when the skies did break, it was as if the gods themselves had gripped the skin and torn open the heavens, letting the restless souls of the dead weep over the land.

There was something strangely soul-cleansing about it, however, something close sacred.

The thick, stagnant air that often had you covering your nose with strongly perfumed cloths—air that was choked with the mingling scents of sweat, poverty, and the filth of the streets—was washed away the moment the heavens opened.

Everything around you was replaced by the sharp, earthy petrichor of wet stone and ground. As the rain soaked everything, from the alleys and courtyards, pooling in the cracks of the streets, and trickling through gutters that had seen too much neglect and sin.

For a brief moment, the city felt lighter, as though its sins, too, might be carried away with the runoff.

The drumming of the downpour against the windows was soothing, a welcome reprieve from the chaos that so often lingered beyond the heavy wooden doors of your marital chambers. The Keep's ceaseless thrum of voices, courtiers whispering, guards, servants scurrying through stone corridors, the tension that lingered with your husband’s family—it seemed like it all faded beneath the sweet sound of the rain.

It was as if the weight of the day lifted, the burdens of courtly life drowned beneath the steady cadence of the rain outside.

You really could lose yourself in it, in the way the world outside blurred behind the veil of water streaming down the glass, turning the distant view of King’s Landing into a shifting mosaic of red splotches. There was something safe about watching the storm from behind the thick walls of the Holdfast, something comforting in knowing that, for once, the turmoil remained outside.

And yet, the moment was fleeting.

The rain would pass, the hush would lift, and the world would come rushing back in; the endless demands, the whispered intrigues, the ever-watchful eyes. But for now, for as long as the storm outside raged on with distant rumbles of thunder, there was solace in the downpour, if only for a little while.

Aemond didn’t like the rain—hated it, in fact.

For all his discipline, his detached composure, and his ability to weather the cruelties of war and court alike, he had always harboured a deep disdain for storms.

Despite what court may believe, your husband really was secretly the fussiest man in the Seven Kingdoms, he loathed the sensation of damp clothes clinging to his skin, even though he wore leather, and adamantly detested the way the wind would tug at his starlit hair and send it into a wild, unkempt state. Causing the slight wave, the one thing he inherited from his mother, to come out.

Whenever the heavens opened up, Aemond would scowl up at the sky through the window, as if he could will the storm away with nothing but his own displeasure. Because of that he often avoided venturing outside and beyond the Red Keep’s walls unless his duty absolutely demanded it, and even then, he would draw his heavy cloak tighter around himself, shoulders braced as though he were heading into battle rather than into the rain.

It was amusing, how utterly intolerant he was of something so simple.

The rain had begun to pool on the balcony outside, its steady dripping cascading from the edges of the stonework, and wherever Aemond was at this moment—perhaps lingering in the library, arms crossed, staring out at the storm with thinly veiled contempt, or stalking the halls, his patience wearing thinner with every passing second—you knew your husband was annoyed.

A small smile tugged at your lips at the thought.

For all his fearsome reputation, for all the things that could not shake him, the rain had a way of unravelling his carefully maintained composure. And somehow, that made the storm outside all the more enjoyable.

You loved your husband dearly, more than life itself, but it did bring some amusement to your life to see him undone by something so simple as water falling from the sky. Even now, as you reclined in your steaming bath, the water lapping lazily against your skin, you could picture his irritation as clearly as if he were standing before you. You wondered if he had sighed yet—one of those long, measured sighs that signalled his thinning patience, the kind that made the maids tread more carefully around him.

You, however, were a creature of habit.

When the heavens opened, you always found yourself here, in a hot bath, watching the rain paint silvered streaks against the glass. There was a quiet peace in this once-in-a-blue-moon moment, a rare serenity in a life otherwise dictated by duty and expectation. It was a small reprieve from life that you welcomed with open arms.

It had become so predictable that the maids no longer waited for instruction. The moment the first drops kissed the stone courtyards below, they were already moving the great copper tub into your shared chambers, filling it with bucket after bucket of scalding water drawn straight from the keep’s kitchens. The familiar scent of violets and spice filling the air as oils were drizzled in and turning the water milky. A gift from your husband that you knew he had brought over from Essos just for you, their soothing fragrance rising with the steam.

The maids worked efficiently, knowing their task well—setting out fresh linens to dry yourself, placing a cup of sweet wine within arm’s reach, and stroking the fire just enough to keep the room comfortably warm.

And so, it was here you sat, hair pinned away from your face, piled atop your head in a lazy twist, the loose tendrils at your nape damp from the rising steam. Your body lay weightless in the bath, utterly content in your watery ritual, basking in the sumptuous warmth while the storm raged outside.

The distant roll of thunder rumbled low through the walls, the flickering candlelight casting soft, golden glows along the walls. Your fingers trailed absentmindedly through the water, caressing the milky water and sending ripples spreading outward, your thoughts still lingering on Aemond—on his inevitable frustration, on the way he would most likely appear later, seeking you out with that familiar look on his face.

You had assumed, however, that you would not see your husband for quite a few hours yet. The storm was still in full force, and Aemond, in his predictable manner, was either busy or would avoid venturing through it for as long as possible. So you had imagined he was busying himself elsewhere in the keep to avoid having to step foot in it.

But the gods give and take as they please.

It wasn’t long before your peace was slightly shattered, a sigh passing your lips as the familiar sound of your chamber doors slamming open exhausted your quiet moment.

The heavy wood struck the stone wall with a force that made the candle flames in the room tremble, sending flickering shadows dancing wildly across the room. The warm peace you had so carefully cocooned yourself in dissipated in an instant, replaced by something else entirely—amusement, intrigue, and the smallest hint of exasperation.

Your lips curved slightly, amusement blooming in your chest at the sight of him; your fearsome husband, the Blood of the Dragon, reduced to a sorry, drowned state.

His usually pristine form was in utter disarray, his heavy cloak darkened with rain, the sodden ends dripping onto the stone and thick rug beneath his feet, leaving a disgruntled trail of water in his wake. His leather tunic covered in droplets and his wool trousers clinging to his body, damp fabric stretching taut over the rigid set legs. What topped it off was his stary hair—usually so neatly kept back off his beautiful face—hung in damp, clinging strands, the ends curling into reluctant waves.

He looked utterly miserable, a living embodiment of his own personal hell.

Still, he did not acknowledge you, his movements stiff and purposeful as he strode straight to his writing desk. Trailing water behind him as you watched, his hand reaching to grasp the handle of the pewter pitcher with unnecessary force, pouring himself a goblet of sweet wine with the air of a man barely holding onto his patience.

“My dragon…” you murmured affectionately, your voice warm like you’d soothe a tantruming toddler, your arms leant over the rim of the bath, resting your chin against them. “It’s not like you to venture out into the rain.”

The sigh he let out, long, drawn out, edged with unmistakable irritation, spoke volumes his words did not. It was followed by a low, guttural grunt as he downed half the goblet in one go, his knuckles white around the delicate stem.

“Fucking Aegon,” he finally snapped, his voice laced with pure venom.

“Fucking Aegon,” he repeated as if the very name itself was an affront to his existence, as if uttering it aloud might somehow lessen the absurdity of whatever had transpired.

Aemond was soaked to the bone, dripping from head to toe, and judging by the sheer weight of his scowl, it was safe to assume his older brother had something to do with it. Afterall, your husband would never venture out there without cause. You let your fingers trail idly through the water, your face softening as you watched him seethe, his anger rolling off him in waves almost as thick as the rain outside.

“Oh, my love,” you cooed softly, your face riddled with sympathy, “What has your brother done now?”

He turned then, finally facing you, his lone eye narrowing as he assessed the way you were longing in the bath while he stood in misery. His damp hair clung to the sharp angles of his cheekbones, his lips parted slightly from the force of his earlier rant, and yet—despite the absolute state he was in—he was still striking. Even if he did have a pink face and looked like someone had left a ball of white yarn outside in the wet.

Still, he was your dragon.

And still, he was absolutely, furious.

Aemond exhaled sharply, as though physically forcing himself to steady his temper. His fingers flexed around the goblet; tension coiled so tightly in his shoulders that you could almost hear the strain of his bones from where you sat.

“Aegon,” he began, his voice clipped, measured—dangerously so, “Mother was worried, she had not seen him for some days, and decided to send me to the Street of Silk to fetch him.”

Ah.

You hummed in understanding, lazily shifting in the bath as you propped your chin against your forearm, gazing at him through lidded eyes, sympathy oozing out of your gaze.

That explained the storm raging within him almost as much as the one outside.

“I see,” you murmured. “And let me guess… your beloved brother was in no state to walk himself home?”

Aemond scoffed, a sharp, humourless sound.

“He was barely in a state to stand.” He drained the last of his wine, setting the goblet down with a force that made the metal clatter against the wood. “By the time I pried him off some whore, the storm had already broken the heavens. And of course, the fool refused to get on a horse, insisting I ‘let loose for once’ and walk with him.”

Your lips twitched at the mental image, Aemond, rigid and dignified even in the pouring rain, while Aegon, likely half-dressed and entirely drunk, staggered beside him, utterly oblivious to his younger brother’s suffering.

“And so, you walked back to the keep in the rain?” you murmured softly, biting back a smile.

Aemond gave you a flat, unimpressed look. “He ran.”

That was it. You couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up from your chest, spilling into the room in soft, delighted waves. “Aegon ran through the streets in the rain like a child? Oh, I would have given anything to see that.”

“He slipped in the mud halfway through and insisted I was the bastard for not helping him up fast enough,” Aemond muttered darkly, beginning to unfasten the sodden clasp of his cloak. “If Mother wouldn’t snip at me, I’d have left him there to drown in the fucking filth like he belongs.”

Still grinning, you watched as he peeled off his soaking layers, the fabric clinging stubbornly to him. His undershirt was thoroughly drenched as he parted with his leather tunic; the pale linen almost translucent against his skin in patches, outlining the lean, powerful muscles beneath. His fingers worked at the laces of his cuffs with impatient tugs, water dripping from the sodden lacing as he tried—and promptly failed—to loosen them easily.

“You could have refused, you know,” you pointed out, resting your cheek against your arm. “Surely someone else could have fetched him, the keep is teeming with guards.”

Aemond huffed through his nose, a wry sort of smirk ghosting over his lips.

“You think I have a choice in such matters?” He shook his head, kicking the damp slump of fabric on the floor that was his cloak aside. “No. I am always the one left to clean up his messes—the dutiful son that never says no.”

Your amusement softened into something more tender as you watched him. This had always been his burden to bear, hadn’t it? Even as children, Aegon wreaked havoc while Aemond was left to pick up the pieces of his mother’s frustration, even well into his adulthood.

Shifting in the bath, you stretched out a steaming hand toward him, fingers wiggling invitingly.

“Come,” you murmured, voice low and coaxing, “you’re shivering, don’t let the cold seep into your bones.”

For a moment, he hesitated, the tension still holding him in its iron grip.

But then, with a slow exhale, he walked forward, kneeling beside the tub, his calloused fingers brushing idly against your forearm. Your faces close as you tilted your head at him, hand reaching out to touch his cheek tenderly. The steam still rising from the water and off your skin as your arm extends out towards him.

As callous as he was in court, your husband was a tender man under your touch, a soft sigh slipping out his pouted lips as he leaned into you. Quietly affectionate and lovely, his pale violet eye softening with each stroke of his cheek.

“You enjoy seeing me miserable, don’t you?” he murmured, voice quieter now, tinged with something unreadable.

You smiled, your hand moving to brush a single finger down his cheek delicately like one would stroke the head of a babe, “Not miserable, my dragon,” you whispered against his skin. “Just… human.”

“I hate the rain,” he muttered, quieter now, as though admitting a truth he had long tried to hide.

“I know,” you whispered, shifting closer your body pressed firmly against the edge of the tub, letting your fingertips graze his ear, cooled from the storm and pink. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Aemond sighed, his shoulders finally relaxing beneath your touch. He turned his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist as his fingers brushed down the wet skin, gripping you, his earlier frustration ebbing away into something gentler, something calmer, something only you could grant him.

For a long moment, Aemond simply stayed there, crouched beside the tub with his forehead nearly resting against your palm. Lips pouted as he exhaled slowly. You could feel the way his tension unwound, not all at once, but gradually, like the way yarn unravels if you tug too tightly.

Your fingers trailed along his damp cheek, brushing away stray strands of silver hair that clung to his skin. The strands were now drying as they kept a little of their wave, the silver still darkened by the water. He leaned into the touch, starved, seeking out the warmth you offered without admitting it aloud.

“I wish they would not put so much on you,” you murmured, your voice hushed and filled with quiet sorrow for him. “It is unfair.”

Aemond let out a low hum—not quite agreement, not quite dismissal. “It is my duty.”

You frowned at that, your thumb stroking over his cheekbone. “That does not mean it is right.”

He said nothing, only watching you with that piercing gaze of his, the sharpness of it softened now in the dim candlelight. His fingers traced along your forearm, leaving a path of warmth in their wake despite his own chilled skin.

“Come,” you coaxed again, shifting in the bath to make space. “Let me warm you.”

His eye flickered to the steaming water, hesitation warring with something else—pride, perhaps, or the remnants of his earlier frustration. But then, with a quiet sigh, he relented. Standing tall, his fingers moved to the hem of his undershirt, the fabric peeling away to reveal the milky skin under.

You watched as he undressed, his movements slower than usual, as though his bones were waterlogged. The firelight flickered over him, casting golden shadows across the contours of his chest, the pale hairs that lingered almost catching the light as he stripped down.

“You’re staring…” He hummed as he loosened the ties of his trousers, his face vaguely amused.

He was a fine-looking man, that much was true, a true Targaryen prince with corded muscle and angelic features that had you wondering if the gods created a special mould just for him. Your husband was easy on the eyes, and you loved every second of it.

“Is it a crime to stare at my husband now?” You hummed back, an amused smile tugging at your lips.

Aemond glanced at you then, his lone eye-catching the gleam of candlelight in its depths. That usual knife edge of his gaze had softened to something lovely, worn down by exhaustion and the gentle balm of your presence. A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, reluctant but real.

“No,” he said, stepping out of the last of his clothes. “But I might start charging you for it.”

You let out a quiet laugh, tilting your head as you admired him unabashedly, one arm draped along the rim of the tub as he made a rare joke. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Aemond merely just hummed at you, his hand retching to toss his eyepatch onto one of the side tables in the room, keeping it on was not even a thought with you around.

He slipped with ease into the water opposite you, and the bath shifted with his weight, milky waves licking up the sides and rippling between you both. A low sigh escaped him as the warmth began to seep into his limbs, the water chasing the cold from his skin.

For a man who claimed to hate baths, who said they were “indulgent,” “unnecessary,” and “a waste of time”, he looked perfectly at peace now, shoulders sinking below the surface, head tipping back against the edge. His hair floated on the surface, moving like milky ink that blended with the colour of the water as his starlit tendrils darkened slightly again.

His stature was bigger than yours, his legs parted on either side of yours as you smiled, your foot dipping out of the water to drag up his side softly, “Better?”

He opened his eye again and looked at you—really looked. The silence between you grew heavier, not uncomfortable, but meaningful. A pause filled with all the words he rarely said, the ones he struggled to let surface.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Better.”

Your chest warmed at the admission. Aemond wasn’t always an easy man to love—he was guarded, proud, carved in sharp edges and scarred memories. More often than not his tongue was his greatest weapon along with this sword, but with you, he allowed softness.

With you, he could rest.

As he got comfortable, you shifted, moving closer through the water until you were between his legs, his head tilted to look up at you. If you could die in this moment, you’d want to die remember the way your husband always looked at you, like a goddess risen from the waters themselves, steamy and reverent in his single gaze as his eye feasted on you.

Aemond said nothing at first, only gazed up at you with that look that always seemed to undo you. His eye burned bright even in low candlelight, traced every inch of you. He ate it up, from the water-beading on your skin, to the way a droplet ran down the curve of your breast to the soft parting of your lips as you edged closer. Curling up between his legs.

The storm may have been battering its temper against the keep outside, but something else rumbled beneath the surface in your chambers—something far quieter, far more consuming.

You reached out, brushing a damp lock of silver hair from the side of his face, your fingers featherlight as they lingered against his temple. His skin was warmer now, flushed faintly from the bath and not from the cold outside anymore, and there was a quiet vulnerability in the way he let you touch him, bare and unguarded.

Aemond rarely liked being without clothes if anyone could walk in, his mind constantly on alert, on how vulnerability could cost him everything. But in this moment with you, he was happy to let his guard down for some moments of tenderness.

“Secretly, I think you like being looked at,” you teased softly, voice thick with affection, your thumb grazing the edge of his sharp jaw. “You act like you don’t, but the way you watch me watching you…”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, but his eye didn’t leave yours. “I like being seen by you,” he said simply like it was the easiest thing in the world, the words laced with a rare honesty that made your breath catch in your throat. “No one sees me the way you do.”

Your throat tightened at that, overwhelmed by the way he gave himself to you, not in grand declarations or flourished promises like princes in novels, but in moments like this. Quiet truths shared in the soft steam, the hush of rain still tapping faintly on the windows.

“I always see you,” you whispered, your voice just for him, only for him. “Even when everyone tries to turn you into something cold and cruel, I see the man beneath it. I love that man.”

Aemond’s hands found your waist beneath the water, his grip firm but reverent as he guided you closer, pulling you into his lap with the slow care of a man afraid the moment might slip through his fingers. Your bodies met beneath the surface, water lapping between you, steam curling around your forms like you were burning from the inside out.

“Thank you,” he murmured, barely audible.

You smiled softly and leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You never need to thank me, my dragon, I’m your wife, this is how it’s meant to be…”

His lips brushed yours—tentative at first, then firmer, more certain—as he kissed you like a man returning home after battle. Like you were the only thing tethering him to peace. You melted into him, hands threading through his damp hair, sighing softly against his mouth as everything else fell away.

“You’re perfect.” He breathed against your mouth, his fingers sinking into the slick skin of your waist, dimpling it beneath his hold as he breathed you in, “Absolutely perfect.”

At that, you exhaled softly against his lips, heart fluttering at the sound of his voice, low and awed—like a prayer whispered in the Sept. Aemond words weren’t ever thrown out carelessly, not the way others spoke love into the void, hoping something might stick.

No, Aemond spoke to you like every syllable cost him a piece of himself, and he offered it to you willingly. You rested your forehead against his as you pulled away, eyes half-lidded, your breath mingling with his in the fragranced steamy air.

“I love you,” you breathed, voice a murmur as your fingertips traced the lines of his shoulder beneath the water.

Aemond stilled for a moment, the words seeming to hit deeper than anything else. His eye fluttered shut as he pressed his forehead against yours, his chest rising and falling against your own in a rhythm that felt sacred.

“Say it again,” he whispered, voice rough and low, like the words alone were keeping him grounded. One of his hands slipping up your spine, slow and possessive.

“I love you,” you repeated, slower this time, letting him feel each syllable against his skin as your lips brushed over his scar, his cheekbone, and then down to his jaw. “I love all of you”

That earned a soft hum from him, his hands moving again, sliding up to hold your ribs as he captured your mouth in a kiss that was less fevered now—still hungry, still wanting, but deeper. More tender.

His lips parted from yours with a soft click, kissing the corner before trailing down over your chin to tuck under your jaw. You tipped your head instinctively for him, granting him access as his mouth worked against the delicate skin there. Kisses against your skin that burned hotter than anything rushed or rough. The way he moved was like he was tasting something sacred, that your skin was something only he was ever meant to have.

Your fingers threaded through his damp hair again, the strands the colour of wet silk with the rain and bath water. Cradling the back of his head as he sucked lightly beneath your ear, drawing a breathless moan from your lips as he nipped and sucked. Your thighs tightening around his hips under the water, the heat between you near unbearable, the water rippling gently around your bodies.

“Aemond…” you whispered, voice trembling with want, your hips rolling forward as if they had a mind of their own. He hissed softly against your skin, hand moving and pulling you flush against him until there was no space left between your bodies.

He guided his mouth back to yours, lips slotting against yours again as they danced, heads turning and moving as if you were fighting each other. It was pathetic how easily he could undo you, his finger gliding over your wet skin to cup your breast in his palm. The water had softened his hand, but the roughness was still there as his thumb brushed over your nipple, flicking it softly as you moaned against his mouth. His lips grinned as he pinched it gently, the bud hardened and sensitive from arousal and from being out of the water.

You did the most you could in that situation, his cock pressing and nudging against your folds in the water, as you retaliated with a tug of his hair. A groan rumbling in his chest as you pulled at his wet strands, pulling him from the kiss with a soft chuckle slipping out. His hands were everywhere as he worshipped you, the slickness of your skin easing the movement as he switched between grasping at your plush hips to holding your ribs, keeping you pressed against his chest as bath water swished around you.

His journey down your neck this time was filled with more intent, teeth nipping down the tender skin, licking and sucking softly where he could as he travelled past your collarbone, and to the apex of your breast. A smirk against your skin as he looked up at you, his lone eye blown out beyond recognition, eclipsed in arousal and from the low light. He watched you as he kissed over the curve of your breast until he captured a nipple between his lips, sparing no time before he bit softly.

A moan slipped out your lips instantly as you kept him pulled to your chest, cradling him in pleasure as he bit and sucked on your bud with fervour. Soft noises spilt out the both of you, moans and hums filling the space as lavished you with his mouth, something just for the two of you.

He shushed you softly as he switched breasts, the hunger between you burned hotter as you squirmed over his length. Aemond could only groan as he moved and gripped your hips beneath the water, guiding you over him with a slow, agonising care, like he couldn’t bear to rush this moment. He needed you to feel every single inch of his devotion, to feel that he was as worked up as you.

Between the steam of the bath and the haze of your pleasure, you didn’t stop him when he raised you slightly over his length, his mouth popping softly off your breast as he looked at you—asking silently if you were ready.

A soft nod he got in response.

Your breath caught as he filled you, your nails sinking softly into his shoulders, and his eye locked on yours—watching like he needed to see your pleasure as much as he needed to give it. He wasted no time, as he moved you slowly, deeply, the kind of rhythm that left you gasping and trembling in his arms.

“I love you,” he groaned, voice catching as he thrust up into you again, the words raw and broken. “I think love you more than I know how to say.”

And in the echo of that confession, in the heat and steam and tangle of limbs, you found yourself drowning in him.

Your dragon, your lover.

In your quiet sanctuary, no duties waited for you. No drunken brother, no crown, no endless expectations sat at your side. It was just you and Aemond, skin to skin, soul to soul, held together by a love that burned quietly through every storm.

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happilyhertale · 1 day ago

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How I giggled!!😄

And I bet Aemond would love to wake you up like that every morning 😏😏

Morning delight – Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Summary: You have been married to Aemond for some time now. But even though it sometimes seemed as if routine was settling into your relationship, Aemond still manages to surprise you.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Oral (f receiving); Sex (p in v)

Author’s note: English is my second language, so please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.1 k