#aemond x gn reader

[theunburntsblog]

HOTD HEADCANNONS

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I would like to note I haven't exactly finished got or hotd, but I do know the spoilers.

I just have a hard time watching shows for a long period of time, but I will eventually get to it until then. Here's my gender neutral reader headcannons on HOTD characters thus far.

Also, I'm very conflicted on some characters ermm (daemon and aegon ii) turns around. But in the faith of you guys... I guess I'll engage. If some of your favorite characters aren't here, just request them!!

Reader is non-specific, and no pronouns are used within this! It's implied that the reader is of a Noble House (ex. lannister, stark, mytrell, baratheon, etc)

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ALICENT HIGHTOWER

Alicent would sure be a devoted and lovely wife. She puts her trust in you, does her duties, and is a very witful person.

Very religious to the faith would want a partner to at least respect her faith between the new gods.

Her favorite nicknames for you would be "Dove, Sweeting, Jewel and Darling"

Brings a very soothing maternal presence, it feels like you can tell her anything, and she would give you advice without judgment.

Presses gentle kisses onto your face if you were to leave to do training or something of the sort.

Very protective over you as well, even if she's not equipped with weaponry well. If she has to defend you, she definitely will.

Even if she's upset with your decisions, she would always be there and treat you no differently.

Her favorite sound is your laughter. Her love for you brightens every time she hears that laugh of yours.

She is not the best at expressing herself when it comes down to feelings, but she tries.

Her love languages would be acts of service and words for affirmations. She cares more about kind words and gestures than gifts.

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AEGON II TARGARYEN

Oh boy.. Aegon is a quite difficult one to especially with all of the drinking and brothels he devotes his time too.

It definitely will not be an easy time being his lover. His issues strive from the pressure and weight of being the rightful 'king' (ermmm okay aegon) mainly steming from his mother (love u Ali tho) and grandsire.

He only really thinks you're there for a way to either gain power or his cock which (let's be fr nobody want all that) Sex is one thing, love and trust is whole other thing.

I feel like he would be pretty needy stemming from how his father neglects him.

He has his moods and his moments, I bet you could console him quite easily although.

A very tactical lover always has to be touching you in some way. He craves to be held while you're in bed together, but he will never admit that.

Alicent would have to give him advice on how to treat you properly cause Lord Save us all he would not be a good partner.

Will not be faithful to you.. sorry not sorry

HELAENA TARGARYEN

Helaena has her quirks nonetheless, but that doesn't stop her from being a genuine good soul. She's a sweetheart in all honestly.

Helaena is a very curious girl. If you haven't originated from King's landing, I'm sure she would love to hear about your heritages.

She just needs someone to listen to her, about her bugs and about her riddles.

I believe she would tell you all about insects, I also think she would embroiderate insect brooches for you to wear proudly onto your coats.

I also believe she would tell you what insect really reminds her of you. Explaining why, in all detail, why she sees you as such.

I believe she would go to you to reconcile her about her visions as you're the only real one to understand her dismay.

I would suggest giving kindness back and start to court the princess.

I also would like to believe she's a huge bookworm, especially about mythology or nature.

Her love languages would be gift giving and quality time. She appreciates your company even if you both have nothing to say.

Patience is very key here. She doesn't like physical touch, and when she wants it, let her initiate it first. She doesn't like sudden loud noises or touches it makes her overwhelmed.

I believe she might be a poet as well from all of her riddles. She might journal to explore her dragon dreams and her other thoughts, respectively.

Over time, I think she would be the one to initiate small touches such as hands brushing against each other, small hugs, gentle kisses upon the cheeks, forehead, and lips.

bestest girl to you and will always be willing to listen to your thoughts and feelings.

---

AEMOND TARGARYEN

Aemond will not be easy to love. After losing his eye, he had changed. He wasn't the sweet boy of his mother it was like he did a whole 180.

He will form a bond with you, and it will be VERYY slowburn.

He spends his time training, sparing, reading, and educating and doing all of the things Aegon doesn't do. (Which is a lot thx egg ig) I don't think he would be fond of you first it's like hes a thorn in your backside.

I feel like I would relate him to Daemon in the way that love doesn't come too easy for him.

He is quite wary of people, and at the beginning, you'll never see him without his eyepatch. It takes a lot of time for him to trust you with seeing his abnormality. He finds himself disgusting, I think only time will get him to find that his eye isn't ugly.

Also, a very jealous person, quick to anger to quick to act with emotions.

However, once you catch his eye. He'll come a bit possessive yet passionate towards you.

I feel like he would be very grateful if you were to meet Vhagar for the first time as Vhagar is almost like his second home.

He isn't used to kindness that doesn't come from his mother and sister.

A very observant lover loves to study your body language as he admires your features.

Paranoid that you'll find him ugly without his eyepatch on. He will mostly hide his scar the best he can, even if it's unbearable, or he will continue wearing it while he's aching.

RHAENYRA TARGARYEN

She would be the most loving partner, Even with all of her duties as Heir/Queen, she will always make time for you and her family.

I feel as if her love would be very maternal in a way(?) Honestly, like she would check up on you and make sure you're doing well. After a long way, she would lay with you, her hands gently massaging your scalp, and she reads a book.

I believe she would want someone who would not only protect her but her children as well. Not that she needs protecting. It's just a loyalty sort of thing.

Speaking of children, I feel like she would want for her lover to not only accept the boys in open arms but to be a parent figure of sorts.

Extremely loyal in the sense of defending your name.

I believe her love languages would be: physical touch, words of affirmations, and acts of services.

She's a very passionate and romantic lover. She tends to you when she can and makes sure to check in with you a lot.

I feel like she would talk about rumors and stuff going on in court with you, wanting to hear how you would approach the situation and your thoughts about it in general.

DAEMON TARGARYEN

Daemon is a very complicated man in general. Gaining his trust will be one thing. His love? Another.

He is known for preferring old valyria descendents, he has a common way of going to brothels and fucking whores. A marriage or love between him will not be an easy one.

The Rogue Prince is known to be unpredictable and harsh with his methods. I would use this to your advantage.

Your marriage/love will not be perfect as the blood of the dragon is strong. He might be yours, but he's a dragon first.

I feel like he would hold walls to withdraw from the emotions he deems as weak. Cracking these walls is a task end of itself. However, patience will be key. You might have to muster some dragonfire from yourself, I think he prefers to have someone who can manage his fire, but who can also light fire themselves.

He is a very difficult man with strange needs, I think it's best to meet with his roots. Learning High Valyrian, meeting 'The Blood Wyrm', conditioning old valyrian values. That's the best bet to really gain structure into this relationship.

He will not be tied down by marriage duty. He craves excitement and bloodshed. You will have to acknowledge that.

The best way to bond with him is to sit down into bed and let him read to you of his heritage. He's very proud of it, and nothing will stop that. I think another way to strengthen the relationship is to take flights with him and caraxes.

Once you worked past the walls, he had bulit. I think he would shower you in gifts when he returns from whatever blood 'The Dark Sister' craves. Since it's Daemon, I would probably think sex too ..

His love language will definitely be physical touch. He craves of you at his side, his favorite thing to map out the little 'imperfections' by roaming his hands across your body, spreading sweet kisses as he whispers sweet nothings in high valyrian into your ear.

His favorite nicknames for you would be "my love," "Perzītsos (little flame)," "jorrāeliarza (beloved)"

He's definitely not an easy man, but he will go to hell and back for you. He has odd ways of showing his gratitude and love. However, that will never stop him from unconditionally loving you.

I also assume he would be possessive and easy to anger. Don't get me started on his jealousy. This man does not like other lords or ladies even looking at his beloved.

JACAERYS VELARYON

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This boy is a splitting image of his mother. He's a very loyal man towards his partner. He devotes his time to his duties as heir and as well to spend time with you.

He is quite the gentleman, and assuming you're betrothed to him, he will willingly court you generously.

He showers you with love and loyalty, making sure you're comfortable with him and will never pressure you into something you don't wish to endure.

He showers you with gifts and always listens to your thoughts and feelings.

He wants to spend as much time as he possibly can with being heir, wherever you go he follows.

His gaze always lingers onto you. This man stares at you like you're a part of the gods. He always admires you.

He LOVES to give compliments about your appearance and outfits all the TIME. He loves to praise his beloved, and he makes sure you know how much you mean to him.

Is always touching you in some way, even if it's as simple as your hand brushing against his.

[k2ntoss]

aemond targaryen letting his s/o do his hair every morning, brush it until it is straight to his liking and then letting them tie it securely, that's one of his biggest ways to show trust because he has to take off his eye patch and let them see his whole face :3

[devilsjacket]

Aemond: I hate you

Y/n: have I done something to offend you, my prince?

Aemond: No- I’m showing my affection towards you.

Y/n, confused: you just said you hated me-

Aemond: Don’t question my methods.

[lady-phasma]

After the storm

Aemond Targaryen x gn!reader

Warnings: all ages, hurt/comfort

Summary: what transpired after Aemond's return to King's Landing? playing a little fast and loose with dragonflight times so let's just pretend it was raining the whole way back, okay? 900 words

Your throat tightened the moment you walked into the room. You had come to him as soon as you saw Vhagar circle the city. You had been anticipating his return, anxious about his errand. There was a chance he would come back betrothed to a Baratheon but you couldn’t care about that now. You saw his wet hair plastered to his head, his eye patch dangling from his hands, his shoulders slumped as he rested his arms on his legs. He didn’t turn toward you when you approached. He had heard the door open and close, you saw his violet eye flick toward you. But the only other movement was the sway of the leather strap between his legs.

“Did it go so poorly?” You walked slowly toward him, conscious that you didn’t want him to perceive your anxiety. He didn’t answer, he only dropped his head. You lowered yourself onto your heels next to him so you were eye level with him. His eye was closed. You caustiously laid your hand on his knee and stayed silent. His face wore a curious expression of pain and confusion.

“‘Poorly’?” Aemond breathed out something like a laugh, but when he looked at you nausea tore through your stomach. He had never looked at you like that. He noticed you flinch away from him and narrowed his eye. “What could you possibly know about it?”

“I..” you tried to reply but the words caught in your throat. He turned his gaze back to the floor and you let your hand slide off his leg. You stood and inhaled deeply, steadying your nerves.

“I couldn’t know anything about it, Aemond, if you don’t tell me,” you glared down at him. “So ‘poorly’ isn’t the word you wanted. What in the seven hells did happen?”

When he looked up at you your hands went cold and you felt a twinge of guilt at your harsh words. You had never seen him cry and you didn’t want to now. The pain written on his face made your chest ache. His violet eye flicked away from your face and you glaced at his sapphire, the skin around it was angry. You let out the breath you were holding. When you stepped in front of him he instictively rested his head against your stomach. You placed both of your hands on the back of his head and smoothed down his wet hair.

“Come,” you said as you slid your hands gently under his chin. You guided him to look up at you. “Come with me.”

You stepped back, took his eye patch from his hands, and dropped it on the table. You slid your hand into his and began to walk. He stood up, a defeated man, graceless and lumbering. Nothing like Aemond at all. You kept your face neutral and calm.

He followed you to the bed, but he wasn’t with you, he was far away. His gaze was on the floor when his eye was open at all. You stopped, turning to him. You reached up and unfastened the leather tie in his hair. You smoothed wet strands back from his face. You gently passed your thumb over his cheek. He glanced at you but it was fleeting.

You began to unlace his tunic and slide it from his shoulders. Aemond didn’t resist. He let himself be guided by you. So you proceeded to remove his wet garments and boots with very little help from him. This was so utterly peculiar that you moved as if this were a task that you had to do correctly and efficiently. You didn’t speak, only focused on each article of clothing. Your hands shook at first but then the cold of his wet clothes made them almost numb. He wasn’t shivering. He was long past that.

You left him for a moment to fetch some towels from the armoire. You gestured for him to remove his pants and you held the towel so that you could immediately wrap it around his waist. He stepped out of the sodden pile of fabric as you tied the towel around his waist. Aemond muttered something and you looked at him for clarification. Your brows knit together in confusion.

“Thank you,” he said, barely audible.

You give him a kind smile in return before he looked away again. You pressed gently on his shoulders so he would sit on the edge of the bed. Slowly and carefully, you dried his face, his neck and shoulders. You watched those same shoulders shake slightly as you pulled the towel away. He would tell you soon enough, but whatever had transpired was worse than you could imagine.

As you dried his hair he rested his forhead against you. It seemed to take a long time to dry, but when you were finally satisfied you dropped the towel to the floor onto the pile of clothes. You raised his face to yours again, this time his eye was pleading, searching your face. You kissed his forehead and smoothed your hands down his jaw. You let go and moved around him to climb onto the bed. You stacked the pillows and reclined against them. You didn’t have to instruct him. Without hesitation he laid his head in your lap and curled his knees to his chest. You let your fingers trace lightly over his head, his shoulder, his arm. Then he spoke.

“I didn’t mean for her to do it.”

Masterlist Aemond masterlist

[adragonprinceswhore]

Colour My Mind, Bring Me Back New Chapter Out Now!

Read it here

Let me know what you think on ao3 or here 🩵✨

[lemonnbug]

If you're taking fanfic/drabble requests can you do an Aemond being completely pathetic? I wanna see him on his knees and hands shaking for a chance to taste his sweetheart by having his hair pulled up to where they want him. I'm starving, man (gender neutral)

Hi! This is my first request, my first time writing Aemond (besides as a side character in an Aegon fic lol), AND my first time with a GN reader, so I apologize if it's not very good lol.

Aemond x GN!reader

Warnings: slightly smutty, Minors DNI, kissing, praise kink, hair pulling, implied oral sex, proofreading is for fools, look at meeeeeee!

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Begging

"Now, is this any way for a Prince to behave?" You coo down at the wanton mess sitting on the floor in front of you. Dressed in only his trousers and eyepatch, Prince Aemond looked anything but his usual stoic self, his self control seemingly nonexistent as he shifts his weight from knee to knee, itching to crawl forward and touch you. "Please," he breathes out, his eye roaming over your exposed body, shadows and candlelight dancing around the room.

"Please what? You must use your words, my dragon." You had been taunting him all day, leaning in when no one was looking and whispering all of the things you wanted him to do to you, pushing him behind a column and pressing his hand to your desire, all before walking off as if nothing had happened. A day full of your taunting and teasing had led here, with your pretty little Prince on all fours begging to touch you.

"Please let me taste you." His voice hitches at the end, fingers digging into the soft rug beneath him. You reach forward and gently remove his eyepatch, letting your thumb caress his cheek as he leans into your touch, a pitiful sigh escaping him. Your hand travels further back, fingertips ghosting through his long, silver hair as you grab a handful of it and yank, earning you a moan from Aemond.

"Only because you asked so nicely. But," you pull on his locks until he's forced to look up at you, back arching as you lean over him, "only where I let you." There's a noticeable tremble as he nods, his body burning with want. You guide him forward towards your thighs, and he starts to place hot kisses all along them, moaning into your skin as he nips at and licks every inch of flesh he can reach, pulling him slowly upwards, his tongue leaving a wet trail as he goes. He lets out a whine when you make him bypass your sex, guiding him instead to pepper kisses up your stomach and chest, nipping and sucking, allowing him to leave as many marks as he wants to. You bring him up to your face and yank his hair back, the sound of his gasp going straight between your legs.

"What would your people say if they knew how needy their perfect Prince Aemond is behind closed doors? Hm?" He stares up at you with a lust blown pupil, his chest shuddering with each breath as he keeps his hands at his sides like a good little prince, "If they knew how desperate you were to put that pretty mouth to use?" Crashing your lips together, he whimpers into your mouth, his tongue hot against your own. You tighten your grip on his hair but don't pull him away, relishing in the way he hungrily kisses you, like a man starved, like he could live off just the taste of you. You pull away for air, pushing his head towards your neck where he continues his task of marking you, and then back down your chest.

"You've been such a good little Prince for me," you say, running your free hand over his shoulder, feeling the way he shakes with need, "perhaps you deserve a treat." He moans as you guide him further down, having decided that it's time his lips were where you both truly wanted them.

[annikin-im-panicin]

Y/N: *staring at Aemond putting on his hood* What are you doing?

Aemond: I'm putting on my No Good Hood™

Y/N:...Your what?

[sweetandabitspycho]

Aemond Targaryen x reader

Warnings: It’s so damn short, and has bad grammar I wrote this at 5 in the morning

“You are literally the only person in the room who isn’t dancing.” I said to the young prince. He looked at me and huffed. “So are you.” He stated, I laughed he was right after all. “Okay, so how about we dance?” I offered my hand. He looked at me.

“Why do you want to dance with me?” He asked looking at me fully. “You look like your bored and sad so let’s dance.” I said taking his hand and pulling him off the wall. “Okay, but then you have to answer my questions honestly.” He said pulling me closer. “Okay,” I whispered in his ear. “I look forward to it, Prince Aemond.” He laughed as we dance. “Call me Aemond.” He said softly.

After the dance we snuck off to the garden with a some wine. “So please tell me more about yourself.” He said as we walked. “Well I love to read, I like riding horses, and I love to explore.” I said he looked at the stars. “Well maybe I’ll have to take you for a ride on my dragon.” He said looking at me and then kissed me.

[flowerpotmage]

Latest update for The Ledan can be read here!

Its a lot of work to keep this work updated on tumblr, so going forward I'll be posting links to updates when a new chapter is out. But never fear! I'll still be posting one-shots here as well as Ao3

[scentedpepper]

I'm eating this writing up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner

flickers of light — one ; kindling (reuploaded)

☆ aemond targaryen x gn!reader, house targaryen x gn!reader (platonic)

☆ summary: when the Light of the Realm – beloved in all of Westeros – begins to succumb to an illness that even the most skilled and wizened Maesters cannot treat, the royal inhabitants of the Red Keep must hold onto the flickers of light through memories of moments, before the Stranger snuffs them out. — 5k words

☆ warnings/tags: angst, terminal illness, mutual pining, friends to sort-of-lovers to strangers, dance of the dragons never happened and we'll see why, set 10 years after the dance should have happened, this is a fix-it fic basically, rhaenicent is very important to me, no use of y/n and no descriptions of reader, massive time jump, everyone gets along. enjoy!

News of the Light of the Realm's terminal state arrives at the Red Keep at the hour of the owl, on the 15th day of the twelfth moon of the year 139 AC, as a storm lashes above the Crownlands.

The halls of the Keep are empty, save for one Maester whose slipper-clad feet patter against the stone floors in earnest. A thin length of parchment threatens to crumple in his fist, and tears collect in his eyes as the words on the tiny scroll turn over and over in his mind.

A particularly loud howl of wind blows through the corridor, sweeps the cap off his head and blows out a few torch lights as it passes. The Maester continues on without pause, however, purpose and pain fueling his strides as he reaches the Queen’s quarters. 

The Dowager Queen Alicent faces the window of her solar, unable to sleep due to the relentless wails of the storm.

“It rages as if we are in Storm's End,” she mutters, her eyes tracking the rivulets of rain that slide down the glass. Worry creases her forehead over thoughts of the city folk who’ve no proper lodging, and she makes a mental note to speak to the small council about building more shelters for the needy.

A hum from behind her ripples through the quiet.

“Perhaps Lord Baratheon has convinced the gods to spare his lands for a night,” The Queen Rhaenyra jests, voice soft as she stares at the crackling flames warming the room.

She sips her tea after, eyes meeting Alicent’s as their heads both turn to look at the other. Rhaenyra’s lips curl around the edge of the teacup, a smile hidden by the ceramic. But Alicent knows it’s there, and she smiles back. 

“Thank you for lending your company, my Queen,” she starts, legs carrying her at a steady pace towards Rhaenyra. “Sleep does not come easily to me when the sky seems like it is falling.”

Alicent takes Rhaenyra’s hand not holding a teacup in both of her own. She looks down at her companion, noting the way the slope of her nose is more prominent in the orange shadows of the fire.

Rhaenyra returns her gaze through eyelashes, and her hand flips to tightly hold onto Alicent’s.

“You need not thank me, lo–”

A knock cuts the endearment off. Rhaenyra sighs, but does not pull away as Alicent grants entrance to the person at the door.

Ser Harrold steps in, bowing before the two queens. If he notices the tender aura that envelops the women, he does not mention it. Though, a conscious simper forms on his lips.

“Apologies, my lady, your grace,” he starts, and steps to fully push the doors open, “Maester Corren bears urgent news from Oldtown.”

Alicent’s brows knit together once again. Oldtown?

“Oldtown?” Rhaenyra echoes the other queen’s thoughts. “What news from Oldtown cannot wait to be heard ‘til the morning?”

The Kingsguard side-steps to let the Maester inside, the chained man swift in his movements to plant himself in the middle of the room.

“My sincerest apologies, your grace,” Maester Corren’s usually seasoned and stoic tone trembles as he speaks, and he holds his down-turned fist out to offer the parchment to Alicent.

“I would not come at this late an hour if it was not distressing,” he continues.

“Corren, what has shaken you?” Alicent questions him. After a beat, it dawns on her what news from Oldtown might mean.

“Has something happened at the High Tower? To Daeron, or my father?” She cannot help but ask aloud, not wanting to accept the parchment yet.

She receives only shakes from the head of the Maester, and his chains clank against each other from the movement. The two queens watch as the trained scholar reaches up with his other palm to wipe at his face.

“Please,” he pleads, as if a young child. “I know this is most uncouth, but I cannot bear to read it again, your graces.”

Alicent looks down at her queen, their hands still grasping one another’s. With a nod from Rhaenyra, Alicent releases her hold and turns her palm face up to accept the scroll. The Maester releases it, as if it’s burned him, and takes a step back. 

She unfurls the paper with surprisingly steady fingers, unwilling to let her nerves get the better of her. Once she reads the writing on the scroll, however, she understands why the Maester trembles all over.

The red-haired queen barely registers Rhaenyra urging the shaken Maester to sit as she herself takes a deep inhale to steady her breathing. Alicent’s eyes rake over the tiny parchment multiple times, not believing the words before her.

“Alicent?” Rhaenyra sees her turn towards the window again, head ducked and both hands clutching the scroll. “What is it? What has happened?”

Rhaenyra catches her utterance of the word light, and one look at Ser Harrold is enough to have the older knight take over with assisting Maester Corren. She tries again to capture Alicent’s mutterings, coming up right beside her to grasp her elbow in a gentle hold.

“My dear,” Rhaenyra whispers, soft enough that only she and her doe-eyed companion can hear. “Look at me, please.”

The sorrow in the Dowager Queen's gaze washes over Rhaenyra's entire being. The corners of Alicent's mouth struggle to keep from quivering as she tries to relay the news, but sounds refuse to form in her throat.

"It's alright, you do not have to speak," Rhaenyra reassures. She gestures with her palm for the scroll. "May I?"

Rhaenyra takes the miniscule parchment from Alicent, who offers no resistance. The paper curls again as Rhaenyra pinches it between her thumb and forefinger, her other hand reaching up to brush away a tear that has found its way out of Alicent's wide eyes. Her heart aches at the sight, and she wonders what news the little parchment holds to have had cast such a large wave of emotion over everyone around her.

Alicent’s eyes flutter to a close, and she ducks her head again as Rhaenyra finally looks upon the writing. She hears a gasp, and when Alicent glances up, Rhaenyra holds the same grief on her face that she’s sure she mirrors.

After a beat of silence, Maester Corren is the first to speak.

"The Prince Aemond should know."

"No," Alicent answers all too quickly. "It can wait until the morn–"

"I beg your pardon, your grace, but you know it cannot," he interrupts. He stands from where Ser Harrold has sat him down on a chaise, voice reverting back to the neutral yet firm tone of a chained Maester.

Rhaenyra watches as Alicent's posture straightens at the man's tone, watches Alicent steel and ready herself to retort at the Maester's apparent lack of respect. Before she can, however, he continues.

"You've read the scroll," he says. "By the end of the moon, the illness will take hold no later than when the first rays of light hit the sphere of the Citadel."

Rhaenyra hears a shaky exhale come from Alicent, whose hand maneuvers to clutch at Rhaenyra's forearm for support. She surrenders it, lets the Dowager Queen lean against her.

"Corren, you must understand," Rhaenyra is gentle in her address. "This news... it will break him."

"Please, your grace," the Maester pleads. "My dear cousin has suffered far too much; this illness has taken far too much."

No one talks but the Maester, as everyone in the chamber knows the truth in his sayings.

"If you could read the letters I have received... the hurt I have deciphered, embedded in my cousin's handwriting. Please, my queens, do not sequester away things that you can so easily give."

"And what are those, Maester?" Rhaenyra poses.

"Relief," his scholarly façade ripples away for but a moment. "Healing... Love."

Rhaenyra feels her jaw clench, feels Alicent's grip on her arm tighten, feels Ser Harrold's stare on her face, waiting for a command. She glances at her friend, her closest companion– with her head bowed and shoulders heaving, a finger picking at the cuticles of the same hand. She glances back at the Maester, notes the way his voice wavers slightly at the mention of his cousin, notes the fact that he has never faltered in his duties as first and foremost a Maester of the Red Keep, until now.

When she looks at Ser Harrold, Rhaenyra notes the hesitation on his face. He knows what is right, what must be done, what must be said aloud, but cannot acknowledge what is so until she commands it so.

For the sake of the queen beside her, however, she does not say the words. As Ser Harrold's gaze meets hers, she simply nods. He knows.

Only the sound of the crackling fire can be heard, along with the clinking of the knight’s armour, as he moves to grasp Maester Corren firm on the shoulder.

Before his gloved hand can make contact, Alicent speaks.

"There is no need, Ser Harrold."

Her hold on Rhaenyra's arm loosens, and ultimately falls away. Alicent steps towards the Maester, and for a moment Rhaenyra sees fear flash in his eyes. But as Alicent reaches forward to hold Corren's upper arm in comfort, the fear is replaced with something akin to gratitude.

"You are right, Corren," Alicent says, understanding. "It will break him, yes, but perhaps... perhaps it can also heal him. As reconciliation often does."

She continues, "Your cousin had once granted me these things you speak of."

Her gaze comes back to meet Rhaenyra's, tone reminiscent.

"So, what am I if not ungrateful, if I were to deny such things from the Light of the Realm?"

The two queens' illuminated smiles hold a twinge of melancholy to them. If the men in the room know of the reasons, of the events, of the love behind such smiles, they do not say.

Prince Aemond's light dims, to a darker dullness he thought was not possible, at the beginning of the hour of the wolf.

He’s sat atop the bed, sapphire eye uncovered, knees bent to accommodate the tome he cradles in his lap. There’s a familiar heft to it, having been in the prince's possession for nearly a decade. Its spine cracked beyond care, its pages dog-eared, margins riddled with writing.

Though, the ink on the paper remains as fresh as can be. The book rarely leaves the four walls of the prince's quarters, sunlight never having the chance to fade its text.

It has become a comfort to the prince, despite its heavy weight and heavier content. Though, it is not solely the scholarly content that draws the prince to reach for the tome every night, tucked away in his bedside drawer, before he surrenders to sleep.

Tis more so what lies in between the lines: illustrations scribbled over with black coal, highlighted passages, notes, reminders to pursue treatments that he once believed would be successful.

"Once I have a dragon, we will fly to the Citadel and have the Archmaesters conduct this," he had said, underlining the title of a procedure he thought had the most chance of curing an illness that threatened his companion.

"They would not dare deny a prince of the realm, I swear it."

Aemond’s forefinger traces the curve in a diagram of the human backbone as he recalls the promise he had made and failed to keep, though to no fault of his own. Still, the ache in his chest makes itself known once again, as recognizable as the tome he clutches.

Pages fly wildly about when a gust of wind manages to slip through a crack in a window. Aemond can only watch as the candles in his room dance and writhe until most of them flicker out, the scent of melted wax left to fester in the air.

A sigh escapes him. His sole eye strains to make out a passage with whatever light remains in the room, but the darkness swallows his bed area too much. As he contemplates whether to take this as a sign from the gods to rest, or to relight the candles and continue on, a knock sounds at his door.

Brow and marred skin crease together in confusion.

"Ser Arryk?" he calls out, unsure of which knight of the Kingsguard had taken station outside his chambers for the night.

The sudden arrival of the storm had scrambled the usual routine of the Red Keep, adding to that three of the Kingsguard having left to trail after members of the royal family who had ventured out into the Kingswood for a day or two of hunting.

Of the nephews, cousins, and siblings, only Aemond chose to remain– knowing in himself that he was lately not one for prolonged interactions, even if it was solely his family he'd be around.

"I would only dampen the mood, sister," he said to Helaena, tone playful. She carried Baela's youngest in her arms, the mother having stepped away for a few moments. "Bring me back one of those rare crawling creatures you are so fond of, won’t you?"

Helaena beamed at the request. She bounced the toddler excitedly on her hip, lilted voice asking the not-yet verbal babe what insects they might find in the forests. The child giggled in response, just as Jace and Luke walked into the room, hunting gear in their arms. Aemond noted the way Jace's eyes lit up at the sound of his child's laughter.

"Nephews," Aemond greeted them. Had he been the man that he was 10 years ago, malice and disdain would've seeped into his voice. Instead, he continued, genuine concern for his family coating his following advice.

"Be wary of your surroundings," he had said, grasping Luke's shoulder, "look out for one another."

When he asks again, it is not Ser Arryk who answers.

"It is me," his mother's voice calls out instead. "And Rhaenyra."

Aemond's puzzlement only grows, though not at the presence of his half-sister. He had long ago grown accustomed to the sight of the two women near each other after his father's death and the family's reconstitution– a process which had not settled so easily in him as it did in the matriarchs of their house.

No, his uncertainty at this moment comes from their joint company at such time of night. Nothing good nor godly has ever greeted Aemond during the wolf's hour.

"May we come in?" Rhaenyra says, muffled by the wood of the chamber door.

Aemond realizes that he's only clad in his breeches and a loose white poet shirt, hardly appropriate attire to wear in front of both Queens of the realm. He scrambles to where his dressing robe hangs by his bed and wastes no time in tying it closed before he whips the door open.

"Mother," he nods to Alicent before addressing his half-sister. "Your grace."

He takes in the sheen on his mother's face, and Rhaenyra's right arm outstretched behind her, no doubt on the small of her back in a steadying effort. Their solemn expressions pierce a needle of anxiety through him, the once stoic and confident one-eyed prince now overtaken with clammy hands and shaky breaths. He remembers his family stranded by the storm in the Kingswood, protected by sworn knights yet still vulnerable to the wrath of nature.

"What is the matter?” Aemond cannot help the worrying rambles that leave his mouth. “Has something happened to the hunting party? I can take Vhagar to retrieve them from the Kingsw–"

Rhaenyra's hand raising makes him pause. "They are alright, dear brother, you needn't worry."

"Apologies, sister," he says, sheepish. Aemond steps aside to allow them entrance. "Please, come in."

Alicent is first to cross into the threshold with Rhaenyra close behind. It is only when she passes Aemond that he realizes his mother has yet to look him in the eye.

He observes as Alicent settles herself down onto a seat around the center table of his quarters. Her gaze remains downcast, not meeting his.

"A Record of Incurable Illnesses in the Known Realm," Rhaenyra says aloud, tone questioning, eyes on the cover of the tome that he had haphazardly thrown upon the table in his haste. "Do not tell me you plan on forging a maester's chain, lēkia."

"I was doing some nightly reading," Aemond admits, though he's familiar enough with Rhaenyra's joking tone that he knows she is not fully using it. She knows why he reads what he reads, and he is thankful that she does not speak it plainly.

He hears his mother breathe in at the mention of the book, as though to brace herself. Aemond thinks she might plainly speak on it.

The prince decides he shall be forthright, not pleased with the feeling of his body physically manifesting his anxiety. His jaw clenches, and sweat begins to pool in the dip of his back despite the chilly air of the night.

"As much as I enjoy your company, my queens, I must ask, why have you graced me with it at such an hour?"

"Aemond," his mother at last looks up at him. Her eyes brim with tears. "A raven from Oldtown arrived earlier, at the hour of the owl."

His mouth runs dry. "Is it Daeron? Or grandsire?"

Aemond’s mind forbids itself from wondering about the only other person residing in Oldtown worth mentioning.

He does not miss the quaking exhale from Rhaenyra, who speaks when Alicent seems at a loss for words. "It came from the Citadel."

He goes still, as if turned to stone.

A cold rush starts from the tips of his fingers, and it spreads to his arms, to his torso, and grips his spine. The last word his sister had uttered melts into a continuous ringing in his ears which grows and grows until even the storm outside ceases to exist.

Numbness has rendered him immobile, he thinks, he is rooted to his spot.

And then he mutters a name his lips had not formed in years A name that he has not heard anyone say in his vicinity, in fear of what his reaction might be.

Your name comes out in a whisper. Posed as a question that he prays they leave unanswered.

He's undeserving to speak it with full volume. He fears that merely allowing his throat to form the sounds of it will make it so, manifest it into reality.

And Aemond thinks, when Rhaenyra nods in confirmation, what a twisted reality this has become.

She continues speaking, though the pealing in his ears has grown louder ten-fold and permits him to decipher only bits and pieces.

Raven... Maester Corren... take hold...

He sees Rhaenyra pull out a strip of paper and begin to read from it.

Aemond needs to sit down. Instead, he stumbles back, shoulder bumping against the wall. He vaguely hears the scraping of a chair–vaguely registers the arms that find purchase under his to keep him upright. He hears his mother call out his name, though it sounds distant and dampened. He sees his sister halt mid-statement, arms out in a ready stance to assist Alicent if need be.

But when Aemond's eye stares into hers, when he briefly glances at the parchment curled around her fingers, she knows what he is asking for and carries on reading.

"... most likely succumb to the illness not long after the first rays of light hit the sphere of the Citadel on the last day of this moon. We urge you – visit while you can, before the Stranger comes, while there is still time left."

"Aemond," his mother repeats. "Come, let us take a seat."

Alicent pulls her arms away from under his. She opts to clutch at his forearm instead and attempts to tug him towards a chair.

But Aemond is stock-still against the wall. The last sentence echoes in his mind.

Visit while you can.

While you are still alive.

Before the Stranger comes.

Death had not taken you yet.

While there is still time left.

He still had time.

The prince is shaken out of his stupor when another gust of wind flitters about his room, the howl of it catching his mother off-guard.

"Mother," he turns to her, places his hand atop hers that holds onto him. "I must go."

Alicent peers at her son for a moment to search his face. What she expects to find, he doesn't know. He half-expects her to argue, to protest against his admittedly rash and unspoken plan of action, and he fails to conceal his surprise when his mother does neither.

Alicent’s hands move to either side of his face, and he feels the press of a kiss to his forehead, where his scar topmost starts. A sad smile graces her face as she gazes into her son’s eyes.

“I know.”

He can see his mother's internal qualms with his leaving at such an hour, in such weather, but she does not voice them.

The Queen does, however.

"The storm is unrelenting," Rhaenyra states. "Too dangerous to face alone.”

“You’d have me wait?”

You’d have me wait, have me prolong my suffering even longer? Aemond wants to say, though he bites his tongue.

“That is not what I meant, lekia,” Rhaenyra says, soft, against his own firm voice. “You need not face it alone; I shall accompany you on Syrax."

“No,” Aemond blanches, the memories of what had almost occurred the last time dragons flew amidst a storm flashing through his mind.

“You… you are needed here, my queen,” he tries to reason.

"Aemond,” Rhaenyra tuts, worry in her voice. “You may ride the largest dragon, but even Vhagar might not be a match for the gales of wind that plague the skies tonight."

“Perhaps,” he starts. “But our family stays stranded, with no dragons, in the Kingswood. One of us should keep near, should they need assistance."

I will not be able to protect you, he wants to say. Not when my thoughts are elsewhere.

Aemond squeezes his mother's hand once, twice, smiles at her and lets her go to step towards Rhaenyra. She contemplates his statement, though part of her knows he is right.

But they are siblings, and Aemond's stubbornness is her own.

"Then perhaps wait and see if the storm breaks by sunrise," Rhaenyra suggests. "If it does not, then at the very least you will have light in the rain. But do not venture out during the night's darkest hour– not with this downpour added to it."

Aemond turns her counsel over in his mind. "Do you say this to me as queen?"

"I say this to you as your sister,” she stares at him fondly. “Though, you might consider, your older sister."

He glances at Alicent, who now stands once more beside Rhaenyra, and merely shrugs. "It is your choice, my son. I leave it to you."

There is not a trace of hesitation in his being. “Then I shall forge ahead to the Citadel.”

At that, he moves to turn to his wardrobe. He's eager to change into his riding leathers as quick as he can – when Aemond catches Rhaenyra's loving glance at his mother. And as Alicent returns the queen's gaze with equal, if not more, affection – an epiphany he had years ago, when he first lost your companionship over his foolishness and shortcomings, comes back to him.

You did this, he echoes in gratitude what he had once said to you in anger. You are the one I have to thank for this happiness.

(He still remembers the word he used then – this farce.)

“Mandia,” Aemond calls out to his sister, steps faltering. Rhaenyra meets his gaze— one that once held indifference and disdain towards her, now only full of gratitude and kinship.

“Thank you,” is all he breathes out.

Rhaenyra nods in understanding. “I shall follow after you with the others once they’ve returned from the Kingswood.”

The two queens watch as Aemond moves about with a fervor they’d not seen in the one-eyed prince for nearly a decade.

“Here you are,” Alma lifts a cup to your lips, its contents steaming. “Steady, dear.”

The fragrant tea is warm as you sip it, and you sigh in relief at the wonders it does to soothe your aches and pains. You sink deeper into the soft bed, your eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment, still slightly heavy with sleep.

“Thank you, Alma,” you say, voice shaky, as you gaze up at her. “Your tea is magical, and tasty, as always.”

She beams at your compliment and brings the cup up for another sip.

“Thank you, though I wish I could take credit for the beneficial parts of the concoction, dear light,” Alma says. “You know it is your cousin who has developed its base, I merely added the herbs to make it more bearable for consumption.”

Her use of your epithet does not go unnoticed by you.

“Hm, still, thank you for making it so,” you hum. “And you know I’m not particularly fond of that name, Alma.”

“Tis an apt title, in my opinion,” she retorts. Alma sets the cup down on the table by your bedside, afterwards reaching over to lovingly caress your hair.

“And one most deserved,” she adds, in a quiet voice. You can only grace her with a small smile, knowing that an argument with her will only end up with you frustrated and her ever more triumphant.

Alma leaves your side to flit about the room, tidying up the blankets at the foot of your bed and using the rag on her shoulder to wipe down the dust on the many shelves of books. She chats while she moves about, though her attempts at asking you questions about what literature you crave to read next are mostly ignored.

Your attention favours the arched window on the far-right wall of your chamber— large and low enough on the wall for you to be able to look at the world beyond from where you lay, bedridden. One of its stained-glass panels had been cracked open, and a light breeze jostles the short green drapes that frame the window. Not so distantly, the High Tower gleams solid white against the blue morning sky, an ever constant and looming presence, a permanent fixture within the limited view your chamber window offers.

The sight of the tall structure, clean and angular, never fails to remind you of the man half-descended from the family charged with its care.

A small crick forms in your neck from the prolonged turn of your head, and you slowly face forward again to avoid the discomfort turning into an ache. In your periphery, the High Tower remains, and so do thoughts of the man.

You cannot help the question that leaves your mouth.

“Have any ravens arrived from the Crownlands?” From the Red Keep, you mean to say, though Alma knows you well enough to know what hides behind the generalization, but kind enough to not point it out. You’ve asked the question many times to many others in the past few days, since the Citadel raven left with the Maesters’ scroll secured to its leg.

“I’ve not heard anything from the rookery,” she turns to you with a rehearsed answer. “There’s apparently quite atrocious weather over the capital, I don’t expect creatures of any kind would want to venture out into it.”

“I see,” you say, deflated. She turns at the change of pitch in your tone.

“Soon, dear light,” Alma reassures you from her spot in front of the bookshelves, kind gaze taking in your solemn expression.

You look up at her, grace her with a small smile and a nod in understanding. “Right, soon.”

“Now,” she says, determined to distract you from your anxiety. “I do think it’s about time to break fast.”

“Oh, I’m alright,” you start. “I’m not that hungry—”

Your stomach grumbles in discontent, the sound bouncing off the stone walls of your chambers.

Alma raises her eyebrows, as if to say What were you saying?

“Fine,” you sigh. “But something small, please. I don’t have much of an appetite, truly.”

“I’ll ask the cook for a warm meal,” Alma counters. “A large, warm meal.”

“Alma—” your groan is cut off by another, stronger growl, though this time not accompanied by the familiar vibrations of hunger in your stomach. Alma lets out a laugh at the noise.

“My!” she exclaims, hands on her hips as she looks at you. “Maybe some pastries as well, then? I’ll have Blythe fetch some from the bakery.”

“That wasn’t me,” you whisper, brows furrowing. Alma’s amused expression morphs into one of confusion, likely mirroring your own.

“What—”

A roar, loud as a crack of thunder and close enough that you feel it shake your bones, rattles the chamber. Dust falls from the ceiling, and your frail trembling fingers clutch at the sheets either side of you.

“Seven Hells!” Alma yelps. She drops the rag in her hand and strides to your bed. She sits down beside you and takes your hand. “What in the gods’ name was that?”

You don’t answer her, though an inkling feeling develops in your mind as you painfully whip your head to peer out the window. The quaking had caused the pane to open even more ajar, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight you see.

The High Tower remains grand in the distance, though its domineering presence is now diminished by the shade of a winged shadow, which grows and grows until the being attached to it comes into view. It circles the tower twice around before it flies to land on an empty hill, stretching its wings and letting out another quaking roar.

Alma lets out a shaky breath beside you. “Is that…”

You nod, silently, to answer her trailed off question. The crick in your neck reappears, though you pay it no mind.

“Vhagar.”

☆ translations: lēkia= brother, mandia = sister

☆ this is a REUPLOAD bcs i didn't like the ending of the first version. also i chose the most hectic time of my life to start writing a multi-chapter fic so only the gods know when i'll be able to update this lol.

is this bad, is this good? let me know what you think!

[lady-phasma]

18+ MDNI

Lykirī - Aemond x Helaena (after Storm's End)

Aemond x fem!reader

Enough

Never thought of a name for this filth

Keeping Aemond Warm

Dom!Aemond

Without Permission - Part 1 * Part 2

Need - Daemon x fem!reader x Aemond

Sweet emo!Aemond drabbles - x fem!reader

Literally the first drabble I wrote for HotD - x fem!reader

Ticklish Aemond fluff - x fem!reader

Only one bed - Aemond x ofc

Perfect fit (prompt request) - Aemond x Helaena

Aemond x gn!reader

After the storm

Blessed Silence * The Eve of Battle * A Kindness * Father's Festival

Headcanon:

Aemond's appeal * My soapbox about his brothel experience

Silly chin ask * Silly sexuality ask * He prays with his mom

Silly ask about his down-there hair * Aemond's High Valyrian tag

Series:

Philosopher Prince - Aemond x Targaryen!ofc (unfinished)

Chapter 1 ✶︎ Chapter 2 ✶︎ Chapter 3

Steadfast - Aemond x Helaena (complete)

Part 1 ✶︎ Part 2 ✶︎ Part 3

Main masterlist

[flowerpotmage]

I think these about sum up my thoughts

In the Eye of the Beholder - Aemond Targaryen

Compared to his elder brother, who abused the offerings on the Street of Silk, Aemond’s tastes have always been…tame. 

“Undress me.”

Wordlessly, you obeyed the Prince’s otherwise unprincely order, just as you had done the last time he patronized your establish, and just as you had done the time before that too. As you moved about the Aemond Targaryen, dragging your fingertips across his leather-clad shoulders, you tried to recall the first time he came to you. How many moonshines had passed since? How many royal marriages?

However long ago, you had since learned about his back.

Learned that, if you took your time undressing him and traced the slope of his form, starting from behind him, at the nape of his neck, and working around to the front of his chest, you could melt the dragon that stood before you. What a sight to see that was. Aemond would tremble, ever so slightly, but quickly still himself in a poor attempt at suppressing the shuddering. His eye would betray him though, as it fluttered close to savor that skin-racing, body-tingling pleasure. No longer could he hide from you. You saw him, and this time was no different. Under your fingers, Aemond’s chin tipped up and he struggled to keep his eye open as your touch stole away his last few shreds of cold stoicism. You reveled in his reaction, but your victory was short-lasting. When your hands found the first clasp of his tunic, Aemond returned to himself with a huff. At the sound, you met his gaze and saw his eye like an arrow aimed at you, his lips pursed into a thin smirk that broke only when he spoke.

“You do so enjoy taking your sweet time.”

“As do you, dare I say,” you countered, as you undid the latch nearest Aemond’s neck. “Though these sneaking, late hours of night do suit the second son, do they not?”

Your teasing question fell from your lips as you peeled the leather collar back, revealing the milky skin beneath. Aemond tensed beneath your fingers when they brushed idly against the column of his throat and you could not help but smile, all too pleased with yourself. The Prince, while also pleased, sharpened his gaze on you.

��I could have your tongue for addressing me in such a manner.”

“Then take it,” you challenged, undoing the second clasp. “You say you could take whatever you like and yet you take so little when with me.”

As you waited for Aemond to meet your challenge, your hands undid the last latch, the one above his trousers. Before you could progress to his belts, Aemond closed his hands around yours. His rough palms swallowed your softer touch with a warmth that shocked you still. “I want for little when with you,” he murmured, his fingers sliding along yours until they were interlaced. “I have told you as much.”

He had, in so many words, told you as much in visits past. More entitled and harsher in tone, but the same words. Though, this time, with this softness, you could not help but feel as if he meant something more by them. Yet, just as Aemond tried to, you attempted to still the pleased shudder that threatened to roll over your shoulders. 

“You have, but is it treason to have cajoled the Prince into saying it again?”

Aemond’s stone-serious expression morphed in the flickering warmth of candlelight. It was as if the shadows shaped the smile that spread along his lips, as if the sneaking, late hours of the night made this second son just for you. “Tis treason, indeed. I do not like to be tricked.” With his answer, Aemond pulled you closer by your joined hands. Your chest met his and you could feel the heat of his pale skin bleeding through your garments. Then, as Aemond fed his want for little, he brushed his nose against yours, making you shudder. No longer was this time like the first. Nor the second, nor the third; not even the last. This time was different. Aemond was different.

Through your trembling, you managed, “so you’ll lose me to the dungeons then?”

“Never,” his reply left breath tickling your skin, “I would keep you all to myself.”

“You keep me already, Aemond.”

At the sound of his name falling from your lips, the Prince’s face pressed to yours as a cat might careen into its owner’s hand to entreat more petting. Spurred on by the heat from his skin that set you ablaze, you answered his urging. You untangled your hand from his and, with fingers free, forced his tunic off in its entirety. Aemond stood before you, bare-chested and flushed. Desperate as the pink that rose across his skin, he leaned back in to close the new gap between your bodies.

The Aemond you met however many moonshines ago would have never kissed you, would have never touched you so. 

His lips found yours in a gnashing rush that had you dropping the tunic to the floor. Your hands reached up to cup Aemond’s face, to hold his jaw in a manner that would slow his wild necking. Ever the learner, he took the hint in your hands and slackened, his lips moving more deliberately against yours. His own hands found purchase on your waist and tugged you impossibly close.

When you parted for air, you took your chance and kissed his neck. Aemond gasped softly at the sensation of your lips on his skin and turned from you. You nearly chased after him, but Aemond’s voice brought through the haze of want that clouded your mind. “No, no further. I-” “You do not need to say anymore.” As you spoke, you reached a hand up to turn his face towards you. You saw, then, a young boy in the Prince’s stead. “I am not Aegon.” “You are not, my Prince.”

“My name.” His words hung between you, distracting you from how your reflection shone in the pupil of his eye. “Say my name.”

“Aemond,” you said, your tongue loving each syllable in the way other patrons would like their bodies to be. Not Aemond. Since that first time, moonshines ago, he was different. How privileged you were, to see that. “We need not do anything more than what we normally do. I forgot myself.”

“And I, me,” Aemond replied after a long breath. He held your gaze before he tipped his head to the side. “Shall we, then?”

Wordlessly, you intertwined your fingers with Aemond’s once more and led him over to the wide bed. Similar beds sat in every room in this establishment, in every establishment on the Street of Silk. Yet, like you and Aemond, this bed was different. 

It saw only your body and Aemond’s laid out, limbs entangled but unmoving. The Prince’s head rested on your chest, his arms wrapped about you, holding your frame against his. Like bricks of the Red Keep, you fit together, plush sheets filling in any silvers of space between you. This was all he ever asked for, all he ever wanted, as little as it was. Only this time, it felt like more.

“You did not finish undressing me,” Aemond said suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen over you both like a blanket. You turned slightly in his arms, looking down at him, but before you could ask what he meant, he reached one of his hands up towards his face. Aemond’s slender fingers tapped against the leather strap of his eye patch.

“Are you…” you trailed off as Aemond’s hand grasped at yours, leading it to the very spot he tapped. You let your fingers close around the leather, gently slipping it off his face. Before you dared to look at his face, you set the eyepatch in Aemond’s hand.

“You may look,” he said, evidently sensing your tensed muscles and not-so-wandering eyes. 

You did look, and you saw him as you always had: whole.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hi! I would love to request something for Aemond x fem or gn reader. I was thinking reader saying prompt. 15 from your general list “I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are. Although you look pretty great too."

Maybe one day he wakes up with bad pain in the eye and he doesn’t feel like calling the maester so they help him, they remove his eyepatch and apply his ointment for him. And he feels extremely insecure because it’s the first they saw him without the eyepatch but they reassure him. I need that man to cry in my arms as I tell him he’s beautiful (I know it may sound ooc but he’s my babygirl)

15. ''I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are. Although you look pretty great too.''

The gif from the trailer fits perfectly this request

Warnings: mention of past injuries (eye)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You returned to your chambers after spending the morning embroidering with Helaena to find Aemond still in bed. A frown drew between your eyebrows. At this hour, he was either training with Ser Criston or attending the small council meeting.

‘’Aemond?’’ Your soft voice cut through the silence of the room, waking your husband’s attention.

He shifted under the covers, his single eye fluttering open. ‘’Could you tell Cole I will not be training with him today?’’

You walked over to the bed, taking a closer look at him. ‘’Are you well?’’ You touched his forehead with the back of your hand, checking for a fever.

‘’It’s just…my eye. It gets irritated sometimes.’’ Aemond avoided your gaze, not wanting to see the familiar look of pity that he had grown all too used to seeing in the eyes of others. ‘’Would you want me to fetch the maester? He should have something to sooth your pain,’’ you offered, concern etched on your face.

‘’No need for the maester.’’ He gently caught your hand in his own, stopping you from rising. ‘’I already have a salve Maester Orwyle gave to me. It’s on the table, over there.’’

Aemond let go of your hand, allowing you to stand and retrieve the salve for his eye. You returned to the bed. ‘’I’ll do it for you.’’

You had offered your help out of pure kindness, but Aemond did not want it.

‘’No! I do not wish that.’’ His voice was firm, causing your hands to crisp around the jar. ‘’You won’t like what you see under,’’ he added with a gentler tone.

He knew what lay beneath the eyepatch — the grotesque, scarred skin that he had lived with for years now. It was a sight he preferred to keep hidden from everyone, even you. Especially you. Since you’ve known each other, you’ve only seen his good looks, and Aemond wanted to keep it that way.

Aemond let out a soft hiss of pain as he sat up, his body tense with discomfort. It had not been this bad in a long time.

Seeing him in pain made your heart ache, but you tried to hide it.

You sat down close to him and guided him back against the pillows. He clenched his jaw, trying to bear the pain.

‘’Let me,’’ you insisted, only wanting to help him, to relieve his pain.

His good eye was fixed on yours with a mixture of resignation and reluctance. He knew there was no arguing with you when you were like this.

With a resigned sigh, he slowly removed the eyepatch, revealing the scarred skin beneath. The sight was a stark contrast to his usual handsome features, with its puckered and uneven texture. He averted his gaze, unable to look at you directly.

Aemond waited for your response, his body tense, and braced for your reaction. He expected disgust, pity, perhaps even revulsion. After all, his scarred eye had left other people speechless in the past. He glanced up at you under his lashes, searching your face for any hint of how you were feeling.

You remained silent as you applied the salve on the reddish-pink skin with the more careful and gentle touch. Causing him more pain was the last thing you wanted.

Aemond couldn't help but watch you intently, studying the focused expression on your face. Your eyes were fixed on his scar, but there was no repugnance in your gaze, just a mixture of concern and tenderness.

Once you were finished, you put the lid back on the jar and cupped your husband’s face with one hand. ‘’Aemond,’’ you began, looking at him with the most loving eyes. ‘’I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are.’’ You glanced down at his naked chest, seeing the softly defined muscles he acquired from training, and back to his face. ‘’Although you look pretty great too.’’

Aemond's heart squeezed at your words and the tenderness in your gaze. He had expected a lot of things from you, but not this. Not such unconditional acceptance and love.

"You're the only person who's ever looked at me like this," he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion.

‘’Come here.’’ You shifted back on the bed and guided him to your lap.

Aemond didn’t protest, curling up to you, seeking comfort and closeness. You began to stroke his hair gently, running your fingers through the soft silver strands. The sensation was soothing and intimate, making him feel safe and entirely loved for the first time.

—

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[lady-ashfade]

hello!

For the bakery event, please, I’d like to Vanilla + Rolls with Rhaenyra Targaryen :)

Her Protector

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Rhaenyra Targaryen x Warrior!Targ!Gn!Reader

Bakery Event is closed.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Strawberry Rolls: Fluff Headcanons

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: targ!cest, her and daemon aren’t married because reader snuck into her heart, the night aemond losses a eye, even if the reader is a woman- they still have kids together because I say so, I had no clue want to do so I ran with a idea.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚ 🥞 ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

So imagine being close with the family and the only distant blood who still has features and hair of a true targaryen.

And not only did you look like a targaryen, you are the only far blooded person who seemed to hatch a egg when it was gifted. And, possess sword skills unlike most.

The moment Rheanyra feel for you was the day of Laena’s funeral and Aemond had lost a eye.

You never picked sides but you always stood closer to rhaenrya and her children, and Viserys.

The moment she entered the room and saw her sons bloodied, but not alone but being comforted and protected by you, she was filled with a bit of warmth. The boys cling to your side, as you stood tall with your armor still on and a sword at your hip with stayed eyes on Alicent.

Once she was in sight her sons ran to her, you let them but kept close to her- When you both shared a look she was smitten at how you looked loyal and ready to defend her and her family.

“The greens have gained vhagar,” you stood beside her while watching the green dragon fly over, and the ships of the family sailing away, “Alicent won’t forgive the loss of her sons eye, I fear your throne might be in more threat then ever.”

You began the conversation at hand, and you always knew Alicent was coming for her. She knew it to. Daemon had told her of a plan, she had also talked it through with her husband..

“Be by my side, I need you more then ever. Forgive me for us never being close, but I have come to see there is no one willing to be by my side more then you.”

“If you’ll have me, Your Grace.”

The plan of faking Laenors death was successful, and you two wed the night of in traditional Targaryen way.

Years spent by her side, sending letters and visiting houses all around the realm to sweeten them up if a war breaks out.

And in those years, you and Rhaenyra had three children of your own. Two little boys, and a daughter. She was also glad that her three sons before were treated as your own, and never picking favorites.

Jaces was taught by you in every way, how to charm your way into things, how to handle himself in battle. (And serve face)

Luke took after his mother and was trained to be the next lord of the tides, but you taught him the blade as well. And how to pull amazing pranks- and he has your humor at times.

Joffrey loves you and wishes to be exactly like you one day. He follows your around and copy’s your movements and wishes to have a dragon like yours one day.

When Alicent tries to take the throne you already had spies and a plan ready, and houses that already favored you. So the war never truly began.

Rhaenyra was made to be queen, and you as her Royal Consort.

[yandere-romanticaa]

𝐚𝐧𝐚'𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬!🍰

Just a little collection of ideas that I decided to write down as I sit alone in a cafe, enjoying a slice of delicious cheesecake. These probably won't go anywhere but I still had the desire to share them.

various! yandere x gn! reader.

YANDERE KINICH ! - Genshin Impact.

You've been in a relationship with Kinich for a few months now. By all accounts, he is the sweetest boyfriend - kind, caring, attentive and not to mention sweet.

It doesn't matter that his grip is a little bit too tight when he hugs you, it doesn't matter that you hardly talk to anyone other than him anymore... Kinich can take care of you just fine.

He can prove it.

MORE YANDERE KINICH ! - nsfw ~

After months and months of being struck by Cupid's arrow, Kinich finally decides to make a move and claim you as his own in more ways than one.

Taking a walk with him alone on a moonless night should have been relaxing but never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined that Kinich would pin you to the ground, his chest heaving with anxiety and want as he swallows your wailing and crying with a barrage of kisses.

To be frank, he has no idea what he is doing. But he decides to be selfish and listen to his more carnal instincts for once. Besides, how can he stop now right where he has you? All cute and helpless beneath him, begging him for mercy...

AEMOND TARGARYEN ! - House of the Dragon.

Your father is a merchant who recently struck gold and has become one of the most respected men in the capital. The royal family is having a gathering in the Red Keep and your family received an invitation.

When the moon is high, the candles shine bright and the music reaches a crescendo, will you take Prince Aemond's hand to dance?

Stepping right into the jaw of a man eating dragon was never a part of your plan but Aemond doesn't mind.

He was always fond of a little hunt.

GENERAL FEIXIAO ! - Honkai Star Rail.

Being part Borisin, Feixiao has a hard time controlling her urges when it comes to a lot of things. But whenever she catches a glimpse of you, she comes running faster than the wind. She's such a powerful and imposing woman, however could you turn her company away...?

Entertaining as she may be, the dangerous red glimmer in her eye sends a shiver down your spine. Whenever you seem to step out of line, General Feixiao is swift with dealing with anything that troubles her.

Oh the horror when she snaps one evening... She holds you tight in her arms, sharp fangs sinking deeper and deeper into your neck as she swears to keep you by her side forever...

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Aemond X Wife!Reader: Words of comfort

Warning: fluff, Aemond being a good husband, talk of pregnancy, fear of faliure, reader is a bit self consious, no use of y/n, gn reader

Word count: 970

You stared into the mirror, face twisted into a concentrated expression as you tried, for the third time, to finish your hairstyle. Normally a maid would help you do your hair but you’d sent her to help Heleana with her children. There never seemed to be enough people to help the twins when they got fussy. Heleana did her best of course but sometimes it was to much for the young mother to handle. 

You groaned in frustration, watching as your hair began to unravel on its own. Aemond watched you twist your arms behind your back in an attempt to grab a chunk of hair that was missing from your braid. A small smile tugged at his lips. You were quite amusing like this. He could have watched you in silence for the rest of the day but your eyes caught him in the reflection causing you to turn to face him.

“Everything alright?”

“Everything is fine. I merely wanted to sit with you.”

“Well then, make yourself comfortable.”

Aemond began to walk around the room. You turned back to the mirror, focusing on the task at hand once more. Aemond stared out the window of your room, his eyes moving over the world outside with little interest. He was far more interested in the small rage filled noises you kept letting out. 

“Oh I give up.”

You groaned, placing your hairbrush on the table in aggravation. You placed your head in your hands, sighing in defeat. Aemond made his way towards you, his hands moving to rest on your shoulders. He moved his palms against your body in a comforting manner. You let out a small sound, raising your head so you could see him. It was silly that something so simple had managed to get tears from your eyes but Aemond knew you weren’t crying about your hair. There was something more to it, and he would find out what.

“Want me to help?”

“I’m sure you have other matters to attend to. More important matters.”

“No matter is more important than the joy of my wife.”

You smiled at him, placing your hand on top of his. Aemond moved to sit behind you, fingers moving against your hair. You watched him unbraid your hair before grabbing the hairbrush of the table. He brushed your hair thoroughly, making sure there were knots. Once he was satisfied he placed the hairbrush down and began to braid your hair. His slim fingers moved over your locks gently. He looked so focused that you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him.

“How many do you want?”

“Two. And then you tie them together.”

Aemond gave you a hum moving to do the hairstyle you had requested. He’d seen you in it loads of times, it was your go to hairdo. It took him a while to get it just right, the amount of hair you had was quite large. Once he was done he rested his hand on your shoulders, observing as you took in his work. You turned your head so you could look at him straight on.

“It’s perfect. Thank you husband.”

You placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Want to braid mine?”

“Yes.”

Aemond switched positions with you, allowing you to become face to face with his hair. You knew he would remove the small braids you filled his hair with after he left the room but you didn’t mind. Messing with his hair calmed you down and Aemond knew that better then anyone.

“Do you want to tell me what's wrong?”

You let out a sigh moving to start another small braid. Aemond waited for you to start talking, his eye watching your lips quiver for a moment. When you finally started to speak he could tell you were trying very hard to hold back tears.

“I can’t do anything right. I can’t thread my corsets alone. I can’t braid my hair. The last time i tried to embroider my dress I stained it with red because I kept pricking my finger with the needle.”

These were all things that bothered you but Aemond knew there was something else. Something bigger. You bit into your lip, sighing once more before closing your eyes. 

“I can’t get pregnant.” 

There it was. The real root of the problem.

“How am i supposed to be a good wife to you if i can’t even perform my duties correctly.”

Aemond turned around, his hair slipping from your fingers as he did so. He placed a palm on your cheek. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t undermine yourself.”

“Aemond its my one-”

“I do not care. You are my wife and I love you. It doesn't matter if you can’t get pregnant right now, we have time.”

“And if I do get pregnant, what if…what if I'm not a good mother?”

“That isn’t possible. I’ve seen you with Heleana's kids. They adore you. There isn't a bad bone inside your body. You will make a fine mother. Just as you make a fine wife.”

Aemond’s thumb moved to wipe away your tears before placing a small kiss to your temple. You moved forward, allowing Aemond to tug you into his embrace. His hands moved over your hair, tracing over the braids he’d made moments ago.

“And another thing. I quite enjoy the process of making a baby.”

“Aemond!”

You gave him a playful slap to the arm, feeling his chest move as he laughed. You couldn’t help but laugh as well, Aemond had a way of always seeing the very best in you. You loved him for it. You raised your head from his chest, placing a kiss to his lips. He rested his head against your forehead, closing his eyes.

“I love you Aemond.”

“I love you more.”