"Once Upon A Dream" - Aemond Targaryen X Tyrell!Reader

"Once Upon A Dream" - Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader

a/n: a request from @l1-l4 for a persephone/hades auish with aemond and a tyrell reader! hope you enjoy it, bb ❤️

Summary: You may not know Aemond, but he certainly knows you.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, p in v sex, fingering, oral sex f receiving, loss of virginity, pregnancy

Word Count: 3,015 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Ever since Aemond was a young boy, he dreamed of you. He never told anyone, for fear of being mocked as Helaena was for her dreams, but every night, since he can remember, he’s dreamed of you. He’s dreamed of your eyes that sparkle as you gaze at him, of your hair swaying as you walk, always just out of his reach. He follows you, every night, into a garden, you turning back and smiling at him ever so sweetly. When he finally reaches you, he takes you in his arms, and then? He wakes up.

All his life, he’s yearned for the touch of someone he’s never met, craved the kiss of someone only seen in his dreams. But he can’t help but feel he knows you somehow. He knows your laugh, your smile, he knows your eyes.

When he wakes every morning, so cruelly ripped away from you, he closes his eye, begging the Mother to show her mercy and grant him a moment longer with you. Begging the Maiden to lead him to you once again. Every spare moment, he thinks of you, your beautiful eyes that haunt him, every morning and every night. Aemond long since resolved himself to the fact that he’d likely never meet you, that you probably weren’t even real, and so, he merely prayed to the Seven to let him keep seeing you in his dreams. Since you’d never be his in life, dreams were all he had.

And so, when Aemond came to Harrenhal to dispatch the last of the Strongs, you were the last thing he expected to find. He flies high above the ill-omened castle, making sure no Strongs are trying to escape, nor any of their retainers. His sharp blue eye scans the area, seeing no one outside of the castle or in the immediate surrounding areas.

No one, that is, save for a young lady, asleep in the godswood. Aemond’s curiosity is piqued and he lands Vhagar just outside the castle walls, making straight for the godswood. His singular intent is to find the young woman he saw, who so captured his attention. It’s as though he can think of nothing else, striding through the castle, ignoring his men questioning what they are to do next. Aemond finds his way to the heart tree and sees you, laying on a bench, breathing softly, not a care in the world, a book in your hand that dangles off the side of the bench.

You are beautiful, Aemond thinks to himself, the most beautiful woman he’s seen in his entire life. He approaches you slowly, careful not to wake you from your peaceful slumber. You look like an angel, your lips parted as your chest rises and falls with each breath, your eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly as you sleep, blissfully unaware of his presence. He kneels down beside you, completely enchanted by your visage. His hand brushes a lock of hair off your face, making sure not to wake you. In truth? He feels almost unworthy of gazing upon you.

He is a prince of the blood, the rider of the world’s largest dragon, but you? You are an angel, a goddess made flesh. Aemond rests a hand on your cheek, barely holding back a gasp as he feels your soft skin, warmed by the sun, against his hand. You let out a soft sigh and lean into his touch, your lips brushing against his palm, leaning into him like a flower leans toward the sun. Surely that must mean something? That even in your slumber you long for him? Aemond’s lips part in surprise as your eyes open, those impossibly long lashes of yours fluttering.

And when your eyes lock on his, he knows.

It’s you. He’d know those eyes anywhere. The girl from his dreams.

His destiny.

You pull back from him, startled, “Who are you?”

Gods, even your voice is beautiful, Aemond thinks, watching as you glance around at your surroundings, your book now laying on the garden floor, completely forgotten as you stare at the imposing prince. It sounds exactly as it did in his dreams. You are the one he’s been dreaming of, of that he’s certain now.

“I am Prince Aemond Targaryen,” he states, taking your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “And I intend to marry you, my sweet flower.”

Your eyes go wide with surprise as you take your hand back from him, almost as though you’ve been burned, “Marry me? My prince, I don’t even know you-”

“But I know you,” he states simply, “I’ve known you since before I can remember, my lady. I’ve dreamed of you. In my dreams I’ve walked with you, talked with you thousands of times. Every night, you haunt me, my lady.”

You stand up and gather your skirts, walking away from him quickly. And he watches you go, just as he watches you slip away every night in his dreams. But this time, he won’t let you go. He stands to his feet and chases after you as you weave your way through the godswood, attempting to get away from him. But Aemond is faster than you, pulling you into his arms just as you’re about to leave the confines of Harrenhal.

“Why do you run from me, sweet flower?” Aemond asks softly, turning you toward him, his hands so large that when he cups your face in his hands, you can’t help but notice their size.

You avert your gaze, looking anywhere but into his eye, “You ought not to be so familiar with a maiden unchaperoned, my prince.”

“Unchaperoned?” Aemond arches a brow, smiling at you teasingly, “My lady, what is your name? Will you tell your humble servant this much?”

You pause, looking at him for a long moment before telling him your name, then, when he asks, your house, “House Tyrell, my prince. My father came here to discuss matters of the war with Lord Strong,” you look up at him before adding, “We are not sworn to the Blacks nor to your cause, your grace. House Tyrell remains neutral-”

“I know of House Tyrell’s stance,” Aemond says calmly, his gaze never moving from your face, “I care not about it. What I do care about is getting you to go back to King’s Landing with me.”

You knit your brows together in confusion, something that Aemond finds absolutely adorable, as you question, “Back to King’s Landing? I’m from the Reach, your grace, I do not understand-”

His thumb runs over your plush lips, causing you to refrain from speaking for a moment as Aemond states, his voice a low murmur, “If you come with me, my lady, your family will be allowed to remain neutral in this conflict. If not, then I’ll have to tell my brother the king that Lord Tyrell was seen conspiring with the Strongs.”

You look at him, surprised, before nodding, “Alright, my prince. I will go with you.”

Aemond demands you ride alongside him on Vhagar, his hands holding your waist firmly in place as you take to the skies. In truth, it’s an entirely thrilling experience, but you’re also terrified. You’re leaving behind everything you know and you’re in the hands of this man who you’ve never met, who claims that you’ve haunted him for as long as he can remember.

And yet, despite the circumstances of your first meeting, Prince Aemond treats you like a princess. He has the finest gowns sent to you, assigns no less than four handmaidens to tend to your needs at all times, ensures that you’re given free access to all the galleries and gardens of the Red Keep. Sometimes, the two of you even read together in the library, seated in comfortable silence, no noise but that of your breathing and the pages of your tomes turning.

Aemond seems grateful to simply bask in your presence, but is entirely delighted the first time you request him to take a walk with you in the godswood. It takes him by surprise, considering you’ve only graced him with polite indifference thus far, but now? You seem to seek him out as he seeks you out. You seem to long for his company as he longs for yours.

And then, one night, after dinner, as he escorts you to your chambers, you turn to him and kiss him. Your lips are soft against his, and it takes him by surprise, but he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, deepening the kiss, because this moment is everything he’s ever dreamed of. Your body pressed against his, your arms around his neck, his hands on your waist and yours in his hair.

“My prince,” you murmur as he continues kissing you, his hands roaming your body, touching you as if it’s what he was always meant to do, “We shouldn’t…”

“Then ask me to stop,” Aemond says quietly, gazing at you, “And I will.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you breathe against his lips, moaning when they capture yours again in a searing kiss.

You glance around before pulling Aemond into your guest chambers, his lips finding yours again immediately as you rid him of his coat, his tunic, his breeches, everything. He stands before you, entirely bare, save for his eyepatch. You move to take it off, but his hand catches you by the wrist.

“Don’t,” he says quietly, “You won’t look at me the same.”

Your voice is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard in his life as you speak, “With it or without it, I would be looking at the man I’ve come to love. The most beautiful man I’ve ever met.”

Aemond feels as though his heart has stopped in his chest at your words, the way you gaze up at him. He can hardly believe someone as beautiful as you, as pure and kind and good as you would love someone like him. He’d hoped for it, of course, but this is beyond anything he ever could have imagined. And so, he allows you to remove his eyepatch, placing it on your nightstand carefully. And when you turn back to face him, your love-filled gaze doesn’t change. You admire his sapphire, his scar.

“Beautiful,” you say softly, cut off by his lips once again crashing down on yours.

Aemond makes quick work of your dress, unlacing it and tossing it aside, taking your bare form in, his breath catching in his throat.

“A goddess made flesh indeed,” he murmurs to himself before gently pushing you back to lay back on the bed, crawling over you, “I love you. Allow me to show you how much.”

His face hovers over yours, his platinum hair forming a curtain around the two of you, making it appear as if you’re the only two people left on earth, as you whisper, “I’d love nothing more, my sweet prince.”

Aemond’s hands roam the expanse of your body, moving over your soft skin, feeling every inch of you until he reaches your lower stomach. He hesitates but moves his hand between your legs, his fingers brushing over your already wet center. You let out a gasp as he does, your hand moving to cover your mouth.

Aemond looks up at you pleadingly, “Don’t hide your voice from me, my flower. There’s no sound I love more on this earth.”

His words strike a chord within you as he eases one finger inside of you. It is a strange feeling, you think, but not at all unpleasant, in fact, quite pleasurable. Especially when he begins moving his finger in and out of you, making you buck your hips up against his hand. Aemond grins to himself, pleased that you’re enjoying his ministrations and begins moving even faster, adding a second finger to the mix. He watches as your face twists in pleasure as he moves against you, feeling you squeeze around him so tight that it’s almost difficult for him to continue moving his fingers.

“I need to get you ready for me, my sweet flower,” he coos, “Relax for me, my love.”

You nod, allowing your pleasure to overtake you, crying out Aemond’s name as you reach your peak against his fingers. He almost immediately replaces his fingers with his tongue, recalling what Aegon had told him so long ago about using one’s mouth on a woman. At first, he’s slowly, unsure, but with every moan he pulls from you, every whimper, he gains confidence, his tongue moving in and out of you deftly, bringing you closer and closer to another peak.

“Aemond,” you whimper, your hands moving toward his hair, running your fingers through his silken locks, “It feels so good…”

He smiles against you, working his tongue faster against your core, reveling in your taste, your essence, reveling in finally being with you this way. When his nose brushes against your pearl, he hears the stunted gasp you let out. He raises an eyebrow and repeats the motion, earning a mewl of his name, a more beautiful sound than he’s ever heard in his life. He soon realizes that paying attention to your pearl drives you absolutely mad, so he nuzzles against it as he continues moving his tongue against your folds, bringing you to your peak once more, your arousal coating his lips. When he pulls away from your cunny, you turn your face away, embarrassed by the evidence of your climax. But Aemond has none of that, gently turning your face back to him.

“My goddess,” he murmurs, “You taste divine. See for yourself.”

He kisses you gently, your tongues dancing against each other’s as Aemond’s hardened length brushes against your core. You gasp against him slightly, your hand moving down between your bodies, stroking him. Aemond grits his teeth, shaking his head, gently taking your hand in his.

“I want to spend myself inside you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrists, “If that is alright with you.”

“It is,” you whisper.

When Aemond pushes inside you, it isn’t so painful as the septas said it would be, rather you only suffer minor discomfort and a slight sting for a moment. Aemond waits for you to get used to the feeling, simply laying there above you, peppering kisses all over your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, and finally your lips. He shifts slightly, making you let out a low moan of pleasure. Aemond smiles at you, leaning down to lock his lips with yours, beginning to thrust against you.

“Aemond,” you mewl, wrapping your arms around him, “Oh my gods…”

“My flower,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin as he continues moving against you, filling you up perfectly with every snap of his hips.

Then, with one particularly deep thrust, you cry out as he brushes against the spongy spot deep inside of you that makes you see stars, “Yes, there, Aemond, please…”

He nods, moving against you just like that, over and over and over until you’re squeezing around him impossibly tight, crying out his name as you reach your peak once more, him following soon after, spilling himself deep inside of you. He stays like that for a moment before laying beside you, resting his head on your chest, your soft, warm body bringing him a type of comfort he’s never felt before.

“I love you,” he murmurs, kissing your chest, moving to take one of your pebbled peaks in his mouth, his tongue swirling around them, surprising you at how good it feels.

He makes love to you over and over that night, as though it’s your last night on earth.

A fortnight later, the two of you are wed in the sight of gods and men, and soon after that, you are with child. Aemond’s child. Ever the doting husband, the now Prince Regent stays by your side, a hand on the swell of your belly, always making sure you are protected and tended to. He hesitates when you mention visiting Highgarden to see your family, but ultimately relents, unable to ever say no to you.

Needless to say, your lady mother is horrified when she sees you, married to who she believes to be your captor, pregnant with his child. You assuage her concerns, stopping her from berating your dear husband anymore than she already has.

“He may seem scary at first,” you tell her, a hand resting on your stomach as you smile down at the babe growing in your belly, kicking and every bit the dragon its father is, “But he adores me, Mother. He treats me like a princess. A queen. And I love him.”

Your mother relents and kisses your forehead, though she does give Aemond a rather menacing glare when your back is turned.

When you are eight moons pregnant, not far from your due date, you find yourself back at Harrenhal. Where everything started for you and your beloved.

“If something should happen to me- if I should die this day,” Aemond rests a hand on your face, readying to face his uncle, “My sweet flower, I have my guards standing by to escort you straight to Highgarden. No harm shall come to you or to our child.”

You look at him and shake your head, tears pooling in your eyes, “Don’t do this, Aemond.”

Aemond presses a kiss to your forehead before kneeling down and pressing one to your swollen belly, “Goodbye, little dragon.”

Before Aemond leaves you tug his hand, pulling him into another kiss, passionate, desperate, your lips moving against each other’s with a fervor they haven’t before.

“If you don’t come back to me,” you say softly, “To us… I’ll find a way to bring you back to life and kill you myself, husband.”

Aemond lets out a low chuckle, letting go of you as he saddles Vhagar, taking to the skies. You watch him fly higher and higher until he disappears from view, praying for his safe return.

For your sweet prince.