#aemond Targaryen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hisfavegirl · 3 days ago

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The Twisted Truth - Aemond Targaryen x SisterWife!Reader x Aegon Targaryen.

Summary : story from aemond's side, when he could only stay silent without doing anything because he had destroyed you.

Aemond stood there, his gaze fixed on the door that had just closed with a final, resounding thud. His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths, but his heart was anything but calm. His jaw tensed, the muscles in his face twitching as his eye remained locked on the space where you had once stood.

The warmth of your presence had left with you, and now the cold, empty stillness of the room pressed down on him. The glow of the fire flickered weakly against the stone walls, casting long, shifting shadows that danced like ghosts. For a moment, he remained perfectly still, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

He should have called you back. He knew it. He could feel the weight of the words that had sat heavy on his tongue — words he’d never allowed himself to say. Stay. You’re the one I want. It’s always been you. But he’d said nothing. He had stood there, silent as the void, and watched you walk away.

His fingers uncurled slowly, and he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots with frustration. His breath came out as a sharp, quiet hiss. He hated this — hated himself for it. For all the control he prided himself on, for all the restraint he wielded like a weapon, he had never felt more powerless than in that moment.

His eye flickered toward the chair he’d been sitting in, the firelight catching the sapphire in his missing eye. The glow reflected back at him, cold and distant, like the man he saw every time he looked in the mirror. His gaze fell to the floor, the ghost of your footsteps still echoing in his mind.

You called for the part of me that reminds you of her.

Your words echoed louder than any battle cry, sharper than the edge of his sword. He could still see the way your eyes had burned with fury — not fear, never fear — and for a moment, he hated how much he admired that fire in you. You were the only one who had ever looked at him like that. No fear, no pity. Only anger and pain, as raw and real as the scar on his face.

He moved toward the chair, gripping the back of it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He leaned forward, his head bowing as his breaths came out in slow, controlled exhales. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to push it all down, to bury it the way he always had. Control. Discipline. Restraint. The words his mother had instilled in him from the time he was a boy.

But this time, it wasn’t so easy.

His fingers twitched, and he slammed his fist against the chair’s back with a crack loud enough to echo through the room. His breath came harder now, his chest heaving with every inhale. Why didn’t I stop her? The question burned through him, over and over. The answer was simple. Too simple.

Because you’re a coward.

He swallowed hard, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, his lips pressed into a grim line. His mind was a battlefield, warring between pride and longing. He had spent his whole life being second, being overlooked, fighting for recognition. And here you were — you, the one person who had always been there. You, who had loved him despite the monster the world saw.

And he had let you walk away. Again.

Minutes passed in silence, his breathing slowly evening out as the flames crackled behind him. But the cold remained. No fire could chase it away, not now.

Get up. Go after her. The thought clawed at him, loud, demanding. His feet shifted slightly, his body halfway prepared to move. But then his gaze dropped to the floor, and his hands relaxed at his sides. No. Stay. She will come back.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

This time, you might not.

Aemond strode through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, his steps purposeful but slow, as if weighed down by thoughts too heavy to carry. His face was a mask of calm, but behind that facade, a storm brewed. Each echoing step reminded him of what had just transpired with you — the look in your eyes, the defiance in your voice, and the ache that settled deep in his chest.

He hated it.

He hated how much he wanted you.

But he could never show you that. Not fully. He couldn’t bear to appear weak in front of you, not when he was supposed to be your protector, your husband, your equal. To love you so openly, so vulnerably, felt like surrender. And Aemond Targaryen did not surrender.

His feet led him to Helaena’s chambers. The guards stationed outside gave him a small nod before opening the door for him. He stepped inside, the warmth of the room washing over him like a blanket of familiarity. The soft hum of Helaena’s voice filled the air, humming a tune known only to her.

She sat by the window, her head tilted as she watched the world beyond. The light from the window haloed her silver hair, giving her an ethereal glow. Her hands toyed with the strands of thread from her embroidery, her fingers moving in a steady rhythm. Her gaze was distant, lost in a world far beyond the confines of the Keep.

Helaena turned her head at the sound of his footsteps, her lilac eyes blinking slowly, as if waking from a dream. A small smile tugged at her lips, soft and genuine. “Brother,” she greeted, her voice as gentle as the flutter of moth wings.

Aemond’s tense shoulders eased just slightly. He didn’t return the smile, but his gaze softened. He approached her slowly, standing just behind her chair, watching her in silence for a moment.

“You should close the window,” he muttered, his voice low, as if afraid to disturb the stillness of the room. “The cold air will make you ill.”

Helaena turned her gaze back to the window, her fingers playing with the fabric of her dress. “The cold doesn’t bother me,” she replied dreamily, her eyes fixed on something far beyond the horizon. “It reminds me that I’m still here.”

Aemond frowned, but he said nothing. Instead, he stepped forward and gently pushed the window shut, blocking out the cool night breeze. He lingered by the window for a moment, staring at the glass as if searching for something beyond it. Your face lingered in his mind.

He turned back toward Helaena, who was now gazing up at him with curious eyes. She tilted her head, studying him like one might study a strange creature they’d never seen before. “You look troubled,” she said simply. Her tone wasn’t one of pity or concern — it was a statement, plain and certain, like she already knew the answer.

“I’m not,” he replied curtly, but his gaze shifted away from hers.

Helaena’s smile widened, not with joy, but with understanding. She knew him too well. “Liar,” she said softly, looking back down at her embroidery. Her fingers moved steadily, threading the needle in and out of the fabric with delicate precision. “You only come here when you’re troubled, Aemond.”

He clenched his jaw and approached her again, this time sitting in the chair across from her. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together as he stared at the ground. The warmth of the fire nearby cast long shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheekbones and jaw.

For a long moment, they sat in silence, the only sound being the soft crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of Helaena’s needlework.

“You and she look the same,” he muttered suddenly, his voice low but steady. His eye didn’t meet hers — it stayed fixed on the floor, as if the words were too fragile to be spoken directly. “Sometimes, I forget.”

Helaena’s hands stilled, her gaze flickering back to him. She didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just watched him.

His fingers flexed as he leaned further forward, his head hanging low. “But you are not her,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His eye flickered up to meet hers, and in that moment, there was no wall between them, no mask of pride or strength. He was just a man — a brother — looking for solace.

“No,” Helaena agreed, her voice quiet but firm. “I am not.”

Silence stretched between them again, but it was not uncomfortable. It was the silence of two people who understood each other without the need for words. She returned to her embroidery, and he sat back in his chair, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling.

“She hates me,” he muttered after a while, his tone bitter and filled with something closer to regret than anger.

Helaena didn’t answer at first. Her hands paused for only a moment before she continued sewing. “She doesn’t hate you,” she said finally, her eyes never leaving her work. “She hates that you hide from her.”

Aemond closed his eye, exhaling slowly through his nose. Of course, Helaena would see through him. She always did.

“Do you hate me too?” he asked, his voice quieter now, like a boy afraid of the answer.

Helaena glanced up at him, her lilac eyes soft, patient, and kind. “No,” she said simply, with the certainty of someone who had never hated anything in her life. Her gaze softened further, a smile tugging at her lips. “But I pity you.”

He flinched, his hands curling into fists, but he didn’t argue with her. Because deep down, he knew she was right.

She tilted her head toward him, a curious smile on her face, as if she could see something he couldn’t. Her fingers paused their sewing once more. “You should tell her, you know,” she said, her gaze locked onto his face. “She’ll forgive you.”

His eye snapped to hers, hard and sharp like a blade unsheathed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Helaena asked, tilting her head like she was watching an insect crawl along her windowpane. “Love is simple, Aemond. You make it difficult.”

He said nothing, just clenched his fists tighter, his nails digging into his palms. The warmth of the fire did nothing to chase away the cold in his chest.

Helaena sighed softly, as though she had seen too much of the world already. She returned to her embroidery, the soft snip snip of her needle filling the air. “You can’t love me the way you love her, brother,” she said quietly, not looking at him. Her voice was distant, like she was speaking to herself more than to him. “No matter how much you try.”

His throat tightened, but he didn’t answer.

Because it was true.

He didn’t love Helaena. He never had. He loved you. But it was easier to sit here, in the quiet glow of Helaena’s room, with her gentle smiles and soft words. She didn’t ask him for things he couldn’t give. She didn’t challenge him or look at him like he was a man made of stone.

With you, it was different. You saw him for who he was — sharp edges, broken pieces, and all. And you loved him anyway. But he didn’t know how to love you in return without feeling like he was giving you too much of himself. He didn’t know how to be soft with you, how to be vulnerable without feeling like he was crumbling from the inside out.

So he came here. To Helaena. Because her softness was safe.

But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Aemond sat there for a long time, watching Helaena sew. His gaze grew distant, his mind elsewhere. But no matter how far his thoughts wandered, they always circled back to one thing.

You.

He could see your face so clearly in his mind — your eyes filled with fire, your voice sharp with defiance, your hands warm against his. His heart ached with the weight of it. The weight of wanting you.

He knew where he should be.

But still, he stayed.

Aemond’s laughter echoed softly in Helaena’s chambers, a sound so rare that even she tilted her head in surprise, gazing at him with a curious smile. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself to laugh so freely, so unguardedly. His usually tense shoulders had relaxed, his lips tugged upward in a way that softened the sharp edges of his face.

But something shifted.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a strange feeling of being watched creeping over him. His gaze instinctively flickered to the doorway.

And there you were.

Standing in the open doorway, your face half-lit by the glow of the fire. Your eyes, usually so full of resolve and fire, were red-rimmed with unshed tears. You looked at him as if something inside you had broken. Aemond’s breath caught in his throat, his eye widening as realization washed over him like a cold wave.

No. Not like this.

Before he could rise, before he could say your name, you spun on your heels and ran.

“Wait—” he rasped, his voice hoarse and desperate, but the words caught in his throat. His body tensed, muscles tight as if ready to chase after you, but his feet stayed rooted in place.

He didn’t move.

He couldn’t move.

His gaze lingered on the now-empty doorway, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, the echoes of it louder than the crackling fire. Why didn’t I move? The voice in his head was cruel, sharp, and unrelenting. Why didn’t I run after her?

His hands curled into fists on his knees, his nails digging into his palms until he felt the sting of pain. Coward, he thought bitterly. You’re a coward, Aemond.

“You should go after her,” Helaena’s gentle voice broke the silence, her tone as soft as ever but firm with quiet understanding. She didn’t look at him. Her eyes remained focused on her embroidery, her fingers threading the needle with the same delicate precision she always had. “Before she decides you’re not worth chasing anymore.”

His jaw tightened, his teeth clenching as he forced himself to look away from the door. It’s not that simple, Helaena. It never had been.

But deep down, he knew she was right.

He had watched you walk away from him too many times before. But this time felt different. This time, he’d seen the hurt in your eyes, the betrayal, the quiet resignation of someone who was slowly letting go.

And it terrified him.

“Brother,” Helaena said softly, her gaze finally lifting from her embroidery. Her lilac eyes met his with quiet clarity, a knowing look that sent a sharp pang through his chest. “If you let her go now, she won’t come back.”

Her words struck him harder than any blade ever could. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor with a harsh scrrrrk. His eye was wild now, like a cornered beast. He glanced back at the door, his breathing unsteady.

He wanted to chase you. He needed to chase you.

But the fear was there too — the fear that, this time, you wouldn’t stop running.

Aemond walked slowly through the darkened corridors of the Red Keep, the cold stone beneath his feet biting through his boots. The torches lining the walls flickered, casting long, shifting shadows that seemed to follow him with every step. His breath was shallow, his mind a storm of confusion and doubt.

I can’t lose her. I won’t lose her, he repeated to himself like a mantra. His jaw was clenched tight, his single eye flickering with something between desperation and resolve. But no matter how many times he repeated those words, the path forward remained unclear.

He found himself in front of Helaena’s chambers before he even realized it. His gaze lingered on the door, his heart pounding harder than it should. He wasn’t sure what he was searching for — clarity, comfort, or perhaps just a moment of peace from the chaos in his heart.

He pushed the door open without knocking. The soft creak of the hinges echoed in the quiet room. Moonlight spilled through the tall window, bathing everything in a silver glow. The air smelled faintly of lavender, the familiar scent easing his nerves just a little.

Helaena sat on the edge of her bed, her head bowed as she hummed softly to herself. Her fingers gently traced patterns on the fabric of her dress, lost in her own little world. But when she felt his presence, she lifted her head, her soft eyes meeting his.

“Aemond,” she said gently, tilting her head in that familiar, dreamlike way. “What troubles you, brother?”

He didn’t answer at first. His gaze remained fixed on her, but something was wrong. His eye lingered on her face for too long. The curve of her lips, the softness of her features, the familiar silver hair that framed her face. His breath caught in his throat.

She looks like you.

His heart twisted in his chest. For a moment, everything blurred. His tired mind, strained from sleepless nights and unspoken emotions, began to play tricks on him. He blinked, and for a brief, aching second, it wasn’t Helaena he saw. It was you.

His breath grew shallow. The confusion took root in his mind like a poison. His exhaustion whispered lies to him, clouding his vision. His heart ached, his chest tight with longing. He took a step forward, eyes searching her face as if she were a mirage.

“You’re here,” he murmured, his voice low and broken. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek. The warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips sent a jolt through him. His hand lingered, cupping her face as his thumb gently traced her cheekbone.

Helaena blinked, confusion flickering in her eyes. “Aemond, what—”

“Don’t speak,” he said softly, his gaze full of something raw and desperate. His breathing was uneven, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as they tangled in her hair. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

He leaned in, his forehead pressing gently against hers. His eyes squeezed shut, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions — love, regret, anger, and longing all crashing together at once.

His lips found hers.

It was soft at first, hesitant, like a man who feared he might break the very thing he loved. But then his grip on her tightened, and the kiss deepened, more frantic, more desperate. His mind screamed at him, She’s here. She’s finally here.

Helaena froze beneath him. Her eyes widened in shock, her hands pressing against his chest as if to push him away. But Aemond didn’t stop. He was lost in the illusion his mind had created — a world where you were his, where you loved him without doubt, without hesitation.

“Stay with me,” he whispered between kisses, his voice hoarse with emotion. His hands roamed her back, pulling her closer, seeking warmth, seeking solace. “Please… don’t leave me again.”

But reality snapped back into place like a blade driven into his heart.

“Aemond,” Helaena gasped, her voice sharp this time, her hands pushing harder against his chest. “Stop. It’s me. It’s Helaena.”

Her words struck him like thunder.

He froze.

His breath hitched, his lips hovering an inch from hers. His eye snapped open, and for the first time, he truly saw her. Not you. Her.

His heart stopped. His body went rigid, his hands still on her back, still holding her close. But it was not you in his arms. It was not you who he had kissed. His mind reeled, horror settling in his chest like a weight too heavy to bear.

He stumbled back as if burned, his eye wild with disbelief. His gaze darted from her face to his hands as though he were trying to rid himself of the feeling of her touch.

“Helaena…” he breathed, his voice hollow, broken. His back hit the wall, and he gripped his hair with both hands, tugging hard as if the pain might wake him from this nightmare.

Helaena stared at him, eyes filled with shock and sadness. Her fingers brushed her lips, her brows drawing together in a frown. “Aemond…” she said softly, her voice laced with confusion and pity.

“No,” he hissed, shaking his head violently. “No. I… I thought—” He cut himself off, his breath coming in shallow, sharp gasps. His heart was thundering in his chest, a wild, untamed drumbeat of guilt and confusion.

His eye darted toward the door. His throat tightened. He could see it so clearly in his mind — the image of you standing there. Watching. Seeing everything.

What have I done?

He shoved himself off the wall, his face twisted in pain, his gaze filled with regret. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He took one step toward the door, then another. He had to find you. He had to explain. He had to fix this.

But as he reached the door, he froze.

What if you had seen it all?

His breath caught in his throat, panic swelling in his chest like a rising tide. If you had seen him with Helaena, seen him kiss her — no, you wouldn’t understand. You would think it was love. You would think he had chosen her. You would think you had lost him.

He staggered back, his eye wide with horror.

“No,” he whispered to himself. I can’t lose her.

But it was too late. He could feel it in his bones. The vision of your tear-streaked face haunted him, the pain in your eyes, the way your lips would tremble as you held back sobs. He knew it as clearly as if it had already happened.

He turned toward Helaena, his face a mask of anguish. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said, his voice sharp, almost pleading. His gaze burned with desperation, his eye wild and frantic. “Please, Helaena.”

Helaena didn’t answer right away. She simply stared at him, her hands still lightly pressed to her lips, her eyes distant and filled with sadness.

“I won’t,” she said quietly, her gaze soft but unyielding. “But you should tell her the truth, Aemond.”

Her words cut deeper than any sword. He turned away, his chest tight with pain, shame curling around him like a noose.

“I can’t,” he muttered, his voice hollow. He glanced at the window, where the moon hung heavy in the sky. His face was cast in silver and shadow, his features sharp with grief. “If I tell her, she’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“Maybe,” Helaena replied softly, her gaze never leaving him. “But if you don’t… she’ll never look at you at all.”

Her words struck him like a blade to the heart.

He left without another word, his footsteps quick and uneven, like a man fleeing from a battle he knew he had already lost. He didn’t know where he was going — all he knew was that he had to find you.

But when he reached your chambers, the door was closed. He stood there for a long time, his hand hovering over the handle. His heart pounded harder than it had in battle.

Knock, he told himself. Open the door. Apologize. Tell her the truth.

But he didn’t move. His hand dropped to his side, his gaze darkening. Not tonight, he thought. Not like this.

He turned away, his face a mask of cold indifference, but inside, he was crumbling. For the first time in his life, he knew fear — the fear of losing you.

And as he walked away, the only sound was the faint echo of his footsteps in the dark.

Aemond’s footsteps echoed through the stone halls of the Red Keep, each step harder and faster than the last. The whispers of the servants clung to him like a curse. “She left Prince Aegon’s chambers this morning,” they had said, their voices low but sharp enough to pierce his mind.

His jaw tightened, his breathing heavy with barely restrained anger. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat fueling the fire of jealousy and betrayal burning within him. He didn’t slow down until he reached your chamber doors. Without knocking, he pushed them open with a sharp creak.

You sat in front of your mirror, calmly brushing your hair as if nothing in the world could disturb you. The golden glow of the midday sun highlighted the softness of your features, but there was nothing soft about the cold, sharp presence that had just entered your room.

Aemond stood there for a moment, his one eye locked on you. His chest rose and fell, his breaths shallow and uneven. His face was carved from stone, his lips pressed into a hard line, his gaze sharp with accusation.

“You think this is how you repay me?” His voice was low but laced with venom. Each word was as sharp as a dagger. He took a step forward, his long strides bringing him closer to you. “You think this is fair? After everything I’ve done for you, after everything I’ve endured for you—this is how you choose to answer me?”

You paused your brushing, your eyes meeting his reflection in the mirror. Calm. Unshaken. But your grip on the brush tightened. “I don’t owe you anything, Aemond,” you said softly but firmly. Your voice was steady, unlike his. “Not after what I saw in Helaena’s chambers.”

His face twisted with frustration. He took another step toward you, his fists clenched at his sides. “What you think you saw is not what it was,” he snapped, his voice louder now, his patience hanging by a thread. “You see one moment, and you think you know everything? You think I would betray you with her?”

You turned, finally facing him directly. Your eyes burned with something deeper than anger — hurt. Raw, unfiltered pain. “Don’t lie to me, Aemond,” you said, your voice cracking but still strong. “I saw you with her. I saw you holding her. Smiling with her. You have never looked at me like that.”

His breathing grew heavier, his lips twitching as if he wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. He stepped closer, his gaze locked on yours like a predator watching its prey. “I never touched her the way I touch you,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “Never.”

You raised your chin, eyes unwavering. “And yet, you touch her at all.”

Silence fell between you, thick with unspoken words, unshed tears, and untold truths. He stared at you like a man lost in a storm, searching for a way out but unable to find it. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for you but knew he couldn’t.

“You shouldn’t have gone to Aegon,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his gaze filled with something more than rage — desperation. “You shouldn’t have done this to me.”

You stepped closer, your eyes locked on his, unyielding. “I only gave you back what you gave me, Aemond.”

His face twisted with something between pain and fury. His breathing grew louder, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked as if it might shatter. He took one more step toward you, his body mere inches from yours.

“You belong to me,” he hissed, his eye blazing with intensity. “Not him. Not anyone else. Me.”

“Then prove it,” you shot back, your eyes filled with tears that refused to fall. “But you can’t, can you? Because you don’t even know how.”

His face fell for a moment, his lips parting as if he might finally say something honest. But, like always, he said nothing. His hands remained at his sides. His body stayed rigid. His words stayed locked behind his clenched teeth.

And then, slowly, he stepped back.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his eye flickering with something unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. His steps were slow, almost hesitant, as if he was waiting for you to call him back. But you didn’t.

He paused at the doorway, his back to you, his head tilted down slightly as if in thought. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his shoulders tense with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t.

“You saw what you wanted to see,” he muttered, barely loud enough for you to hear. Then he walked away, leaving you standing alone in the quiet of your chamber, the sound of his footsteps echoing long after he was gone.

Aemond sat on the edge of Helaena’s bed, his hands resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the ground. His silver hair hung loose around his face, casting shadows that made his sharp features look even harsher. Across from him, Helaena sat quietly, her hands resting on her stomach, her eyes distant as if she were somewhere far away.

Her breathing was uneven, shallow, and her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. She wasn’t afraid of the child growing inside her — no, she had faced that before. Her fear was something deeper, something far more personal.

“She’ll think it’s yours,” Helaena whispered, her voice so soft it almost disappeared into the stillness of the room. Her violet eyes, identical to yours, flickered with worry as she glanced at Aemond. “You know she will.”

Aemond lifted his head, his gaze hardening. His jaw clenched as if he were biting back words that threatened to spill. Slowly, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, his fingers clasped tightly together.

“Let them think what they want,” he muttered, his voice low, rough, and filled with quiet fury. “The truth is not theirs to hold.”

“But it is hers,” Helaena replied, her gaze unwavering, her eyes filled with a sadness only she could understand. “She’ll believe it, Aemond. She saw you here with me that night. She saw the way you looked at me.”

Silence hung between them like a noose, suffocating and tense.

Aemond’s eye darted to her, his face hard with frustration. “She saw only what her mind wanted her to see,” he hissed, his voice sharp like the edge of a blade. He pushed himself to his feet, his movements rigid, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “If she had stayed— if she had listened—” His voice cracked, and he stopped himself, breathing deeply to regain control.

“But she didn’t,” Helaena said softly, her gaze dropping to the floor. Her fingers rubbed slow, nervous circles over her stomach. “You let her walk away, brother. You always let her walk away.”

Her words were a dagger to his heart, and Aemond felt the pain sharper than he’d ever admit. He knew it was true. He had watched you leave that night. He had watched you cry. He had seen the pain in your eyes and done nothing. He told himself it was for the best, that you needed to calm down, that you’d return.

But you hadn’t.

And now, the whispers in the halls had grown louder. The maids spoke of you leaving Aemond’s chambers in tears and seeking solace in Aegon’s company. Every word of gossip reached his ears like a hammer to his skull, and every mention of your name alongside Aegon’s made his blood boil.

He hated it. He hated him.

His eye turned back to Helaena, and for the first time, he saw his sister not as a reflection of you, but as herself. She looked so small, so fragile, yet braver than anyone gave her credit for.

“This child is Aegon’s,” Helaena said, her eyes filled with certainty. “But she won’t believe that.” Her eyes met his once more, her gaze piercing. “She’ll believe it’s yours.”

Aemond exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping with the weight of it all. His hand reached up to press against his face, his fingers rubbing at his temple. He felt the coldness of the sapphire where his eye once was.

“Then I will tell her,” he said finally, his voice steady but cold. “I will tell her everything.”

Helaena tilted her head, watching him closely. “Will she believe you, brother?” she asked softly, her gaze filled with something close to pity. “Or has she already decided to believe someone else?”

Aemond’s breath hitched, and he stood there, frozen. Her words echoed in his mind, louder than the whispers in the hall, louder than his own thoughts. Has she already decided to believe someone else?

The image of you with Aegon flashed in his mind. He could see it so clearly — you brushing past him in the hall without so much as a glance, your hand resting on Aegon’s arm as you laughed at something he said. It wasn’t real, but it felt real. It felt real because he knew what jealousy tasted like, and it tasted like ash on his tongue.

His eye burned with something dangerous. “No,” he said through gritted teeth. “She is mine.”

Helaena didn’t respond, only lowering her gaze as if she’d already seen the ending to this story. She cradled her stomach gently, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Then you better make her believe that, brother,” she whispered. “Before it’s too late.”

The sound of Aegon's laughter echoed through the chamber, sharp and mocking like the clash of steel. Both Aemond and Helena turned toward the doorway, their gazes meeting the sight of Aegon leaning casually against the frame, his arms crossed, a twisted grin tugging at his lips.

"Quite the scene, isn't it?" Aegon drawled, slow and deliberate, his eyes filled with mischief and malice. He clapped his hands together lazily, the sound reverberating off the stone walls. "The dutiful husband comforting his dear sister, all while his sweet wife runs to me for solace."

Aemond's entire body stiffened, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides. His jaw clenched so hard it ached, but he didn't move. Not yet. His eye stayed locked on Aegon, cold and calculating, the storm brewing behind it barely contained.

"Do you want to know what she said to me, brother?" Aegon asked, his grin widening as he stepped further into the room, his boots clicking against the stone floor with an infuriating rhythm. "She begged me. Begged me, Aemond." He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "Her voice was so soft, so desperate. 'Make me forget him,' she said. Over and over, like a prayer."

The air in the room grew colder, heavier.

"Shut your mouth, Aegon," Aemond hissed, his voice low and venomous. He took a step forward, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator stalking prey. His eye never left Aegon's face, watching every twitch, every smug smile that only fueled his rage.

But Aegon didn't stop. He lived for this-he always had. Pushing people, testing them, until they broke. And now, he was pushing Aemond.

"She didn't want to think of you anymore," Aegon continued, his smile sharp as a blade. He raised his hand, dragging it lazily through his silver hair as if recalling a fond memory. "You should have seen her, brother. The way she clung to me, the way she moaned when I touched her-"

Aemond moved faster than anyone could have seen. His fist collided with Aegon's jaw, the impact echoing like thunder. Aegon stumbled back, his laughter turning into a grunt of pain as he crashed against the stone wall. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, his eyes wide with shock before they filled with rage.

"You dare hit me, brother?" Aegon spat, his grin gone, replaced by a snarl. He shoved himself off the wall, advancing like a drunk lion ready for a fight. "Over her? A woman who would rather be in my bed than yours?"

Aemond didn't respond with words. He lunged at Aegon, slamming him against the wall with all his strength, his forearm pressing hard against Aegon's throat. Aegon choked, his eyes narrowing, but he laughed again — that same taunting laugh that made Aemond's blood boil.

"Say it again," Aemond growled, his face inches from Aegon's, his voice colder than the dead of winter. His breath came in sharp bursts, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained fury. "Say it again, and I will carve the words from your tongue."

Aegon sneered, his eyes wild with reckless defiance. "You should be thanking me, little brother," he rasped, his breath shallow under the pressure on his throat. "I'm the one who gave her what you couldn't."

Aemond's grip tightened, his nails digging into Aegon's skin. His heart pounded like a war drum, his mind screaming with rage, jealousy, and something else he refused to name. His fingers twitched with the desire to crush, to hurt, to silence the man who had always taken everything too far.

"Enough!"

Helena's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. Her tone, usually soft and distant, was now sharp and commanding. She had risen from the bed, her hands clenched into small fists at her sides. Her wide, violet eyes stared at both of them, filled with something neither brother had seen before - disgust.

"Look at you," she said, her voice trembling but strong. "Fighting each other like beasts over her. Over a woman you both claim to love." Her eyes flickered to Aemond, disappointment clear in her gaze. "What do you think she would see if she walked in now? Would she see the man she loves, or a monster?"

Her words hit Aemond harder than Aegon ever could. His grip loosened, and he stepped back, his breathing ragged, his mind reeling. He glanced down at his hands, his fingers still curled like claws, and for a moment, he didn't recognize them.

Aegon coughed, rubbing his throat as he leaned heavily against the wall. He glanced at Helena, then back at Aemond, his eyes still sharp but his grin gone. "Pathetic," he muttered, shaking his head as he wiped more blood from his mouth. "You'll lose her, Aemond. Just like you're losing everything else."

Aemond didn't react. He didn't move. His eye remained fixed on his hands, his breathing shallow, his mind clouded with doubt. The silence grew heavy, broken only by the distant sound of footsteps echoing through the halls of the Red Keep.

Helena approached Aemond, her gaze gentle but firm. She placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. "If you truly love her, Aemond," she whispered, her voice soft again, "then stop letting your pride destroy everything you have with her."

Her words lingered in the air like the last breath of a dying man.

Aegon scoffed, his grin slowly returning as he glanced between his siblings. "It's too late, sister," he muttered, pushing himself off the wall and heading toward the door. "He already lost her."

His words echoed even after he was gone.

Aemond remained still, his gaze on the ground, his heart heavier than his armor. He felt the weight of every mistake, every missed chance, every time he chose silence over action. He could hear your voice in his head, the way it had cracked when you asked him, "Why am I never enough for you?"

His chest ached with something deeper than pain.

"I haven't lost her," he muttered, his voice hoarse but certain. His eye lifted to meet Helena's gaze, filled with a determination sharper than Valyrian steel. "Not yet."

Aemond stood still, his one eye locked onto you as you burst into his chamber, tears streaming down your face. His heart clenched at the sight, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just listened. Every word that spilled from your lips was like a dagger cutting deeper and deeper into him.

“You think I’m a fool, don’t you?” you hissed, your voice raw with pain. “You think I don’t see it — how you look at her, how you always choose her.” Your voice broke, and you wiped at your face angrily, as if frustrated with yourself for crying in front of him. “But I see it, Aemond. I see everything, and I’m done pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

Each word was a blow, but Aemond didn’t flinch. He didn’t dare. He felt his nails digging into the palms of his hands, his jaw so tight it ached. He wanted to tell you that it wasn’t true. He wanted to shout it at the top of his lungs, to deny it, to beg for your forgiveness. But something stopped him — maybe it was pride, or maybe it was the weight of his own guilt.

“Say something!” you yelled, your voice cracking under the weight of your pain. “Say something, Aemond! Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me that I matter to you!”

He opened his mouth, but no words came. His heart was at war with his mind. He wanted to tell you that you were wrong, that you were the only one who mattered to him. But the words refused to come out. His lips moved, but no sound followed.

You stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief, searching his face for something — anything — that would tell you he still loved you. But all you saw was silence.

“Pathetic,” you whispered, voice low but filled with venom. Your eyes, once so soft and full of love, were now hardened by hurt. “Pathetic.”

That was when he moved, his body finally catching up to his heart. His hand twitched, ready to reach for you, to pull you close and never let you go. But before he could close the distance, you turned on your heel and ran.

“Wait,” he choked out, his voice hoarse and weak, but you didn’t stop.

He watched you disappear beyond the door, his world crumbling as your absence hit him harder than any physical blow. His breath quickened, chest heaving as anger swirled inside him like a storm.

“Seven Hells!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber like thunder. His rage exploded. He swept his arm across the table, sending goblets, scrolls, and plates crashing to the floor. His breath came in sharp, shallow pants as he gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white from the strain.

His vision blurred with red. His heart ached more than his clenched fists as he slammed one of them against the stone wall, the sharp crack of bone meeting stone reverberating through the room. Pain shot through his hand, but he didn’t care. He hit it again. And again. And again.

“You’re a fool,” he hissed to himself through gritted teeth, his forehead pressing against the cold wall. “A damned fool.”

His breath was shaky now, his heart still pounding like a war drum in his chest. His eyes darted to the door where you had disappeared. He clenched his jaw, his gaze hardening with resolve.

This is not how it ends.

His breath steadied, though his hands still shook from the adrenaline. His heart still ached with the ghost of your words, but he wasn’t about to let it end this way. Not this time.

“Not again,” he muttered, his voice like steel. Not again.

Aemond’s grip on the reins was so tight his knuckles turned white, the leather creaking under the strain. His jaw was set in a hard line, his chest heaving with every breath as if the air itself burned him from the inside out. Each word from you and your mother echoed in his mind like a war drum.

“The marriage will be annulled.”

His heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest, trampled underfoot by those very words. His face betrayed nothing, but the storm within him was uncontrollable. It churned and boiled with rage, pain, and desperation. How dare they? How dare they think they could take you away from him?

The horse’s hooves pounded against the stone path with a steady, thunderous rhythm as he made his way to the Dragonpit. His silver hair flew wildly behind him, his cloak billowing like the wings of a dragon about to take flight. The cold wind bit at his skin, but he welcomed the sting — it was nothing compared to the pain in his chest.

His one eye remained fixed ahead, sharp as Valyrian steel, unblinking, unwavering. No one takes her from me. No one.

The guards stationed at the entrance to the Dragonpit stiffened at his arrival but said nothing. They could see the fury in his stride, the storm in his gaze. No one dared to stop him. No one ever did.

He strode through the cavernous hall, his footsteps echoing like distant thunder. The air smelled of ash and dragonfire. Shadows danced along the walls from the flickering flames of braziers, making him appear larger, more fearsome, like the very shadow of death itself.

His eyes sought one dragon and one dragon only. Vhagar. The old beast lay curled in the farthest corner, her massive body rising and falling with each breath. Her eyes opened, glowing with ancient intelligence. She sensed his turmoil, his fury, his need for destruction.

“Come, Vhagar,” he muttered darkly, his voice hoarse but commanding. The great dragon shifted, her scales scraping against stone as she uncurled her massive form. Her eyes remained locked on him, unblinking, understanding. She had seen this before — the rage of a Targaryen in his purest, rawest form.

He climbed onto her back without hesitation, his fingers curling tightly around the leather straps. The air was thick with the heat of dragonfire, and he breathed it in like it was salvation.

“Fly,” he growled, his voice rough with emotion. “Take me away from them. Take me away from her.”

With a mighty roar, Vhagar unfurled her wings, her ancient bones creaking but still powerful. The gust of wind from her wings sent dust and loose stone scattering across the pit. Aemond’s heart thundered in his chest as they rose higher and higher, the Red Keep shrinking beneath them. The cold air stung his face, but he didn’t care. The higher they went, the lighter he felt, like the weight of the world could only be shed in the skies.

His eye scanned the world below, and the city of King’s Landing sprawled out like a living, breathing thing. Its people were ants, scurrying in their small, insignificant lives. It would be so easy to burn it all. So easy.

But it wasn’t them he wanted to burn. It was the helplessness. The rage. The pain.

His hands gripped the straps tighter, his breathing sharp and unsteady. His heart was a storm, a wild, untamed thing, and every beat echoed one thought: She’s mine.

They think they can take her from me?

His vision blurred with tears he refused to shed. His pride wouldn’t allow it. Targaryens don’t cry. Targaryens don’t beg. But his heart didn’t care for the pride of kings. It only knew that you were being taken from him.

“Dracarys,” he muttered under his breath.

Vhagar roared, the ancient sound shaking the very clouds. Fire erupted from her jaws, a golden inferno that lit up the sky. Below, the people of King’s Landing glanced up in fear, pointing at the streak of fire that illuminated the night like a second sun.

Aemond watched it burn, his eye reflecting the flames. His heart was still heavy, his mind still clouded, but at least now — just for a moment — he could feel something other than the ache of losing you.

But the fire would burn out. It always did. And once it was gone, all that remained was the cold, empty silence.

Aemond's footsteps echoed heavily through the stone corridors of the Red Keep. Each step was faster, harder, fueled by the growing rage that burned hotter with every passing moment.

His jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Aegon.

His brother's name repeated in his mind like a curse. How dare he? How dare he humiliate Helena like this? Begging their mother to dissolve his marriage as if it were nothing more than an inconvenient arrangement. As if Helena, their sweet, kind Helena, was unworthy.

The image of her tear-streaked face flashed in his mind. She had sat there on his bed, trembling, her voice cracking as she tried to explain what had happened. Her confusion, her pain — it all became fuel for the wildfire of rage in his chest.

His boots hit the floor harder now, his stride more determined. The servants he passed shrank against the walls, their eyes cast down to avoid his gaze. No one dared to speak. No one dared to stop him. Everyone knew what that look on Prince Aemond's face meant.

He reached Aegon's door. The two guards stationed there glanced at each other, unsure if they should intervene. Aemond didn't give them the chance to consider it. With one swift kick, the door burst open, slamming against the wall with a deafening crash.

Aegon was lounging on his bed, a goblet of wine in his hand, his tunic disheveled as if he'd just woken from a long, lazy nap. He blinked in surprise at the sudden intrusion, wine sloshing over his fingers. His shock was quickly replaced with his usual smirk.

"Well, well," Aegon drawled, wiping the spilled wine on his sleeve. "To what do I owe the pleasure, brother?"

Aemond said nothing at first. His single eye burned like dragonfire, sharp and unyielding.

He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. Aegon's smirk faltered.

"You went to Mother," Aemond said, his voice low but seething with restrained fury. "You begged her to annul your marriage to Helaena."

Aegon raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance as he sat up, setting the goblet aside. "I don't see how that's your concern, brother." He shrugged, his grin returning with a hint of mockery. "If I don't want to be chained to a woman who speaks in riddles and stares at bugs all day, that's my choice, isn't it?"

Aemond moved so fast Aegon barely had time to react. In an instant, Aemond had grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up from the bed with the strength of a man possessed. Aegon's grin vanished, replaced with panic.

"Listen to me, you drunken fool," Aemond hissed through gritted teeth, his face inches from Aegon's. His voice was deathly quiet, but it carried more weight than a thousand roars.

"You can humiliate yourself all you like. Drink, stumble, wallow in filth. I care not."

He slammed Aegon against the nearest wall with a thud, making the wooden frame of the bed creak behind them. "But you will not disgrace Helena. You will not break her."

"Since when do you care so much about Helaena?" Aegon sneered, squirming in Aemond's grip. "Is it guilt, brother? Or is it something more?" He chuckled darkly. "Do you wish it was you in my place? Is that it? You always did have a soft spot for her, didn't you? Perhaps you'd rather she warm your bed-"

Aemond's fist connected with Aegon's face before he could finish the sentence. The crack of bone echoed through the chamber, and Aegon stumbled, blood already trickling from his nose.

"You forget yourself, brother," Aemond growled, his breathing heavy, his heart pounding in his ears. "Speak her name with respect or I will carve it into your tongue."

Aegon wiped the blood from his face, laughing bitterly. His eyes were filled with something darker now, but he didn't move to fight back. Instead, he leaned against the wall, staring at Aemond with a knowing look.

"You act like you're doing this for her," Aegon said, his voice rasping as he spat blood onto the floor. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "But it's not her you're thinking about, is it?" His eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a grin. "It's her. Your little wife. That's why you're really angry, isn't it? Because you can't stand to see me touching her."

Aemond's breath hitched, his hands trembling at his sides. He said nothing. But his silence was answer enough.

Aegon's grin widened, his eyes lighting up with wicked delight. "Hit too close to home, did I, brother?" He tilted his head, eyes full of mock sympathy. "Don't worry. I'm sure she'll come crying to me again. She always does, doesn't she? She likes it when someone actually touches her."

Aemond's world went red. He lunged at Aegon, slamming him to the ground. His fists came down like hammers, blow after blow, each strike fueled by rage and jealousy. Aegon's grunts and gasps echoed through the room, but Aemond didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Not until the fury in his chest burned out.

It took the guards bursting in and pulling him back for him to stop. Two of them grabbed his arms, holding him in place, their strained voices calling his name. "Prince Aemond! Stop! Stop, my prince!"

Aegon lay on the ground, coughing and groaning, blood dripping from his nose, his lip split wide open. Despite the bruises swelling on his face, he still had the audacity to laugh.

"Careful, little brother," Aegon croaked, grinning through bloody teeth. "If you break me too much, there won't be anyone left for her to run to."

Aemond wrenched himself free from the guards' grip, his chest heaving as he glared down at his brother. He wiped his bloodied knuckles on his tunic and leaned in close, his voice deathly quiet.

"She'll never run to you again," Aemond promised, his voice laced with venom. "If you so much as look at her, I will carve your eyes from your skull and feed them to Vhagar."

News of your pregnancy hit Aemond like a blow he couldn’t dodge. His fury burned hot, an uncontrollable fire raging within him. On the training grounds, he swung his sword with unrelenting force, each strike harder and faster than the last. Ser Criston barely managed to block each blow, his face growing tense from the effort it took to hold his ground.

“Aemond! That’s enough!” Ser Criston shouted, raising his sword to parry another wild swing. “Control yourself!”

But Aemond wasn’t listening. His eye was sharp with rage, his gaze distant and filled with something more dangerous than mere anger — betrayal. Their swords clashed, a sharp metallic clang echoing across the courtyard. Sparks flew from the impact. Ser Criston staggered back, his chest heaving as he struggled to steady himself.

“You think I don’t know?!” Aemond roared, his voice rough, strained, like the growl of a dragon ready to breathe fire. His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat on his brow. His violet eye gleamed with raw fury. “They all know. They whisper behind my back. They mock me. She mocks me.”

“Aemond!” Ser Criston stepped forward, his sword lowered in caution. “No one is mocking you. You’re a prince, a warrior, a Targaryen.”

“Shut up!” Aemond snarled, swinging his sword so violently that it nearly disarmed Criston. The Kingsguard narrowly dodged, his face shifting from concern to controlled anger.

“That’s enough!” Ser Criston’s voice boomed with authority, louder than before. “You want to fight them all? Fine. But don’t be a fool and strike down the ones still on your side!”

Aemond froze. His chest heaved as he drew in deep, ragged breaths. His eye locked on Criston with an intensity that could break stone. But then, slowly, his gaze shifted to the ground. His grip loosened, and with a sharp clang, his sword fell from his hand, hitting the stone floor with a loud, echoing crash.

The entire training yard went silent. The guards and servants nearby glanced at one another, unsure of what had just happened.

Aemond turned away, his face as blank and cold as a winter sea. But inside, a storm raged. Guilt. Anger. Shame.

He let you go.

He saw you cry in Aegon’s arms, and he did nothing.

He let you fall into Aegon’s embrace.

And now, you were carrying Aegon’s child.

Aemond pressed his hands against his face, fingers digging into his skin, as if trying to claw the image out of his mind. But it wouldn’t leave. The whispers from the servants echoed in his ears like a chorus of mockery. He could still see Aegon’s smug grin, could still hear his brother’s taunting laughter.

“I should have stopped it,” he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse, barely audible. “I should have stopped you.”

His hands lowered slowly, and his eye glowed with new resolve. His jaw tightened, his face hard as steel. His heart may have been torn apart by guilt, but there was one truth that remained clear to him.

He would not lose you.

No matter whose child you carried.

No matter what Aegon claimed.

No matter what anyone said.

You belonged to him.

And he would take you back.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd one shot #prince aegon targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #hotd x reader #aegon x reader #aemond fanfiction #prince aemond targaryen #aemond fic #aegon fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader

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rokonrrc2 · 11 hours ago

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born to marry him, forced to read fanfics about him

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #house stark #sandor the hound clegane #cregan stark #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #daemon targaryen #harwin strong #jon snow #robb stark #spencer reid #steve harrington #eddie munson #billy hargrove #stranger things #harry potter #draco malfoy

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hoosbandewan · 1 day ago

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12 DAYS OF AEMOND TARGARYEN-MAS

Day Eight: Aemond + anger

Bonus:

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lionneee · 2 days ago

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Let The World Burn

Masterlist

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English is not my first language, please be kind

Modern!MafiaBoss!Aemond x fem!Reader

•Warnings: murder, kidnapping, attempted rape, omicide, fire.•

“Your boyfriend is a tough one.” He smirked as he walked behind you. You tried to talk against the gag, but all it came out were strangled sounds and whines. “He’s also hard to find.” The man pushed the blindfold down your head, over your eyes.

You trembled on the floor, fear consuming you.

“Way harder than you are anyway.” He chuckled. “But you’ll be more than useful to do the trick. I’d be surprised if I won’t see your pretty boyfriend kicking down the door to get you.”

“Sir- I’m sorry, but the lead we had turned out wrong-“

“Get out!” Aemond raised from the chair of his office, his loud voice filling the room. The private detective quickly left the office, running outside.

Aemond was a complete mess.

He managed to resist two days with your missing, before it completely started to tore him apart. He was completely out of his head, he needed to find you.

He threw the papers on his desk on the floor with all the force he had, then he paced in the room, his hair a mess, his knuckles bloody from the amount of jaws he broke to get any kind of information about your abduction.

“Fuck!” He shouted as he hit the wall with his fist.

“You need to eat.” He said as he walked in the room, taking off your gag by undoing the tie on the back of your head. “We’re not trying to kill you.” He said before freeing your hands, sitting on the chair right in front of you. You looked down at the floor, finding a tray with food and water. You quickly started to eat, you had been starving for days. You looked up at him for a moment, curious about your kidnapper.

White hair.

You scooped back on the floor, managing to get away maybe a couple of inches before hitting the pole you’ve been handcuffed to with your back.

“Daemon.” You mumbled, Your voice was shaking as much as your hands.

“That would be me, princess.” He smirked as he sat back on his chair.

“W-why are you doing this?” You kept stuttering, you were terrified. “I-I didn’t-”

“I know. You didn’t do anything.” He cut you off. “But your boyfriend… My nephew did. He killed someone he shouldn’t have touched.” He looked loosely at you, studying your reaction.

You looked at him confused, your brows arching, your expression contorting into one of confusion, then pain, then disbelief.

“Luke.” You whispered as soon as the realisation hit you. Daemon’s gaze hardened but then he nodded.

“Smart girl.” He commented. “He killed him. So now I have to kill Aemond.”

“No!” Your voice raised, your eyes filling with tears as soon as you saw the seriousness in his intentions. “Y-you can’t! He’s your family!” You shook your head, your hands flying to the knife on the tray. But Daemon was faster, blocking both of your wrists the moment you moved, and handcuffing them back to the pole behind you.

“Luke was family too.” He growled. You squirmed, trying to get free, but to no avail. Demon put the gag back on and left you to cry as he walked away again in the darkness of the room.

“They’re trying to torture you, brother.” Aegon said as he looked at his brother. He was leaning against his desk table, his nails scraping the expensive wood. His head was hung down, his hair covering his face. “You have to get yourself back together. We have to think of strategies on how to take them down.”

His brother was the last one that had a right to say something like that to Aemond.

They took his girl, damn it.

“Get out.” Aemond growled.

It had been weeks since the last time he got a proper sleep. He was cold, his bed was colde.

You weren’t there to warm it for him.

To warm him.

His fingers ached to feel your skin again, so soft, and smooth.

He missed your scent, even more now, since the pillow lost any trace of it.

The first days he pressed his face in it, and fucked his hand.

Then he would just scream in it, then fall asleep surrounded by your scent.

The day he couldn't smell you anymore, he thought he might actually go crazy, for good.

He missed you.

And he needed you, he knew it now better than ever.

“I’m impressed by your lack of preparation for this kind of situation.” She immediately sat up, her eyes snapping open at the sound of his voice. Daemon pushed the tray towards her and she quickly lunged forward to at least drink some water.

“W-why? Why now?” She looked up at him and he took off her handcuffs. She quickly grabbed some bread from the tray and started eating it.

There was no scheme on the timing of her meals. They seemed random, and curiosity was keeping her mind full.

She didn’t know why she cared so much to find that out, if it was boredness or just a way to escape the fear.

Daemon chuckled as he sat on the chair as usual.

“You think you’re having a hard time, uh? Being kidnapped, staying here, in the darkness and coldness.” He let out a scoff. “You eat whenever Rhaenyra eats.” He explained.

Rhaenyra.

“S-so that’s your first thought when you see her eat? Feed me?”

“You’re not the victim here. Whatever you’re going through, is nothing compared to Rhaenyra’s pain. You’re hungry? You’re scared? She’s grieving a son..” He hissed as he stood up, walking closer, squeezing your cheeks in his hand.

Your eyes filled with tears as she only tried to imagine what it would be like to lose a son.

To lose something that you made, that you gave birth to. That you raised and loved.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered as strong conflicting emotions grew inside you.

How could you love Aemond, knowing he was the cause of such pain?

Knowing he was capable of killing one of his own family, knowing that the pain Rhaenyra is suffering now, is bigger than anything Aemond could have gone through when he lost his eye.

“You…” He clenched his jaw. “You are going to suffer. You are going to stay here, with fear eating you alive. The fear that I might come in, and beat you, not feed you ever again, touch you, rape you.” He growled, his face a mask of fury. You whined as he clenched his hands on your cheeks, hurting you, and tried to break free, but he was determined to keep you there.

“And whenever one of those things will happen.” He moved closer, his face inches from yours. “You better remember, this is all Aemond’s fault.” He then pressed his lips against yours, but it wasn't out of affection or desire.

Or better, it wasn’t about sexual desire.

It was a promise that he will act on his threats.

“Listen, Aemond, you have to face it. She’s gone. They’re letting you think she’s still alive only to mess with you, okay? We have a war to win, we can’t let an insignificant girl reduce you like-”

Aemond just snapped.

An insignificant girl? She was the love of his life.

Aemond quickly wrapped a hand around Aegon's neck, squeezing tight as he pushed him back against the wall.

“What did you say?” He hissed, his voice low and dangerous. Aegon widened his eyes, struggling against his brother's hold.

“L-Listen man-” Aegon’s voice was strained due to the lack of air. “J-just saying, okay? She was pretty and all but-”

“But nothing.” He shoved Aegon away, letting him fall on the floor. “I’m giving you two more days.” He said as he sat back on his chair behind his desk. “Then I’ll burn the world to the fucking ground, with you in it.”

“Wake up!” You heard a loud yell, a male voice that snapped you out of your moment of sleep.

“I said, wake up!” He yelled again, grabbing your hair and yanking your face up from the floor.

You let out a sharp scream at the pain then went through your head.

“Tell me where he is.” Daemon crunched down in front of you, his hand closing into a fist and pulling your hair harder. You whined loudly as you tried to raise your head to reduce the pain, but it was useless, you were too tired, too weak.

“I don’t know..:” You sobbed, opening your eyes slowly, trying to adjust to the strong light that was pointed at your face.

You’ve spent days, maybe even weeks in darkness, your eyes weren’t used to the light anymore, let alone such a strong one.

“Bullshit. Start talking.” He growled as he tugged at your hair.

“I swear I don’t!” You sobbed. “We never met in any place of his business, I don’t know!” You cried desperately.

Daemon let out a loud grunt, shoving your head back and sending it against the pole behind you.

Your vision blurred as your body slowly grew weaker to even stay awake.

The last thing you heard was:

“Arrange her funeral. Rhaenys deserves it.”

“It’s been months.” Helaena said as she sat beside him on his couch.

“She’s not dead.” Aemond grunted. His elbows rested on his knees, the palms of his hands holding his head.

He was tired of people remembering him how long it had passed.

He had already been too patient, but Aegon had only one day left.

Then he was going to take the world, and destroy it piece by piece until he’d found her.

“If she would have been dead we would have found the body already.” Helaena patted his shoulder awkwardly. “I don’t think she’s dead. I… I can feel it.” She whispered.

Aemond clenched his hands into fists.

He had always been the first to push Helaena back, telling her that the way she just felt things was absurd and surreal.

Useless.

“Me too.” He breathed out, passing his hand through his hair in frustration. “She is alive.” He stood up and walked to his desk again.

That was when Aegon stormed inside.

“Found her.”

“Stay away!” You yelled as Daemon grabbed your ankle, dragging you towards him.

“Shut up, bitch.” He growled as he hovered over you, pinning your wrists over your head with one hand, and slapping your face with the other. “You’re just a cheap whore he bought. He doesn’t care about you, he’s not going to save you.” He hissed as he settled between your legs, thrusting his hips between your thighs, making clear his intention. “You’re only good for one thing.” He put his hand over one of your breasts, groping it tightly, making you whine and cry in pain. “He has left you behind. He left you to me.”

You screamed and kicked your feet, trying to get him off of you, but it seemed impossible.

“No! No, please no!” You sobbed as you kept squirming. “Don’t touch me! Please, I’m so sorry for Rhaenyra, please!” You cried desperately, but he simply smiled.

“Shut up.” He chuckled, in a sickening, mad way. “Shut the fuck up.” He laughed even more. “You’re mine now. You’re my prize. My trophy.”

“No -” You screamed as soon as he grabbed your knee to spread your legs, so he could grind against you. Daemon tried to kiss you, but you quickly turned your head, and screamed again as you saw a wooden wall catching fire quickly.

Daemon’s head quickly turned as he smelled the smoke and saw the fire lighting the room.

He quickly stood up as he looked at the fire, which kept eating everything it found.

“Kill anyone you see. I’ll go get her.” He told Aegon before entering the house. He put on his mask and walked in the big fog of smoke, his gun in hand.

Everyone was quickly running out, no one seemed to see or care about him as he walked inside.

Pieces of the house were starting to fall, the fire was burning everything it found.

Then he heard a scream, and his ears suddenly perked out.

He quickly ran toward the scream, stepping to a side of the house that hadn’t really picked up fire yet. He stopped in front of a door and quickly kicked it open the moment he heard another scream.

The fire in the room lightened the room enough for Aemond to see the scene clearly.

Daemon was on top of you.

And he was touching you.

Aemond's vision went red.

With a feral growl, he raised his gun, the barrel pointed directly at Daemon’s head. Before Daemon could react, a single deafening gunshot rang through the room. The bullet struck Daemon squarely in the shoulder, knocking him off of you with a roar of pain.

“Get your fucking hands off her.” Aemond snarled, stepping closer as Daemon writhed on the floor. His icy blue eye burned with rage, his jaw clenched so tight it could crack. He aimed the gun again, this time pointing at Daemon’s crotch, shaking with the force of his fury.

Daemon’s scream of pain almost shook the walls of the room, but Aemond couldn’t care less.

You were trembling, tears streaming down your face as you scrambled back against the pole where your wrists were still handcuffed to. Aemond’s gaze flicked to you, softening for just a moment. His chest heaved as he took in your disheveled appearance, the bruises on your wrists, the fear in your eyes. His heart broke and hardened all at once.

“You’ll die here, Daemon.” Aemond spat, his voice cold and merciless. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger again, this time hitting Daemon’s leg. A scream tore from Daemon’s throat, but his laughter didn’t stop, maddeningly unhinged.

“You think this will bring her back to you? She knows what you’ve done.” Daemon wheezed. “She’ll never look at you the same.”

Aemond's eye narrowed. He took a step closer and delivered a swift, brutal kick to Daemon’s side, silencing him momentarily. He quickly searched him to find the keys to your handcuffs and as soon as he found them he turned back to you, crouching low and reaching out carefully.

“It’s me, baby." He murmured, his voice gentler now. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You flinched at first, but as recognition dawned, you started sobbing uncontrollably. Aemond quickly freed your wrists and wrapped his arms around you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other gripping you like he’d never let go. “You’re safe now." He whispered, rocking you gently despite the chaos around you. “No one will ever touch you again. I swear it.”

The sound of creaking wood snapped him back to the present. The fire was spreading rapidly, consuming the walls and ceiling. Aemond stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. You clung to him, your hands fisting in his shirt as he carried you out of the room.

You could see Daemon still looking at you, a sad smile on his face.

You almost pitied him, despite knowing who he was, and what he just tried to do to you, you still felt sorry for him.

Because the man that was now carrying you out of the house in fire, had won a third time, and with that, the whole war.

That man, Aemond, destroyed their life, and killed them inside the moment he shot Luke’s head.

Aemond paused at the doorway, glancing back at Daemon, who was slumped on the floor, bleeding and coughing. “Burn in hell." Aemond said coldly before turning and carrying you out of the burning house.

Even if you did want to leave, where could you go?

Aemond looked down at you as he carried you outside, and you coughed because of the smoke. His eyes studied carefully your face as his hands tightened around you.

He was not going to let you go, so where could you go?

Aemond gently placed you in his car and before walking to the driver seat, he gently caressed your face.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again, baby.”

A shiver went down your spine, and suddenly, a feeling you never thought you would feel with Aemond spreaded in your chest.

Fear.

Because even if you wanted to leave, there was nowhere to go.

You were stuck with a serial killer that loved you.

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lenoirexv · 3 days ago

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EWAN MITCHELL As AEMOND TARGARYEN | House of the Dragon 2x08 | The Queen Who Ever Was.

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lady-pug · 2 days ago

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i finally FINALLY have the time to catch up on this story that, from the first chapter alone, I can already tell is going to be great!

oh the tension, the angst, the betrayal! i’m really really curious to know why Alys dipped when she was the one who wanted to get married in the first place? if there was a reason at all

and should i expect some summer romance between Aemond and reader? is Alys going to come back and possibly get in the way of things? is it going to come to an end when summer inevitably ends? i’m so excited to find out!!

thank you so much for writing this, i can’t wait to read the rest!!

[TANGERINE DREAMS]

summary: being stood up on his wedding day, Aemond’s life takes a turn for the worse. Heartbroken and humiliated, he finds unexpected help in Helaena’s childhood friend, who helps him move back into his family mansion. Summer cocktail parties and a long stay at the Targaryen residency, Aemond might let the girl who’s always been in his life make a home in his heart.

Tangerines, in general, symbolize prosperity, good luck and happiness. So if these delicious fruits appear in your dreams - whole or in the form of juice - it is usually very positive. A dream with tangerines expresses the desire and the possibility of progress and prosperity

word count: 5.2k+

warnings: angst & fluff! English isn’t my first language<3

a/n: loviessssss welcome to the first chap of my summer romance! I hope you love this as much as I do when I’m writing it! Reblogs & comments are most appreciated🥹🍊 and very special thank you to @namelesslosers for betaing this for me<33🩷

Dividers by @/firefly-graphics

Taglist: please fill this form with your username to be added to the taglist!

Updates: every Saturday!

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Chapter 1: runaway bride

He shouldn’t be stressed, should he?

Everything is in the right place; groomsmen are standing behind him while fixing each other’s coats and reassuring him, bridesmaids are in front of him as they talk and giggle, the guests are whispering and the priest is tapping his fingers on his watch.

Alys is a few minutes late, but it’s just a few minutes, there’s nothing to worry about. Aemond knows she must be even more stressed than he is. It’s their big day after all and naturally, the bride is the more anxious one. Surely that’s true, right? But why are his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his coat uncontrollably, why is rocking on the ball of his feet? He can’t be that nervous.

He looks around, finding his mum biting her nails. She searches around the room, looking for someone, anyone, to come and tell her about her bride-to-be’s whereabouts. His eye finds Helaena, watching as she caresses the flower petals before meeting his gaze, smiling broadly at him. He smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes to convince her he’s doing alright. He is alright, just a tad bit too stressed for everyone’s liking, especially Helaena who can sense his nerves buzzing with excitement and fear.

The church Alicent chose for his wedding has been used by Targaryens for years and passed on for generations. The walls covered in royalty tapestries of mythical Valyrian gods have seen many weddings and unions, and now, they will see his wedding.

He sighs, wanting to run his fingers through his hair but remembering his hair is in a low bun and his Mum would kill him if he ruined his perfectly done hair. He sighs again, looking up at the ceiling, his brow furrowing in worry.

What is taking her so long? She should have been here ten minutes ago.

Aemond turns around and looks at Daeron, their eyes meeting for a brief second before his younger brother nods and walks to the corner of the hall before slipping out the door without any hesitation.

“Don’t worry, brother, she’ll come around,” Aegon says, his breath stinking with the three glasses of champagne he’s had from the bar in the garden attached to the church grounds, where they will host the party.

“This isn’t another simple date she can be late to. This is our wedding, Aegon!” He exhales shakily, his voice barely above whispering.

He knows he is right, even Aegon knows he is right, but there is little they both can do. They need to wait for her to show up eventually. She will, won’t she? Of course she will, it was Alys who was too eager to marry, start a family, and take a step towards their shared dreams. She reassured him of his hesitation, and he agreed to do this with a heart full of love.

“Sir,” the priest calls him, “I’m needed for another ceremony in about an hour and the ride there will take a long—“

“She will come,” Aemond’s response is more of a reassurance to him than the priest, “you must have seen this more than us, Sir, the bride always shows up.”

“Yes, yes, my apologies,” the man nods his head, going back to do whatever he was doing before.

With every second that passes and Alys doesn’t show up he grows more restless, beads of sweat forming on his hairline. Aemond is a closed-up person, not really used to showing his feelings and emotions outwardly, but now, he is tapping his foot on the ground while his eye swipes at the guests, finding his half-sister’s family behind his Mum — he averts his eye quickly. The last thing he needs is to get furious over his sister’s goblins.

“What is taking her so long?” He hears someone say from the guests, even their stupid gossip is not enough to distract them from how late the bride is. He is growing desperate at this point, the muscles in his shin are growing tired with how fast he is tapping his foot on the floor, his fingers can no longer fidget with his coat instead his nails are digging into his sweaty palm.

Please, please, Alys, just open this door… He thinks to himself before spotting Daeron sneaking inside the hall with you on your toe. He watches as the two of you make your way toward Helaena, whispering something in her ear before she and Daeron leap out of the hall in a second, catching everyone’s attention.

The hall grows noisier, and the hushed whispers turn into loud accusations and questions; “Where is the bride?”

“I have always known she was problematic!”

“Eight years older? How scandalous!”

“How did Viserys Targaryen let his son marry her?”

“I have heard she has quite the reputation with men, always after their money—“

Now his hands are shaking, he hides them by locking them behind his back before he looks in front of him, trying to mask out the noise. Aemond catches your eye, watching as you give him a reassuring smile before taking slow steps towards him.

“Hey you.”

“Hey…” he replies as best as he can without his voice breaking, “you look beautiful.”

“So do you, little nerd!” You reach to fix his bowtie, trying to calm him down a bit, “not so little though, right? You’re getting married before me!”

“Yeah, I’m younger and I beat you to it,” he chuckles a little, silently thanking you for keeping a leash on his nerves.

It’s always been like this since the two of you remember. Growing up close to the Targaryens as Helaena’s kindergarten friend until now, you have grown to know each of the siblings like the back of your hand, especially Aemond who was a constant presence in your games with Helaena since he could walk — sometimes it feels like you are his best friend and not Helaena’s with how attentive you are to him. As much as he wishes for that to be true, he knows the bond you share with his sister is something so precious and special that no one can break it.

“Just so you wait, Aemond, you won’t be invited to my wedding when the time comes!” You tease him, trying to lighten his mood, reaching to fix a few strands of hair that have fallen out of his bun.

“That’s not fair—“

Everyone falls silent when the door is pushed open, revealing a heaving Daeron and a very anxious Helaena. You both turn around to look at the siblings, meeting them halfway with Aegon following you closely.

“We…” Helaena starts, but she can’t talk. Something bad must have happened for her to be so speechless.

“What?” You ask gently, resting your hand on her shoulders in hopes of trying to get her to talk.

“We found Alys,” Daeron looks at Aemond with an unreadable expression, “but she…”

“Spit it out for fuck sake!” Aegon whispers through gritted teeth, his hand shoved in his pockets as he waits for Daeron to finish his sentence.

“She doesn’t want to get married,” Helaena blurts out, swallowing the lump in her throat as she looks at Aemond with sad sympathetic eyes.

“Hel, this is insane. Did she say it herself—“ you say, frowning slightly.

“Criston is holding her back from running away. There’s a car parked outside, I think—“

Aemond can’t listen to these words anymore, so he pushes past his siblings and you, jogging out of the church towards the attached garden, finding Cole and Alys tangled in a messy fight as she tries to escape from his grasp.

“Alys!” He yells her name, making the couple freeze, but in a second, she knees Cole in his stomach and runs past him, her long white dress drags across the grass as she bolts out of the gates too fast for Aemond to be able to catch up, and once he does, he watches the car leave.

The noises around him vanish, and all he can hear is the thumping of his pulse in his ears, and the sharp breaths he takes. The world around him seems to disappear, and his good eye follows the path the car is taking, his fingers are tingling, his chest rising and falling rapidly while he tries to regain his grip on himself.

He sighs, finally his senses coming back as he looks around him, finding you, his Mum, and his siblings running towards him. Aemond doesn’t wish to talk to anyone, he wants to stay invisible, for the world to swallow him whole and keep him away from the humiliation that is about to be unleashed on him.

“Darling—“

“Aemond—“

The group reaches him, Alicent cups his face in her warm hands as she looks at him with tears stinging her eyes. Aemond can see how devastated she is about him, how she desperately wants to say something and ease his pain but the words are lost in the air when she opens her mouth to utter them.

He reaches and holds her wrists gently, pressing her palms against his cheeks as they silently communicate their emotions — no words need to be said, they understand, Alicent understands his pain, and he knows that she would take it away if she could.

“We should tell the guests,” Aemond says before letting go of his Mum’s hands, striding past his siblings and you towards the salon attached to the church, finding many of the guests already there — his half-sister and her kids with a few other relatives.

He knows they are waiting to hear more of this mess just to taunt him and make his day worse. Everyone knows they are looking for one mistake from him and his family to ruin their reputation, and now, with Aemond Targaryen’s runaway bride, they must be ecstatic.

“What happened, nephew? We thought we were invited for a traditional wedding, but all we see is a lonely groom—“

The glare Aemond gives his uncle and nephews is enough for them to shut up. He tries to put up a strong front, head held high and hands folded behind his back, but if you squint you can see how his resolve is crumbling with each second that he spends in their presence.

He decides not to give in to their silly games and walks towards the bar before he snatches the pack of cigarettes on the stool, leaving the room without saying a word. His mind is foggy as he tries to walk past everyone, he is handling many things at the same time but the bitter and heavy feeling in his chest crushes his strength to process it.

The sound of chatter and gossip fades away as he walks through the back garden of the church; a few little benches and a fountain in the corner hidden from the eyes of the guests with a wisteria tree.

This area could have made a romantic core memory for Aemond and Alys if only things had gone differently…

With a deep sigh, he sits on the ground, his back against the fountain as he fiddles with his bow tie, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, his coat falling on the ground next to him. He opens the pack of cigarettes, pulling one out before he reaches in his pants for a lighter — something he is sure you’d scold him for as you always do, teasing him lightheartedly about his obsession with lighters.

When he inhales the smoke, his mind gets clearer, and he can think a little better, but he is not sure if he would really like to do so. His ex-fiancé left him just a few minutes ago, and his mind fills with dreadful thoughts.

Was it him?

Was he too young for her? Too immature?

Did she change her mind because she loved someone else?

Was he too strict and selfish?

Was it really him who brought this on himself? On his family?

He blows out the smoke, resting his elbow on his knee as he reaches to untie his bun, his hair falling freely around his shoulders while the droplets of water land on the soft silver strands from the fountain.

It is the beginning of the summer, the spring chill of the weather is replaced with an increasing heat, the birds chipper and he can see the peachy hue of sunset in the sky from between the leaves of the tree.

He feels numb, a dull ache in his chest blooming as the reality hits him. Aemond takes another drag of his cigarette, throwing his head back, and letting his hair fall inside the water fountain. He sniffs, closing his eye to keep his tears from flowing down, the storm of his thoughts wrecking his mind once again.

He loves her, she was his everything from the start — his first kiss, first girlfriend, first fight. Alys was his everything, and now, she is nothing but a memory, a memory he wishes to wipe away quickly.

How can you claim to love someone and leave them without any remorse?

There is guilt and sadness, but mostly it’s the doubt and self-hatred that makes him want to sob. Many questions are swirling in his head about how he is the reason she has left. Maybe she was right about leaving him, no one would like to be the wife of a man who deals with heavy pain daily.

He takes another drag, relishing in the feeling of the soft evening breeze that kisses his heated skin, cooling him down a little. The smell of smoke grounds him in this world, making him forget about the mess that is probably happening in the church. He is sure his siblings and Mum are trying their best to talk to Alys’ relatives and other guests, explaining the situation in a hurry.

“Your suite must have cost thousands,” you say casually, announcing your presence as you walk with your long dress in hand, careful with how uneasy your heels feel on the soft grass, making your way to where he is sitting.

“Nothing compared to the decorations she ordered,” he scoffs, putting out his cigarette on the edge of the stone of the fountain before he straightens his neck and looks at you.

“Yeah, I saw them,” you sigh, fisting your skirt before sitting next to him, shoulders touching subtly, “she has a very… interesting taste. Who’d thought a lawyer would be into witchcraft?”

“She likes things no one can understand,” he says, gazing up at the wisteria tree, “I also paid for the dress you are getting wet grass stains on—“

“That was irrelevant because Hel bought it for me! She knew how much of an ass you’d be about it,” you chuckle a little, watching as a ghost of a smile finds its way to his face before it falters and his eye drops to the grass, the smile no longer visible.

“Yeah, maybe that’s why Alys left,” he scoffs in disbelief again, shaking his head a little as he thinks of every bad trait he has, considering all of them could be the reason she decided she was better off without him.

“Her loss,” you say softly, “you are too funny, little nerd, even for someone who can be a stuck-up ass sometimes.”

“You are lucky my sister loved you enough to keep you around because I’d get rid of you the second I could,” he mumbles, huffing out a small laugh when you punch his biceps playfully.

“That’s not nice, Aemond!” You laugh together, rubbing the place where you hit him, “You love me too, that’s why you will never get tired of me,” saying this, you can see his shoulder tensing — love, what a weird word to use.

Does he love you? Does he even love anyone?

Maybe he does, but it wasn’t enough to keep his fiance with him.

Maybe his love was too much for Alys to bear.

“How did you find me?” He asks, his voice hoarse and thick, “I was trying to be invisible.”

“Give me that—“ you grab the pack of cigarettes from him, pulling one out and waiting for Aemond to light it for you. You inhale a puff, handing it back to him before looking up at the sky, “do you remember when you’d steal my books and go into your old stables to read?”

“I do, no one could find me,” he takes a drag of the cigarette, blowing out the smoke before he talks, “but you did.”

“I believed you would do it because you wanted someone to look for you,” you look at him with soft eyes, “and I always did. Your siblings had no idea where you would go, but I knew you like the back of my hand. Or maybe I just wanted my book back!”

He matches your smile, but you can see the pain in his eye, this is not a time to beat around the bush. He wishes to let it out — whatever it is. Perhaps it’s anger, frustration, betrayal, maybe it’s his ultimate desire to vanish into thin air to save himself from the press and humiliation that he’ll be going through.

“What did I do wrong?” He asks, and you must be able to see the agony he is in, he is in grave distress, and the cloud of doubt is causing a tornado in his head that will kill the remaining of his confidence, “did I not give her enough love, show her how much I wanted her?”

“You gave her your heart, something you would never do for someone you didn’t like,” you reach and squeeze his shoulder, “you did your best, gave her your everything. We all saw how devoted you were, it is not your fault.”

“Then why? Why?!” He asks desperately, looking at you with his wide teary eye, the ocean blue orb staring into your soul with need, “I thought I was everything she wanted, she said it herself—“ he looks away before he can cry, throwing his head back to stop the tears from falling, putting the cigarette between his thin lips.

“You are more than enough, Aemond—“

“She wasn’t worth it, was she?” He cuts you off, “she took me for granted,” he sounds so little, so fragile, and he feels so.

“You loved her! I’m sure, Aemond, that your love for her was so beautiful and precious, it was Alys who couldn’t be better.”

“She was the one who wanted to get married as soon as possible…” he whispers, closing his eye as he talks with the cigarette between his lips, “even Aegon made fun of me for not saying no to her, he said I needed to grow up and not give in to her whims.”

“Aegon is a little shit, he can’t even keep one girl in a one-month relationship. He should be the last person on earth to get advice from,” You nudge his shoulder, grab the cigarette, and pull it away from his lips, “loving your partner is not a crime. So what? You liked spoiling her, did you not?”

“Yeah, I did…” he says, looking back down at his fingers rubbing over the fabric of his pants, “Alys used to tell me I was a kid too, that I needed to grow up or else I wouldn’t be a good husband.”

“Oh, Aemond…”

He averts his gaze towards you, tears brimming in his eye, “I did everything I could,” he is helpless, the gut-wrenching feeling is eating him alive.

“Don’t bottle it up, little nerd,” you reach and push a few strands of his hair behind his ear, “you can cry, I’m here.”

And he does; he rests his head on your shoulder and starts sobbing quietly, tears falling on his scarred cheek.

“I’m here,” you whisper, wrapping your arm around his shoulders, making him feel safe enough to pour his emotions out.

Aemond has been avoiding the situation as best as he can; ignoring his grandfather’s calls, not leaving the house for a few weeks, and trying to get a hold on his life again.

All his efforts are in vain.

He still lives in the same apartment in Rosby he and Alys bought a few months ago, their photos and pictures hanging on the walls, the bed they used to sleep on together, their bathroom, their kitchen — everything feels like an old movie reel, a twilight zone he doesn’t know if he likes to leave or embrace and drown in it.

Aemond has been keeping contact with his siblings throughout the past week, refusing their help to come and live with him for a while, saying he wanted some time alone to figure out what he wished to do from then on.

The media is filled with pictures of him standing outside the garden catching the car speeding away — how the paparazzi get there? No one knows but the fingers are pointed at his half-sister and uncle. The pictures are all over the news and the internet, mainly using his Targaryen name to drag him into the dirt.

He plops down on the couch, unlocking his phone only to be greeted with thousands of texts from his Mum and Daeron, begging him to come home and stay the summer with them in Targaryen residency. It’s not an idea he hasn’t entertained before, in fact, he would like to go back home and take some time off for himself. So he texts Alicent and tells her he’ll move in with them for a while until he is better and ready to come back to this forsaken apartment.

He starts packing a few hours later, dirty clothes thrown into the washing machine while he sits on the floor with a huge suitcase ready to be filled. Suddenly his phone starts ringing, startling him greatly. He reaches for the phone on the bed, looking at the screen to see who’s calling him. You. Your name lights up his phone, making him smile a little, thinking probably the word has spread like wildfire.

“Hey,”

“Hey yourself, little nerd!” You say enthusiastically, “heard you wanna move back into your Mum’s place.”

“Hmm, yeah,” he sighs, securing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he talks to you, “a change would be nice, especially for the summer.”

“Then you’re in luck!” You reply, “Hel asked me to come and spend the summer at the mansion too!” he chuckles when he hears you groaning over who knows what before continuing, “Anyway, I’ll come to your place whenever you want so I can help you pack whatever you’d like to take there and then drive to King’s Landing.”

“Sounds great, I really appreciate the offer,” he agrees, grabbing the phone as soon as the washing machine stops, “I’d like it if you could take some time and come here tomorrow?”

“Of course, just send me the location, alright? The sooner we pack, the sooner we can have some of Aegon’s magnificent cocktails!”

“Urgh, that loser will be home too?” He feigns a groan, breaking character when he hears your snort.

“Stop being mean to him, he makes the best Sex on the Beach!” You both chuckle, knowing you are right, Aegon does make the best cocktails known to humankind, “We’ll have fun there, and I’ve missed Vhagar so much!”

“I missed her too,” Aemond says fondly, “thank you again for helping me out, I wouldn’t have reached out if you didn’t call me.”

“Oh I know, that’s why I called. You can always count on me! Anyway, I’ll come tomorrow and help you pack.”

“Alright, thank you, I’ll text you the address,” Aemond says, grabbing the basket to empty the wet clothes from the washing machine.

“See you tomorrow, Little nerd!”

“You should have told me you have a Chevy Camaro, I doubt we can fit anything in this little car!” you hug and greet him when he opens the door, “I brought my things too if it’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, sure, the sooner we pack, the sooner we can leave!” He replies, grabbing your suitcase’s handle, and leading you inside his apartment, “Don’t worry, my car has carried much larger things. This is nothing.”

“Whatever you say! Now— woah, you are packed already?” You look around the room, a few boxes neatly put on top of each other and labeled, one backpack and another half-filled suitcase on the floor.

“I just need some help with my clothes and whether I should…” he points at the framed photos on the walls, photos of him and Alys, “throw them out or send them to her with her belongings.”

“Well, I think you should give it some time before you do something you might regret,” you squeeze his shoulder lightly, “it seems we can go tonight, right? You don’t have many things left to pack.”

“Yeah, just a few clothes! You can get the snack while I put them in the suitcase—“

“No, no, lemme fold your clothes! You should start putting the boxes away, I’ll get everything ready,” you pat him on the chest, walking towards his bedroom to fold his clothes for him.

He nods silently and thanks you before he grabs the boxes and leaves the apartment. You both work quickly, taking a break and having tea together, you ask about how he’s holding up, and he dismisses your questions as best as he can, not really wishing to entertain the thoughts that’ll disturb him.

“Aemond, do you want to bring your books too?” You ask him, groaning as you drop the heavy box on his bed, “because I doubt we’ll have enough space to take all of these with us to King’s Landing.”

“Just those that are already tucked away!” He yells from the kitchen, finishing cooking for you, “We’ll finish it after dinner, c’mon.”

“Okay,” you sigh tiredly, not really expecting the packing to drag on for so long. After all, he said he only needed a few clothes, not half of his wardrobe with his expensive watches and sunglasses.

“I think we have packed enough for at least ten spontaneous parties Aegon will be throwing this summer,” you mutter, sitting behind the island in the kitchen.

“I doubt he’d let an occasion like my birthday let go so easily now that I’m back home,” Aemond shrugs, handing you a plate, “he mostly ignores the occasion but I’m sure he and Mum will do something, and make a huge deal out of it. That’s why I need to be prepared.”

“Well, it’s the first birthday in a while that I’m attending too so it better be something good!” You tease him, thanking him for the delicious meal.

“It will be, or at least Mum’s plans will be great. She has Daeron as her non-assigned assistant now that I’m gone and they make quite the duo. They always host the best gatherings together.”

“Alicent is a perfectionist, of course, she’ll be the best person to throw a birthday party for you,” you agree with him, “but you can’t deny that Aegon’s parties are always better! He’s reckless, and the drinks are the best.”

“Only the best for the oldest Targaryen son, right?” He sighs again, looking down at his plate, “Sorry, it slipped my tongue, I shouldn’t have said it.”

“It’s okay,” you reach and rub his forearm, “you’re dealing with lots of things now, I understand, we all do.”

“I hope I don’t ruin your summer with us with my stupid sappy attitude,” Aemond jokes — or at least tries to.

“Sappy or not, you are my best friend’s brother, and I watched you grow up! There is nothing you can do to make my time with you miserable,” you smile at him softly, finishing your plate before you both stand up to get ready and leave, “I’ll take care of the dishes, you go close your suitcase and we take whatever’s left to your car.”

Time passes quickly and you find yourself getting inside Aemond’s car later than you expected. He makes sure everything is packed and safe both in the apartment and in the trunk before he gets inside the passenger seat — he can’t drive at night because of his eyesight so you’ll drive to King’s Landing. It’s not a long ride fortunately; four hours by car and you’ll be there in no time.

Aemond, despite trying to keep up with the conversation, falls asleep halfway through the road, and you let him take a nap before you arrive there and get bombarded by questions left and right.

When you pull in front of the entrance gates, Cole is already waiting for you, ready to take your bags out and park the car even though someone else could be doing it.

“Hi, Cole,” Aemond greets him with a thick voice, rubbing his sleepy eye before he gives Criston a halfway hug, patting his back.

You shut down the engine, get out of the car, and greet Cole after you hand him the remote, following Aemond in the path leading to the entrance door with a few boxes in hand as you help him take a few of his belongings inside the house.

Alicent is already waiting in front of the door anxiously, slowly rubbing her throat and neck as she waits for Aemond to reach her before she brings him in a tight embrace, not minding the sharp points of the boxes digging in her sides — just having her son with her is enough to remedy all of her pain.

“My darling,” she tears up a little, caressing his hair and kissing his cheek, “I’m so happy you decided to come home, I missed you so much.” “I missed you too, Mother,” he pulls back a little to put the boxes down and hug her completely, resting his head on top of hers as she wraps her arms around him.

Everyone is interrupted when a series of barks echo in the house, and in a second, a huge fluffy black Chow Chow jumps on Aemond, licking his face happily. Vhagar, oh, how he missed his old lady. He chuckles and scratches behind her ears, ignoring all the stares as he reunites with her.

“Babyyyyyyy!” Helaena squeals before she runs towards you to help you with Aemond’s things, kissing you and giving you a side hug, “Thank you for agreeing to come! I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun together.”

“Thank you for having me, lovey!”

“I’m so thankful you helped him, darling,” Alicent pulls away from the pair nearly lying on the floor while one of them is having his face licked, her hand caressing your back as she draws you in her arms as well, “Thank you for bringing home, I’m in debt to you—”

“Oh, no, it was nothing!” You look at her before giving Aemond and Vhagar a cheeky smile, “It was the least I could do, I’m glad I could help.”

“Come, come! You must be tired, your rooms are ready. Cole will take your bags,” she says, leading the way with Aemond who has his free arm wrapped around Daeron, and Vhagar jumps next to his feet while you and Helaena follow them.

“Aegon is asleep, you know him, he has big plans for this summer, especially now that Aemond can use some distraction,” she bumps her shoulder to yours, “meaning we’ll have the time of our lives!”

“Yeah,” you smile at her before looking ahead of you, catching Aemond turning around to give you a quick smile, “What a summer it’ll be.”

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd

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goldenxshine · 2 days ago

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Hiii! I was wondering if you could do a modern au fic where aegon is divorcing his ex wife bc she would neglect their kids which almost resulted in the death of jaherys. But aegon soon finds reader who is his personal assistant and she is just so sweet and loving to his kids and is really the maternal figure they need in their lives and also takes care of aegon’s health and well-being. Over some time he falls for her and her for him and immediately when aegon tells the kids that they’re dating they start begging to call her mummy

₊˚.⋆⋆⁺₊✧ Finding home ₊˚.⋆⋆⁺₊✧

aegon ii targaryen x f!reader

Summary: Aegon Targaryen II, after a painful divorce, finds comfort in his assistant, Y/N, who becomes a mother figure to his children. As they start dating, the kids eagerly call her "Mommy," and with Y/N’s care, Aegon’s family begins to heal.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Aegon Targaryen II sat in his lawyer’s office, his head in his hands. The weight of the past year bore down on him like a dragon’s flame, searing his soul.

The papers in front of him—a finalized divorce from his ex-wife, Lila—felt both like a relief and a failure. He never imagined he’d be here, fighting for custody of his children after Lila’s negligence nearly cost him their lives.

His thoughts were particularly consumed by his eldest son, Jaehaerys. It had been six months since the accident—a near-drowning at a pool party where Lila had disappeared for hours, leaving the children unattended.

Jaehaerys was still haunted by the memory, and his younger sister, Jaehaera, often woke up crying in the middle of the night.

Aegon blamed himself. He’d been too distracted, too absorbed in the world of business, too content with his own indulgences to notice how far Lila had drifted from her responsibilities as a mother.

It wasn’t until the accident that he realized how much his children needed someone who would love and protect them unconditionally.

That someone, he vowed, would never be Lila again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N L/N adjusted her glasses as she carried a tray of coffee into Aegon’s office.

She had worked as his personal assistant for the past year and a half, and while she initially thought the job would be all emails and schedules, she soon found herself stepping into a much more personal role.

Aegon’s life was chaos, and she had become the one constant keeping it from falling apart.

“Your 2 p.m. meeting with the board is confirmed,” Y/N said as she set the coffee on his desk. “And the kids’ school called—they need someone to chaperone the field trip next week. I put your name down just in case, but let me know if you want me to handle it.”

Aegon looked up at her, his violet eyes cold and distant, his posture slumped as though the weight of everything pressed on him all at once.

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll take care of it. I don’t know why you’re always doing so much for me. It's just part of your job, right?”

Y/N smiled, but there was a hint of concern in her expression. “It’s not just my job to keep things running smoothly for you, Aegon. I want to help. You’re doing a lot more than you think.”

He grunted, uncomfortable with the sentiment. For the past year, Y/N had been the one person he could rely on without questioning her motives.

She had kept the household running, ensured that Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were always taken care of, and yet, Aegon never truly let himself see how much he depended on her.

He didn’t want to be vulnerable, not after everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N wasn’t sure when it happened. At first, she was just his assistant, a professional working in a chaotic, emotionally distant environment.

Aegon didn’t open up easily, and when he did, it was often shrouded in bitterness. He would show up late, distracted, often late for meetings or with his mind clearly elsewhere.

But she began noticing the small signs—the way his shoulders would relax when she offered him a cup of tea, the way he leaned into her words when she gave him advice, even how he softened around the kids.

Aegon Targaryen wasn’t a man who was used to being taken care of. His divorce had left him a hollow shell, focusing on work and ignoring the gaping hole in his life. But Y/N’s warmth and presence had a way of cutting through that coldness. It was disarming, and she couldn’t help but feel a deep sympathy for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, Aegon found himself sitting on the couch with Y/N while the kids watched a movie. Jaehaerys had fallen asleep with his head on Y/N’s lap, and Jaehaera was curled up beside her, clutching her hand.

“Y/N,” Aegon said, his voice quiet, strained, but not with the usual indifference. It was as if he had to remind himself to speak. “You’ve done more for them than I ever could. I didn’t even realize how much they needed someone until I saw you with them.”

Y/N glanced up from the children, her expression softening. “They just need someone who’s there, Aegon. They’ve been through a lot.”

He met her eyes for a long moment, his face hard but somehow… softer than usual. “I’m not good at this. At any of this. I was a lousy husband, a worse father, and now… I just want to fix it. For them. For me.”

Her heart clenched. She could see the pain in his eyes, the weight of everything he’d lost, and yet he still fought for his children, still tried in the only way he knew how.

Y/N placed a gentle hand on his, but he pulled away quickly, as if startled by the intimacy.

“You don’t have to do everything alone, Aegon,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to fix everything. Sometimes, things get fixed just by being there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Weeks passed, and Aegon began to realize how much he needed Y/N—not just in terms of work, but in his personal life. She was always there for the kids, always there for him, with a kind word, a thoughtful gesture.

She wasn’t like the others in his life, who only wanted something from him. Y/N never expected anything in return. She just gave, endlessly.

It was late one evening, when the kids were asleep, that Aegon found himself in the kitchen, his gaze lingering on Y/N.

She was rinsing dishes, humming softly to herself, and Aegon could hear the comforting rhythm of her movements. It was absurd, really. He was the future of a dynasty, but in that moment, all he could think about was how Y/N made him feel… like maybe he wasn’t so alone anymore.

He cleared his throat, and she turned toward him. “Y/N… I—” He stopped himself, his voice dropping.

“I don’t know what to say. You’ve done more than I ever could have imagined. But I… I don’t want to keep pretending that this is just business. That it’s just about the kids or the company. It’s not, and I think you know that. It’s more. I want it to be more.”

Y/N didn’t say anything at first. She simply stepped closer, her gaze steady, and placed her hand on his cheek, as though to steady him.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore, Aegon,” she whispered. “I think I’ve known for a while.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The following weekend, Aegon decided it was time to tell the kids. As they sat around the dining table, their plates half-empty, he cleared his throat. Jaehaerys was picking at his food, his usual brooding expression on his face, while Jaehaera busied herself with her toy.

“Jaehaerys, Jaehaera,” Aegon began, his voice low but resolute, “I want to talk to you about something. Y/N and I… we’re dating.”

The kids stopped immediately, their attention snapping to him. For a long moment, there was silence, and Aegon could feel the tension rise.

Then, without missing a beat, Jaehaerys looked at Aegon with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

“Does that mean we can call her Mommy?” Jaehaerys asked in a tone that was a little too casual, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Aegon froze, his heart lurching in his chest. Y/N’s eyes widened, and she looked at Aegon nervously, waiting for his response.

Jaehaera chimed in, her voice a little too enthusiastic. “Mommy!” she repeated, giggling.

Aegon’s lips twitched into a half-smile, one he rarely allowed himself to express. “If it’s okay with her,” he said, his voice a little more uncertain than he would have liked.

Y/N smiled, her eyes filling with emotion. “I would love that,” she whispered, her voice thick with sentiment. “If you’re okay with it.”

And in that moment, Aegon knew that his life had changed. For the first time in a long while, it felt like things could be… okay. Maybe even good.

He wasn’t sure where this path would lead, but with Y/N by his side, and with the kids by his side, he could finally begin to heal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Over time, Y/N continued to prove herself as the rock Aegon had always needed. She cared for the kids with the tenderness of someone who had always been their mother, even though she wasn’t.

She helped Jaehaerys regain his trust in the world, and she encouraged Jaehaera to open up about her fears. Aegon, too, began to change. His attitude softened. He took better care of himself. He even started to show up for his kids in ways he hadn’t before, inspired by Y/N’s steadfast love and patience.

One evening, as he watched Y/N help the kids with their toys, Aegon realized he had found something precious. Not just love, but a family. His heart swelled with a quiet pride, knowing he had found a partner who could be the mother his children needed. And for once, Aegon Targaryen didn’t feel alone.

Because in Y/N, he had found not just a companion, but a home.

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lonelymagpies · 1 day ago

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Secret santa reveal for @ freeinchain! My first go at Daemond and finally at the targ tapestries

#artists on tumblr #character art #sketch #sketch digital #sketchblr #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond the kinslayer #daemon targeryan #daemond #hotd art #hotd daemon #daemon targaryen #the rogue prince #art #illustration

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 9 hours ago

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For King and Kin

22/12: Party and Position Changes - Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 1.6k~ | Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, smut, prince regent aemond, doggy

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

“She is of a weak disposition, I heard. Perhaps she is with child.”

“The Prince Regent certainly needs an heir.”

“He has looked sour since his Lady Wife left the celebrations.”

Aemond scoffed from his spot at the high table, circling a finger over the rim of his cup, half-filled with wine. They spoke as if he did not hear them, whispering such gossip. It was infuriating.

It was true that his lady wife suffered from sickness, especially in the mornings, but not exclusively. The maesters had told him in quiet confidence that they suspected she was with child, but that it was sensible to wait until the quickening to confirm.

What an excruciating wait.

She had graced the court with her presence earlier in the evening, but when she began to feel her stomach churning, she need only pay him a furrow of her brows in pain and he was more than happy to allow her rest if she needed it.

He was willing to carry her even, excuse himself from the celebrations himself. But she reassured him she was still able to walk, with a small, amused smile.

Even with the conqueror's crown planted firmly upon his head, all he could think of was the sweet curve of his wife's body in his. How warm she is. How smooth her skin. How plush her thighs. How tight her—

“Your Grace.”

Aemond blinked, swallowing thickly as he felt his breeches tighten at the mere tangent his mind was about to embark upon. Nothing softened him faster than the sight of Ser Tyland Lannister though, smug and stood tall as if he himself had been crowned instead of him.

“I wish to congratulate you on your Regency. As always your council will remain steadfast and trustworthy. And should you ever desire a Hand—”

“Thank you, Ser Tyland,” Aemond half-smiled, half-grimaced, “your loyalty is appreciated.”

Aemond nodded curtly to Ser Tyland, signalling the conversation was over, though the Lannister lingered a moment too long for Aemond’s liking before finally bowing and stepping away.

His good eye drifted across the festivities. Everyone was drunk at best, smiles too wide, laughter too hollow, and he was overcome with the sudden desire to leave it all behind. He glanced in his mother’s direction as he pushed his chair out, her brown eyes wide with curiosity and judgement perhaps.

She had given him no other look since Rook’s Rest.

“I believe they’ve seen enough of me tonight,” Aemond said, his tone firm. “The realm will not crumble if its Regent retires an hour early.”

“Aemond–”

“Mother,” he interrupted, his voice low but final.

It was only in the hall where he felt he could finally breathe. Air flowed easily, no longer stifled by the pomp and proper of the evening he had just sought to leave. He opened the heavy door to their chambers and stepped inside. The fire had burned low and she was already in bed, lying on her side, her hair spilling over the pillow.

“You left early,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him.

Her eyes opened slowly, and a small smile curved her lips. “And yet you followed.”

As he reached the bed, she shifted to sit up, the blanket pooling around her waist. “I thought you’d stay longer. Your mother will have words, I’m sure.”

“She always does,” he replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Her gaze dropped for a moment, her fingers grazing her stomach in that way that had haunted him all evening. “No,” she said softly. “Just…tired.”

He hummed, “when will the maesters give their opinion?”

She looked up at him then, her expression caught somewhere between apprehension and hope. “They said it would be unwise to speculate for a few more weeks,” she replied. “But I am aware patience is not your strong suit, is it?”

He smirked faintly. “It is not.”

“You’ve waited for so much, Aemond,” she said softly, her voice warm and soothing, eyes glancing up at the conqueror’s crown sat atop his head. “A little longer won’t harm you.”

“Hm,” he murmurs, crawling over the bed towards her delicate form, pressing his face to her stomach with his hands on her hips, “spare me, dear wife. Have the maesters forbade coupling? I do not think I can wait.”

Her fingers threaded through his hair as she let out a soft laugh. “No,” she said, “but we must be careful. They warned against anything too…strenuous. Until we know for certain.”

“I am no beast,” he muffled against her shift, bunching it up as if desperate to touch her flesh, “I know restraint.”

“I seem to recall differently,” she countered with a teasing lilt.

With a hand to his chest, she pushes him back, enough to be able to straddle his lap as he sits with his back against the bed frame. For a moment his pupil widened slightly and she relished in the warm pride that spread through her at his reaction.

She wasted no time. Unlacing his breeches was the simple part, but in this position, face to face, it was novel and intimate, more than usual. It was always Aemond on top, commanding her body to his. She wasn't sure how her husband was likely to cope with the change.

His breath hitched, eye closing as she pulled his cock free and worked him to full hardness, her slight palm massaging the ruddy tip, knowing what he liked. He was surely about to speak before she rose her hips, and the tip of him kissed her waiting slit, and slowly, slowly took her husband to the hilt.

Her movements were slow, deliberate, her hands braced against his chest as she guided them both into a steady rhythm. Aemond’s hands gripped her hips, his fingers pressing into her flesh as he resisted the urge to take control. He let her lead, his lips parting as a low groan escaped him.

“Ābrazȳrys” his voice caught, his eye blazing as he gazed up at her. “You are perfection.”

She leaned forward, her fingers threading through his silver hair, and pressed her lips to his. The dark crown brushed her fingertips, and in her annoyed breath, she slipped it from his head onto the bed. An action only the wife of the Prince Regent in this intimate moment would ever get away with.

Their breaths mingled, their shared movements growing more heated, more desperate. It felt good to roll her hips against him, each slide home was easy, aided by her unending desire to please him. But soon, she began to slow, the strain in her thighs becoming too much.

Her brows furrowed, her rhythm faltering as she let out a shaky breath. “Aemond.”

He must have felt the shake, as he was already moving her off his lap, “enough. Allow me.”

He guided her off him carefully, laying her down on her side before helping her onto her hands and knees. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide, and for a moment, uncertainty flickered across her face.

Her cheeks burned as he pulled the shift over her backside, pulling her legs apart so he might see the wetness that glazed her womanhood. She felt exposed and utterly at his mercy in such a compromising position.

Not to mention, this was uncharted territory.

“We’ve never…” she began, her voice trailing off.

Aemond smirked, his fingers trailing down her spine. “No,” he murmured, his tone low, “but we will now.”

He positioned himself behind her, and watched with curiosity and admiration, as for from this angle, he was able to watch himself disappear inside, swallowed by her silky walls. She gasped in turn, this was deeper than she had ever felt him, with her spine curved and backside held against him. Her fingers clutched the sheets as his pace began slow enough, before his restraint began to ebb away.

“Alright?” he rasped, leaning forward to press kisses along her shoulder, his voice rough with both pleasure and concern.

Her hips instinctively pushed back, “don't stop…”

Her approval shocked him, but ignited his confidence all the same as he began to push into her with renewed vigour. She was surprised at how much she liked it, the way he fit against her, the way his hands held her so firmly. It felt raw, intimate, and utterly consuming.

His hands slid up to her waist as he felt her peak quiver through her body, her walls spasming around him and in the force of it, her arms gave out and she pressed her front to the sheets. She swore she felt the palm of his hand on her lower stomach, stroking lovingly as he reached his, pushing hot, pearly ropes of his release so much inside her, that she felt it dribble down her thigh.

Aemond helped her shift onto her side, gathering her into his arms as they both caught their breath. His hand instinctively returned to her stomach, his thumb brushing over the soft skin in slow, soothing circles.

“You will let me know once the maesters give their opinion, won’t you?”

“Of course,” she replied, leaning into him. “But tonight, you are Prince Regent. Let us celebrate that.”

Aemond shook his head, his lips curling into a rare, genuine smile. His gaze softened as he looked at her, his wife, who had managed to calm the storm in him more times than he cared to admit.

“Tonight, I am your husband. Nothing else matters.”

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@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

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@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

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ficsiveread68 · 3 days ago

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Oh my.

Darkened Corridors

Aemond Targaryen x reader

word count: 2.3k+

About: After avoiding Aemond for what he deems too long, he finds you to remind you what you’ve been missing out on.

Includes: explicit sexual content! (featuring minor religious undertones, the dagger is foreplay, Aemond really loves p*ssy)

Note: hello reader happy new year! I’ve come to understand that sunday is a holy day so it only makes sense to share some holy text with you all. desperate Aemond is one of my faaavorites. there’s just something about someone who’s seemingly always in control losing control. thank you to all the content creators, writers, and lovely readers for continuing to inspire me to write and share these fics! ♥ have an idea? I’m open to requests!

Now cross posted to ao3 as well!

“Walking the corridors this late is dangerous. Hasn’t anyone ever told you?” An arm snaked firmly around your chest: a forearm pressed up between your breasts and its hand covered your mouth to muffle any sound you might have made. A glint of steel shone in the torchlight. The wielder held it dangerously close, the point cold against the soft flesh beneath your bottom rib.

Keep reading

#aemond targaryen

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ladythornofrivia · 2 days ago

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Mr. Targaryen Will See You Now || (PT. 2)

Modern!Aemond x Reader (four parts)

warnings: (for the future chapters): sex, oral sex, loss of virginity, squirting, stalking, obsession, manipulation, reader being clueless, but not totally innocent, blackmail, p in v sex, blood kink, knife kink, gun kink, handcuff kink, bdsm, masturbation, fingering, cum play, tease, mommy issues.

a/n: now you’ve all been waiting for! Part 2! this time, the reader will be as his soon-to-be secretary. i went to the studio for a photoshoot. i won’t say why, but i’ll be announcing it around next year. stay tune for part 3.

You were thinking about him.

His offer.

It was the night where the decision made you toss and turn into your bed. A one chance in a lifetime, something that will change your life and status for good. Getting a steady job meant a steady source of income and societal actions in the higher system that Aemond Targaryen is in. Meaning challengers. Rules and expectations are higher, something that you’re not easy to strive to change pace or comfort zone. It wasn’t your ideal.

The source of all things common and strivers, you weren’t exactly the type to flip the switch on exact moment. A steady job in a steady life is enough. But what Aemond’s offered you says it all.

Risky.

Practical.

Stability.

Peace for bank account.

A high life devoid of privacy and self-recollection. A highly paced environment will not stop their time for you. You’re a slow turtle.

Your friend teased about how Aemond went stuck in your head. It wasn’t fair, at all. It wasn’t like Aemond ambushed you to say yes, but told you to contemplate of his proposal. How his gleaming violet hues pierced into your soul, begging and demanding all at once. The duality was simple enough for you to understand what kind of man he is.

A perfectionist.

Fumbling your mechanical pencil over and over as you studied the notes on your papers, stack after stack, followed by several energy drinks and stained coffee cups all over a once tidy desk. Horrifying as it sounds, you wished for a proper solution for a distraction to settle down permanently. Your friend hasn’t teased you for days, thank god for that, but you needed a second opinion.

But you didn’t want to call your parents because you chose to sever ties with them, not that anyone needs to know the detail, so you tried improvising a solution other than your friend or anyone else you know. You searched on Google, typing:

“How to make a right decision when some hot guy offered you a high-salary job?”, “How to relax after getting offered a job by a hot CEO?” “How to relax and forget for today after days of thinking about the CEO’s offer?”, “How to sleep properly after trying to distract yourself for days after the amount of torturous hours of endless teasing from a friend and a flashback?”

So far no answer came, just the ones where people often complain on the blog on how bosses are viciously toxic, others posted recordings of the bosses that eventually got fired, both boss and ex-worker. Some co-workers fucked the CEO all the way to the top, and others disposed others by any means necessary in a way of safety net.

Your head was reeling with ache and burn, as if someone crushed your skull and penetrated to a point where the pulse tightened, ready to implode. Spine landed back of your office chair, your head thrown back, mouth parted open and tired eyes closed, needing cold air. The break you took was finding your usual posture slouching and limping, as if you were floating in water. Your arms and back were shivering, and it felt good.

You hated wearing a damn big sweater. You thrashed, screamed for a short second, arms stretched and flung, hair tossed and turned, scrunchie loosened up. Then you were still, back to a limp form on a chair, not sitting like a proper lady with legs spread.

Staring at the white ceiling, you grumbled, “I can’t take this anymore.”

Maybe I should relax for now…too much caffeinated drinks doesn’t serve me enough purpose to stay focus on my final exams. Maybe a hottest shower would do the trick and forget my exams for now. And for tomorrow. Get a massage, and be naked for the night.

Thus, you stood up and left.

The phone rang.

Inwardly groaning, you read the number on your screen.

Unknown.

Eh, I’ll call in for the night.

Clicked your phone to silence, and hopped in naked into the shower. Or a bath that will make you fall asleep naked until the morning.

~~~

The phone rang three days later.

You fell asleep, not being as productive, laziness can be good once in a while.

But who the hell would try to call you first thing in the morning without a fresh cup of matcha latte as a today’s starter?

Yawning and stretching your limbs, cracking your spine, you did the best of your ability to be awake in the system. Relaxing and—

Shit.

I have 30 missed calls!!!!!

Who the hell keeps calling me?

It freaked you out, so you blocked the unknown caller.

A small sense of relief escaped from your parched lips. Drank a bottle of cold water to unwind the coils on your belly and went for a warm shower.

Days after break, you returned to your studies—after a long process of washing and scrubbing the mugs, thrown trashes of empty cans by the kitchen, and wiped surfaces on your desk. As a slow perfectionist, like art, it takes perfection. Not a crease or stain to see in plain sight. For the whole morning, with amount of lavender spray in the bedroom and replacement of new bedsheets from your sweat stain, and carpet vacuumed, everything must feel light and right. According to the website, changing bedsheets for every week. Not two weeks or three. Bacteria infested god knows what, you hated the idea of being sick. Even when sick, you still clean, but your friend insisted she’ll do the chores done in an instant, but you knew that your friend is efficient in her job, but she’s no expert with chores.

Lavender scent carried off on a cold air, you slumped back on the desk, starting over with a writing assignment from one class, chugging on a matcha latte, your phone vibrated.

An unknown number.

Again.

This time, you answered.

What could possibly go wrong?

Miss (Y/N).

“Hello,” you said, pausing. “Who’s this?”

“Have you thought about my offer?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand—you must have the wrong number.”

“You are wasting the benefit of my time and success, Miss (Y/N).”

Your spit choked back. “Sir—Mr. Targaryen. Yes, hello! How may I assist you?”

“Have you come to an important decision?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m still studying for my exams. I haven’t been able to sleep properly for days. I…” you paused again, treading the words wisely. “This is something I can’t miss. I have to graduate.”

You heard him sigh.

“There are no excuses, Miss (Y/N). It’s now or never.”

This time, you sighed, foot tapping in an uneven beat, boisterous and clumsy.

“I’ll give you another day to reconsider. But if you don’t answer my call, I’ll pass this offer to someone who will be more sufficient and quick in my service than you’ll ever be. I don’t think you’ll have what it takes to be in my company.”

Your heart leapt.

You bent forward, suspense caving in. “Ah, no, that’s not what I meant, sir—”

“I don’t think so. Not with your late response. I like my staff members to be as punctual, strictly on time. I could only excuse this once to those who are abnormally late. Anyone who shows up with punctuality meant they’ve got what it takes to be more potential regarding to future promotions.”

“I—First of all, how did you get this number?”

“We’ll meet again tonight around 9. Don’t silence your phone.”

And hang up without a second thought.

“What a fucking jackass,” you stated, and with anger rising, you took out on the scrubbing and dusting off furniture.

~~~

Hours later, you anticipated for the phone call, since you’ve done all the studying and cleaning without a hassle on being cranky—not a person disrupted you since your friend went out the whole day to god knows what she’s doing. Results concluded that a proper, lazy rest for three days has been helpful to late cranky hours.

Plopping on a couch with blank television staring back at your tired posture, you weren’t in the mood to watch romance or comedy, especially those characters who are acting like jerks at the first part. Maybe as a kid, you hated bad boys, when as a teen, you loved—you’re a die hard fan of bad boys, thanks to young adult romance novels. But as a grown woman, you’re unsure, but it’s clear-cut that you hated men who carried themselves in their attitude like a dumb child that’s required to be babied.

One man-child after another. It makes you think you wanted a flamethrower to burn, and eating boxes of truffles and a Starbucks drink, watching a whole building collapse to ashes.

The back of your head thumped onto the couch pillows, counting one to ten, more like counting sheep, but you knew it was a bad idea, so you ate heavy chunks of strawberry ice cream on a white ceramic bowl, thinking whether you should do a pros and cons list.

Shit, I made a total embarrassment of myself to a hot young CEO. Even when he did tell me to reconsider his proposal, there’s no way in hell he’ll promote me. Not with the plans I have, not with my delays. He’ll shoved it down on my throat by making me watch another lady settling a high score at the office, and him smirking at my direction. I had a feeling he wants me to be part of his company, it’s weird how he’s the first person—the first CEO—to beg for my existence and be part of a rescue team on his prestigious company. Almost like he’s been ready his whole life. No other CEO would do this; every CEO would think of middle class people as nobodies or a pile of trash. How did he get my number? I wish I know.

Wait, did I just say “hot”?

The phone rang, in a familiar tune.

Nearly tossing the bowl behind you, you settled on the coffee table and picked up the call.

“Miss (Y/N)?”

“Sir.”

“Have you come to make a decision?”

Good money, good pay, and peace for the bank account.

“I have.”

“Well?”

“What time should I be there for work?”

“8 AM. You’ll begin working here around 9.”

“Done.”

“I knew you’ll give in. Eventually.”

“Huh, persistent much?”

“Persistence is a good quality in a man.”

“Right.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night’s rest.”

“Good night.”

You hang up and screamed into the nearest pillow you find.

~~~

Months later….

It’s been forever since you were welcome into the company by the CEO himself. Long story short, you got accepted, without a process of long interview and long wait for phone calls for a confirmation. Easy does it. New office, drinking cups of coffee by the fancy coffee machine and water dispenser and a fridge with ingredients and proper food—not a TV dinner. Most are healthy quality.

But it came with a cost.

You were now under training and supervision of your new boss, who won’t stop staring at you. Clearly he was still fuming of the last interactions he attempted through your phone, labeled as Unknown.

You understood why it was an unknown number. Privacy is a top priority for someone who is known in a local news article online and on social media. Most pictures on social media were focused on the other side of his family, the only time Aemond’s shown in the pictures was blurry.

The usual routine has routine, but one remained the same. You always tied your hair to an updo with a scrunchie.

Stacking and organizing the files and binders by name and number in order, after dusting off of his shelf and toss the useless files on a shredder machine. Whirring on the machine has gotten louder, but didn’t ease your anxiety from his ever watchful eyes. His nose somewhat flaring, and his hands kept opening and closing, attempting to stay tranquil by touching the fabric on his pants, sometimes the items on his large desk.

Aemond kept staring at you for as long as he could and you found yourself at a most vulnerable position. Everything was a mess, but thankfully all of his files are on his computer, including your laptop and Bluetooth headset and ergonomic pens, solely provided by the company, as you play fetch with the CEO, playing his do’s and don’t’s.

Day by day, each time you clocked into work mode, Aemond’s presence drew near. As if he was critiquing you through gaze.

“Why is Aemond staring at you? Have you done something to piss him off?” your co-worker asked.

“I had no clue. Is he always like this?”

“His face usually scowls to everyone, but he’s staring at you without blinking. Kinda freaks me out. Gives me the hibbie-jibbies.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you said in silence, knowing he has sharp ears he might fire you on the spot.

“Like he could hear us.”

“Shh! Would you keep it down!?”

“Anyway, I have to go. Oh, and, Mr. Targaryen wants to see you.”

The thing was, he always wanted to see you.

The past conversation went away as you tried to focus on the present.

Turning back again, and gathered the files Aemond needed for the next appointment. He didn’t need to go at the meeting. If he simply wanted to go, he would, but everything is convenient with advanced technology, online meetings have been a thing for today’s world. If he does want to show up at a mundane event, he would’ve done in a flash, and all eyes would be on him.

“Here are the papers that you requested, sir,” you uttered, low lashes fluttered towards him, hoping to release you from his sky-high office.

“This should be easy to handle with the indulgences of the client I’m working with. Awful man needs to be settled immediately.”

He flicked his wrist.

The screen on his computer brightened with an annoying tune. And deep, distorted voice on the other side of the screen.

You could only offer a short nod, not knowing what he meant. So you bowed and exited.

Finally free.

Without the dark hours, you were the only one left, aside from a janitor and couple security guards roaming the building to dismiss anyone who’s still resided at the office. The office hours are usually closed at 7:30 PM. But for this month, the boss’s notified the staff that they’re off around 5 PM. Aemond’s had been testing the work hours, based on New Zealand with a total of 6 hours of work instead of a regular 9-5. But not for the CEO.

There’s no rest for the wicked.

Finally, at the coffee lounge and a cafeteria, the last member of the cooking staff gave you two packs of cherry cheese danish and an empty cup for a caramelized coffee by the coffee machine standing nearby. You haven’t ate since the moment you stepped in at work. You were in the rush. Stomach twisted in pain now loosened from a good chunk of appetite stuffed into the mouth.

Sat by the ceramic bench, you hummed in delight, feeling like a warm hug, with a touch of caramelized coffee with cream powder. You haven’t had a good break since you were stuck in the room with him. A good coffee weighs the heaviness on your shoulders.

Suffocating.

With that, you emptied the food in your stomach and threw the cup and brown packets in the trash bin, and leaving the tray on top, striding forward to head back and grab your belongings and call it for tonight.

With a quiet office, all surrounded by sturdy walls and soundproof glass, you managed to relax, determined to go home.

The door shut in.

You turned and spotted Aemond locking the door.

“Sir,” you uttered, in question.

Without warning, he pinned you down on desk with a knife close to your face, the pointed end nearly touching your eye.

You screamed, but silenced you with a kiss.

Your first kiss.

“Don’t say a word,” he snarled.

And with the knife he held against your face, his hot breath tickled your face.

“You wouldn’t want to say a word to anyone, would you?”

Frightened, you shook your head. Laying still as if you’re trying to please him in a way to leave you alone.

He hadn’t inched away; knife on his hand slithered its tip across your skin, leaving your staggered, breath held captive, watching his blank and unsteady focus drinking it all in. The knife pinched your skin; Aemond slashed the black stockings in one swoop. Then, his knife went his way inside the ripped skirt he torn off, your pink thongs displayed before him.

You wanted to kick him, but he made sure to keep you still.

Rip!

The panties torn apart cleanly, your wet cunt displayed. It was a nightmare. Blush fell onto your cheeks as you watched him knelt down, still pinning you down, he licked your parted folds, lapped his warm tongue in three deep strokes.

By then, your cunt squirted shortly.

And he found it amusing.

“Be a good secretary,” he said, and plunged the hilt of the knife inside you.

Your moans escaped but Aemond kissed your lips, you could taste yourself in his lips, still in shock and denial that your lips could barely move.

Terror flooded within you; his hand bloodied as he inserted the knife’s hilt inside, urging your desperate, clinging cunt, growing warmer, tighter, coiled to a tight flex, oozing and flowing. You never had proper sex.

The knife has taken your virginity.

“Stop~” you uttered breath ragged breaths, nearly bucking your hips, cunt yearning.

Aemond denied, attempted to go faster, and the dark hilt of the knife pinched your walls right. The flush of hot squirt splashed on his uniform, even yours. Humiliating as it was, at least you’re somewhat thankful that it wasn’t his cock.

How long has he wanted this?

“Sir, please stop—”

“I will stop when I wanted to stop, Miss (Y/N). You’re going to love this. Whether you like it or not.” He unzipped his pants with one hand while his other pinned your hands above your head and stroke himself in front of your exhausted state. You couldn’t object anymore. His climax is about to reach, and his hot cum exploded, splashing everywhere on your skin. Even your face. His ragged breath overtook the silence, and left you defenseless. Letting your wrists go.

Everything was hot inside your private office.

“Fuck,” he moaned, eyes closed.

It felt right for him.

Seeing you all bruised and bloodied up. The hilt of the knife he held on his bloody hand—from the gripping the sharp end—it was a mix of your cum and blood, from tightening its grip.

Then he zipped his pants up, and left you cold on the table, saying, “Make sure no one sees you, Miss (Y/N). And if you mention this to anyone, I’ll kill you.”

His hand yanked the scrunchie out of your hair, some hair stands plucked, leaving your lips a soft yelp.

Then the door slammed shut.

Hollow. And emptiness.

Only your cries filled the stained and wrecked office, wondering how it went wrong, wondering how you can still breathe. The scars on your thigh wasn’t deep, but needs medicine and a clean shower, and a long rest. From there, you contemplate without hesitation. Your heart ached from shock and distress, a feeling where you wanted to throw up all the good food you ate earlier, but it was no use.

Perhaps you made a mistake on taking his offer.

~~~

As for Aemond, it was the first part of his plan. The red bruises on your wrist and absolution on your skin, laced in dark and wet crimson, from a torn underwear and stockings, the rush stirred in his veins and heart. And thus, more games he plans to pursue, seeing if you could withstand and beyond.

Somewhere in his head, the voice came in again. He wanted it to go away. The blood on his hand went cold, stinging from gripping the blade so tightly when he forced the hilt inside her warmth.

In the midst of stopping, he snapped his neck. In anger, he didn’t want to hear that voice again.

It’s about damn time he found a new toy to play with.

With a scrunchie he confiscated from you, yanked it away, as he went to the nearest elevator, reaching to his office, rushing to his chair to undo his pants once more and wrapped your scrunchy in several movements, until he became undone with his pleasure. He didn’t care of his staff coming in. But nobody entered. The staff went home and no one could hear Aemond’s throaty pleasure emanating.

The fainted smell of flowers on the scrunchy and his cum and blood from his injured right hand intertwined, as he sniffed it.

Divine and innocence.

Just the way he liked it.

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