Imagine Cregan falling in love with a sailor, either a Velaryon or a Greyjoy... He would be intrigued at her love for the sea, as he feels most comfortable riding the large plains of the North or behind the sturdy walls of Winterfell, but she feels the most like herself on choppy waters, wet and shivering, but free, the wind in her face, the taste of salt on her lips... ♡
I'm weak for that dynamic. Snow and sea, ice and water...
This morning I was informed that @4kisses, also known as @prongsio had lifted an Aegon oneshot from me. Their since then deleted fic “Silent Love” heavily lifted from mine, “Silence is the Beginning of Hell”.
Upon reading it and having it read by a handful of other writers I confirmed that the plot was identical and the scenes were the same, just rewritten but in the same order. Some of the dialogues were straight-up copy/paste with simply some pronouns or contractions switched.
Here are some side by side comparisons. In orange is their fic, in blue is mine.
There is more but I want to keep the post short.
I reached our to the person but they refused to admit they took from me and promptly blocked me when I presented them with screenshots.
Watch out, fellow writers. PLEASE DO NOT SEND HATE TO THAT PERSON. This is simply meant to inform and warn.
DMs with them below the cut.
Then I started to send them the screenshots with the highlighted part, but they blocked me without a word.
I wouldn’t have said anything publicly if they had only admitted to it… but since they can’t take accountability, I am warning others with proof. I don’t want them to do the same to others.
The fic is probably still available since a dozen people had reblogged it.
Aemond Targaryen x Aerea Targaryen (older sister!OC)
Tags: canon typical violence, incest, mention of executions and blood, smut
Wordcount: 8k
Aemond and Aerea have always been drawn to one another, although separated by duty and marriage. As the war of succession starts, bloodshed draws them together once more, and this time they will burn as one.
112 AC
As the sounds of cheering and clapping resonated in the courtyard of the Red Keep, from the open window of her chambers Queen Aemma could hear the merry gathering as she exhaled her last breath. The hope of a son for the Targaryen dynasty died along with her, as a few hours after her passing, the Stranger came to pick her son from his cradle.
Hope bloomed again as barely six moons after the passing of Queen Aemma, King Viserys took the Lady Alicent Hightower to wife, and she found herself with child almost immediately. The court held its breath as the Queen was in labor, and collectively sighed in both relief and disappointment as she bore a strong and healthy daughter, and lived to sing her infant to sleep.
The King took it as a sign that his wife was fruitful, but the atmosphere remained tense and heavy in the Red Keep during the Queen’s second pregnancy. Aerea was still nursing in the night when Alicent’s belly started to round, and the little princess was barely walking on her own when her brother Aegon was born.
They looked so much alike in their first years, and Aegon was such a smaller babe compared to his eldest, that they were often mistaken as twins. Yet they couldn’t have been more different —while Aegon was a fussy baby and a miserable child, clinging to his mother, Aerea never exhibited such affection toward her. The Queen would never fully bond with her first child. She was too wild, too unpredictable —she has too much dragon blood in her, King Viserys once commented, she holds the same spirit and fire as Daemon and Rhaenyra.
And so, as the years went by and more children came, Alicent watched as her first daughter grew outside of the family circle, always lingering on the edges, but never truly bonding with her siblings. She was a loner, and seemingly happy to be, with one exception.
There was only one of her siblings whose company she seeked, and to whom she seemed to bore affection. Aemond and Aerea shared the same calm aura, and the same love for Targaryen history and tradition. They also shared the unfortunate fact that their dragon eggs had never hatched, and Aemond was comforted by her presence in the Dragonpit during lessons.
Despite being five years apart, the two siblings grew closer as Aerea approached adolescence, their shared passion for dragons bringing them together. Upon a visit to Dragonstone, the princess both frightened and impressed the small court of lords and ladies that had accompanied them, as she escaped her sworn shield’s surveillance to crawl into the secret passageways into the Dragonmont, and came out on the saddle of no less than Vermithor.
The Bronze Fury suited the Princess, as she had grown to be quite the fiery young woman, and soon after her, Aemond won the mighty Vhagar to their side, and the two formidable dragons and their riders were often seen riding together over Blackwater Bay.
134 AC
As the modest celebration for the coronation of King Aegon II was resonating in the empty hallways and corridors of the Red Keep, Aemond was gazing into the void above the majestic stone staircase, elbows propped against the railing of an alcove, a goblet of wine in hand.
“There you are,” came a feminine voice behind him, and soon his sister Aerea was leaning against the stone railing, her back against it so she could have a better view of her brother’s face. Her own goblet in hand, she contemplated him as he did not respond —they both knew what was on his mind.
“When are you leaving for Storm’s End?” she asked solemnly, watching as a fleeting emotion crossed his face, his purple eye still staring straight ahead.
“On the morrow,” he replied in an equally flat tone.
“I’m sure one of them will strike your fancy,” Aerea commented, almost off-handedly, but Aemond knew her remark was a charged one.
Although he felt a prick of annoyance, he could hardly blame her, as he had felt the same discontent when she had been married to Elric Arryn, a cousin of the Lady of the Eyrie, in an attempt to keep her tamed and contained and to soothe the relationship between the Vale and the Crown. The young lord had assured the King he would be able to keep her on a short leash, and so far he had succeeded, but only by her own volition. As long as her lord husband served at court and she remained close to Aemond, she was content pretending her marriage was not a prison. Yet, in almost five years of matrimony, she had not borne him any child, and therefore no one was surprised how he doted on the numerous sons his mistresses gave him.
“Where is your husband?” Aemond asked in return for her comment, his tone icy cold.
“Drinking with the King,” Aerea replied with disdain, and no small amount of disgust. Her dislike of Aegon was well-known, and she had often told Aemond how he should have been born the first son instead of Aegon.
These were the open conversations they could have with one another, away from the polite lies of court, was instead based on the purest of honesty, and had always been the foundation of their bond. They were closer than siblings, people often murmured when their backs were turned, but in truth they had never touched beyond what was appropriate for a brother and sister —Aerea sometimes alluded to it, but Aemond was too proper to indulge in such fantasies.
Or at least he pretended he was, but below the surface, a fire more potent and scaling than that of Vhagar brewed.
He had been a young boy when he had realized his admiration for his older sister extended beyond brotherly love, and instead fell in the dangerous waters of lust and passion. His devotion to Aerea was absolute, and he knew her own devotion to him equaled his, at the least.
“You should be by his side,” Aemond pressed, and Aerea’s eyes turned cold and dark.
“Are you sending me away?” she asked petulantly, and the rumbling humming sound she got from him was answer enough. Snorting into her cup, she ignored his demand.
“My brother is to secure a marriage with the Baratheons, can I not spend one last evening with him before he leaves?” she asked, and when he did not respond, she pressed the issue, as was her habit. “Like I said, I’m sure one of them will strike your fancy. The Four Storms, they are called, I wonder if that nickname extends to the bedchamber—”
“Enough,” Aemond snapped, pushing himself up from the railing and putting his goblet aside, ready to bolt and walk back to his chamber sullenly, as was his habit when he was in a foul mood. Aerea followed him further into the narrow hallway she had originally come from, setting her goblet alongside his as she walked past it.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of storms, now?” Aerea asked, taunting him, and her brother suddenly turned on his heels, his long hair swinging behind him as he came to face her.
“What are you playing at, sister?” he hissed, annoyance and anger etched over his sharp features.
“Riling you up, and it seems it’s working,” she exclaimed with a wicked smile. “Why are you so tense anyway?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Aemond replied in a quieter tone, all anger seemingly fading from him.
“Don’t be pathetic, it doesn’t suit you!” Aerea chastised before stepping closer and reaching up to cup his face. She stroked her thumbs along the sharp edges of his jaw, and he tone mellowed as he leaned into her touch. “Now, what is Prince Aemond, rider of the mighty Vhagar, so wary of?”
Aemond didn’t respond, instead simply leaned into his sister’s warmth, curling his hands along her upper arms, holding her in place. The teasing expression vanished from her face and she turned kind and gentle again, in a way she only ever was with him.
“What is it, brother mine?” she asked softly, and Aemond found he couldn’t resist her.
“Do you remember the morning after your wedding?” he questioned, looking into her eyes as he eyebrows rose in confusion.
“Barely, those days were miserable,” she recounted.
“As we all broke our fast together, Aegon asked how your wedding night had been. Do you remember what you said?”
“Unsatisfactory,” Aerea replied, spitting out each syllable like they were broken glass. Then, understanding spread over her smooth features and her tone turned gentle again as she spoke to him. “I’m sure you’ll be a very satisfactory husband, brother.”
“How can you be?” he countered, and she made a questioning sound, quite similar to the humming ones he was prone to.
Aemond turned his face into her gentle hold, nuzzling into her right hand and pressing his lips to her palm, firm and lingering. His question tickled as he breathed it, and his previously hooded eye snapped open, trained on her. “How can you be certain that I will be satisfactory?”
“Aemond,” Aerea warned, her hands sliding away from his face as she understood what his endgame was, but his grip on her arms tightened and she couldn’t step back. Instead she found herself stuck, her hands hovering close to his face as he looked at her with intent, his eye dark and penetrating.
Within the span of a breath he was pulling her closer to him and dipping his head, and Aerea could barely avoid his kiss. Aemond groaned in displeasure when she refused him and his lips pressed to the corner of her mouth, his senses invaded by her scent —she smelled of ashes and roses, a deadly and delightful combination that never ceased to incense him.
With a last breath exhaled against her cheek, he pulled away without a last look and stalked down the corridor, his long hair swaying at his back.
It was an entirely different attitude that met her in the hallway outside of the Hand’s Chambers two nights later as Aemond returned from Storm’s End. She had not been allowed inside, and instead had to endure the raised voices and cries muffled by the heavy doors. Pacing the hallway in her nightclothes, a robe hastily thrown over a silky nightgown, she focused on the cold stones under her feet grounding her.
Finally Aemond came out, or was dismissed, and his face fell even further when he took notice of who was waiting for him outside. He was soaked with rain and his skin was paler than usual —Aerea could only imagine something terrible had happened, and she quickly looked for any injury on her brother, but found none.
“Did the Baratheons refuse?” she asked, fearful and hopeful at the same time.
“They accepted,” Aemond replied in a voice that wasn’t his own.
“Then what—”
“Lucerys Velaryon was there, too,” her younger brother whispered, and realization dawned on Aerea.
She knew her brother well enough that he did not need to elaborate for her to understand, and her heart clenched at the utter tragedy and its implications.
“Come,” she pulled Aemond along. “Let’s get you out of these rain-soaked clothes.”
Aemond let himself be guided down the stairs and along the long corridor that led to Aerea’s chambers. She was strangely calm and so was he, but she knew it to be a mask; she could feel him tremble under the hand that gripped his arm, and his breaths were too deep, too slow.
“Get the prince some dry clothes. Leave them at the door,” Aerea instructed her maid as she walked down the two steps that lead to her chambers. The maid curtsied then scurried out, closing the heavy door behind herself.
Without a second of hesitation, Aerea’s hands came up to Aemond’s doublet, but before she could undo the first buckle, her brother’s cold hands fell on hers, stopping her.
“What happened?” she asked, her dark eyes rising to meet his. Aemond swallowed under her gaze, and he felt as though his skin had been peeled and all his sins and thoughts were exposed to her.
“I lost control,” he confessed, shame making his spine burn and his stomach clench. “Vhagar wouldn’t listen—” he spat out, disgusted at himself and ashamed at his lack of control over his beast. It was a betrayal to his blood, to his heritage, and he felt as undeserving as he had as a child.
“Dragons can sense our inner turmoil,” Aerea simply stated, but her coldness toward the death of her nephew was not a surprise to Aemond.
“They’ll call me a kinslayer,” he rasped out, and she tugged her hands from his hold, only to reach his face, her palm fitting over his cheekbones.
“Lucerys was not our kin,” she said slowly, measuring every word for that they were; a truth that had cost many their downfall or their death, and yet she spoke it as though she knew no other truth. “The only people that matter are us,” she continued, her palms burning her words into Aemond’s skin, her breath hot between them, her eyes blown wide as she looked up at him with nothing but acceptance and pride.
“I will kill all of Rhaenyra’s remaining bastards if it would ease your anguish,” she hissed, and Aemond’s nostrils flared at the sight of her white teeth and of her prominent canines behind her dark pink lips.
The thrill of the chase on Vhagar had left him wanting and unsatisfied as shock and shame had interrupted his ascent toward a rightfully owed retribution. Now he was left with the taste of ash in his mouth, and his blood rushing under his skin, burning him from the inside.
Still, he replied, “I would not have you damn your soul in this way.”
Aerea laughed at that, a joyless laugh that was tainted with wonder and bloodlust, and her eyes searched his face as she pulled the eye patch from his face. His sapphire, the one she had gifted him when his wound had healed, gleamed in the low light of her chambers, and she imagined what it would feel like to run her lips along the ragged edges of his scar.
“How can you be so sweet, and yet so deadly, little brother?” she crooned, and she sighed as Aemond slid his hands under her robe, finding her waist through the silky fabric of her nightgown.
A great shudder went through him as he wondered whether she was bare under her night clothes, and he found he could no longer resist the connection Aerea and him shared, this unbreakable bond that ran thicker than blood, deeper than bones, and stronger than Valyrian steel.
“Only you know the truth of me, the truth of my soul and my sins,” Aemond rasped, then his mouth descended on hers, rough and gentle at the same time. His lips explored hers with unbridled passion and his tongue was scorching hot —he kissed her like a man starved, like a man consumed by desire and years of repression.
“Trading one sin for another, little brother?” she asked as he backed her into a table, pushing into her until she had no choice but to part her knees and allow him in the cradle of her hips. She threw her head back as he assaulted her neck with his lips, teeth, and tongue while she fumbled between them to finally unbuckle his thick leather doublet.
She was his greatest love and his greatest enemy, as she was temptation and fire made flesh, and he found he would gladly let himself be consumed by it, if it meant only a moment in the cradle of her body.
Aemond did not even need to ask, for she knew his deepest desires and the tells of his body. Aerea pushed the heavy doublet from his shoulders and he shrugged it off —she did not bother tugging on his thin linen shirt, instead unlaced the front of his trousers, and within a minute she had a hand around his cock. Aemond groaned as she wasted no time with gentle caresses, instead started a quick rhythm, long pulls that shook him to his core. He snarled in her neck as though his pleasure was almost painful, one of his hands grabbing the edge of the table as he rocked into her, his other hand coming up to bury in her hair.
“That’s it, little one,” she crooned in his ear as he panted hotly into her neck. His hips were rocking desperately into her grasp, his cock leaking over her hand as she brought him to a quick, intense release.
With a twist of her wrist and a swipe of her thumb over the slit of his cock, she pulled him over the edge almost despite himself —he came in hot pulses over her hand, grunting behind clenched teeth as she milked him to the last drop. She only let go of him as he started whimpering into her shoulder, his back shaking as he rode the razor-sharp edge between pain and pleasure.
The loss of her touch snapped Aemond out of the haze he had been in, and what had just occurred dawned on him. A cold shiver of dread went through him and his pleasure soured, turning into shame and guilt as he pulled away from his sister abruptly.
Panting, Aemond took in the sight she made —propped up against the table, her robe pulled down her arms, her neck red and bruised, she looked properly defiled. There was no shame on her face, but no satisfaction either. She was looking at him straight on, her knees still splayed, and the proof of what he had allowed her to do to him was dripping from her left hand.
“It cannot happen again,” Aemond grunted as he tugged on the leather laces of his trousers, eager to put distance between them. His resolve had broken and he had defiled another man’s wife, his sister no less, taking his frustration out on her.
Aerea let him go without a word, but he could see a fire burning behind her eyes. As the door closed behind Aemond and his shame, and Aerea was left alone with her desire, there was only one thought at the forefront of her mind.
War was about to start, and she knew exactly what to do.
Harrenhal was less impressive than Aerea had expected. She had heard the tales of Harren the Black and the curse that supposedly haunted these walls —but as Vermithor landed on the edge of a collapsed wall, stones rattling beneath its claws, she did not feel as though she was entering cursed ground.
As she walked into the main courtyard, crossing the gates of the ill-omened castle, she heard Vermithor call and soon Vhagar’s deep below answered him. The men bowed to her as she walked past them, and she kept her head high as she made her way toward her brother. In the middle of the courtyard, dressed in armor bearing the three-headed dragon sigil of their house, Aemond was presiding over what looked to be executions.
“The Princess Aerea has arrived,” Criston Cole called, his voice resonating in the yard. He bowed respectfully as she walked past him and she smiled back —she liked Cole, under his austere exterior there was a wit she occasionally enjoyed.
“I am aware,” Aemond replied without looking up —his gaze was trained on a man kneeling on the floor, sobbing into his bound hands. To the side, a pile of bodies was waiting for him to join them.
Before Aerea could greet her brother, he raised his sword and lowered it at impressive speed. The sharp sound of the blade cutting through the man’s neck sliced the air and blood dripped on the floor. Only then did Aemond step aside and walk toward her.
“Sister, welcome to Harrenhal,” he said formally while cleaning his sword with a corner of his cape. Aerea snorted as she took in the way his shoulders swayed as he walked —the armor made him look broader than he really was, and she had to admit it was an enticing sight.
“Is there any man left alive in this castle that isn’t ours?” she asked, looking at the headless corpse on the ground. Blood was seeping into the earth, tainting the dirt and rocks.
“I didn’t think you would be so squirmish at the sight of blood, sister,” Aemond replied, almost mocking, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in his voice.
“I didn’t think you would be so hungry for blood,” she snorted again. “If I recall, the last time you murdered someone—”
Aerea was interrupted as Aemond grabbed her arm forcefully, pulling their faces close.
“I forbid you to speak of it,” he snarled, and Aerea looked up at him indignantly and pulled her arm away without a word. The apparent coldness in Aemond’s eye wasn’t fooling her, and she felt a righteous rage build in her stomach.
Aemond swallowed as Aerea stepped away from him, and he was both comforted and made vulnerable by her presence. Harrenhal was his first siege, and although he had Cole’s support and battlefield experience, he was glad she had come. She had always been a driving force in his life, an immeasurable support, and yet now he couldn’t look at her without seeing his own faults, his own weaknesses. He drew his courage from her love, even though it ate at him, all the while it seemed she drew only enjoyment from toying with him.
Aerea was a free spirit and a wild soul, he had always known that much. She was untameable, and wouldn’t settle down for anyone —not even for him. He could never possess her the way she possessed him, and yet he couldn’t help the fantasies his mind conjured, and the way his body responded to them. As he barked at Cole to bring the rest of the prisoners, he saw a smirk pull at his sister’s lips, and she knew she was taking it as a challenge.
Aemond knew she would have no trouble rising up to the bait —she was dressed in leather and steel armor, bearing the sigil of their faction, her hair braided in traditional Valyrian style. Long gone was the lady of the court, if she had ever existed, now she looked more of a warrior than any man in the fortress.
As Cole made the prisoners stand in line, most of them shaking and pleading for his mercy, his sister stepped forward.
“There is no mercy for traitors,” Aerea exclaimed, her voice effortlessly loud and strong. As the first man was brought to her feet, kneeling on the already bloodied ground, she did not hesitate before unsheathing her sword and bringing it down, dispensing justice in one clean strike.
Night had fallen over Harrenhal when the door to Aemond’s temporary quarters opened, and Aerea strolled in without being invited, mindless of who was present or what was occuring. A bath had been poured, steam filling the cold room and a fire was blazing in the hearth. Near the bronze tub, Aemond was standing, his weapons discarded on a nearby table, and a dark-haired woman dressed in black was unbuckling the straps of his armor.
“Out,” Aerea said without looking at her, and the older woman blinked in surprise. Her hands currently occupied with the breastplate of his armor, his cape draped over one of her shoulders, she hesitated.
“Are you—” she started, but Aerea’s sharp and cold tone cut through the air and interrupted her.
“Yes,” she commanded, finally raising her eyes to the dark-haired woman. “Now that I’m here, your services are no longer required.”
The woman raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest. She bid Aemond good night, setting the cloak aside and slipping out of the room, closing the door behind her.
“Who is she?” Aerea asked as she started where the other woman had left off, tugging at the straps that held Aemond’s breastplate in place, revealing the thick gambeson he wore underneath —it bore the traditional dark red color of House Targaryen.
“Her name is—”Aemond started, and it hadn’t escaped Aerea’s notice that he had made no attempt to contradict her, to have the other woman stay.
“I don’t give a shit about her name. Who is she?”
“A witch,” Aemond sighed, looking down as his sister pulled at the laces of his protective clothes, revealing the linen shirt he wore underneath. He helped her pull them off his shoulders and down his arms, and the way she moved along with him, practiced and familiar, made a heat coil in the pit of his stomach.
“A woodswitch? Interesting,” Aerea replied, but her tone suggested otherwise.
“Although you really have stooped low,” she continued as she put the gambeson away, turning around to set it on a nearby dresser. “May I remind you that you are engaged to one of the Baratheon ladies. And here you are, fucking that bastard girl.”
Aemond did not take kindly to the comment and he huffed his displeasure before replying, his tone icy cold. “Does your husband know that you’re here?”
“I suppose that wherever he is now, he probably knows,” Aerea answered cryptically, looking at him over her shoulder. Her hair was a mess of braids and twists, with long silver waves falling over her back, grazing her waist.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Aemond frowned, and the way his sister smirked made a shiver run down his spine. “Where is he?”
“It’s unfortunate, really,” Aerea lamented in a flat tone, “that my dear husband turned out to be a supporter of Rhaenyra.”
“Last time I saw him he was drinking with the king,” Aemond replied as she turned to face him fully, propping herself against the dresser. She was still dressed in her riding clothes, although she had removed her cloak. The shoulder pads of her doublet looked like dragon scales, and they shone in the candlelight whenever she moved; low on her waist, the buckle of her belt was in the shape of a steel dragon curled on itself.
“I found letters. He was writing to Rhaenyra, plotting against our king,” Aerea trailed, looking up to Aemond with a proud face, her gaze intensely fixed on him.
“You had him accused of treason and arrested,” Aemond concluded, and Aerea smirked again.
“Yes and no,” she answered, and when Aemond titled his head, she continued. “Aegon was very sympathetic… He understood a betrayed wife must sometimes take justice into her own hands.”
“He did not write those letters, did he?” Aemond asked as his eye dropped to his sister’s hands —her nails were trimmed short, her slender hands calloused by years of training with a sword. He felt the back of his neck prickle when the last time he had enjoyed their touch came to his mind.
“Mayhaps he did, mayhaps he didn’t… What does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” Aemond concluded in a quiet tone, the atmosphere between them shifting. Aerea had turned soft again, he could see it in the way her hips loosened as she walked back toward him, and he longed for her kindness despite the cold way he had welcomed her earlier.
Aemond let her disrobe him fully, shivering as she unlaced his trousers and he stepped out of them, standing completely bare in front of her for the first time since they were children. Aerea’s breathing picked up as her eyes roamed his frame. The fire made his skin glow and she looked her fill without guilt, from his slim waist to his slender thighs. Her core heated and clenched as she took in the nest of white curls in the cradle of his hips, and the impressive length that hung between his legs.
She didn’t hide her wandering eyes, and he felt her gaze like the caress of a lover, his cock filling slightly as she guided him into the round bathtub. The steamy water made him groan as they soothed his aching muscles, and Aerea chuckled behind him —he forced himself not to turn as he heard the sounds of her disrobing as well.
As she pulled a stool closer he peeked over his shoulders to find her in only her tunic, almost translucent in the warm glow of the fire, reaching her mid-thigh. She was bare underneath, that much was obvious, and Aemond felt his mouth water as he caught the shadow of her cunt before she sat down at his back, sliding her hands into his hair.
It was matted with sweat and a few splatters of blood, as was hers, and neither said a word as she pulled at the strands and unweaved his braid. She dropped the leather cord to the ground with a sigh, then dug her fingertips into his scalp, making him groan in relief.
“That whore,” she suddenly said, her fingers tangling in his hair and pulling his head back. “Unless she can prove her usefulness, I want her gone.”
Aemond didn’t say a word, too stunned by the order she had just given him, and aroused at the implied threat. She tucked her face in the curve of his neck, her other hand coming around his throat. She felt him swallow as she whispered in his ear.
“If you don’t send her away I might… dispose of her, the same way I disposed of Elric,” she suggested, and she didn’t wait for an answer before she guided Aemond to sit up, taking a nearby cup and dipping it into the hot water before pouring it over his head.
The water felt cool on his face and skin, as heated as he already was —her threat incensed him, and he wondered to what extent he could push her, what horrors she would do for him, to prove her love and her loyalty.
Aemond swallowed again as she worked soap into his hair with care, closing his eye and enjoying the feel of her hands. Neither spoke for a long while, but a question was hovering over them, in the steam that rose from the tub.
“What happened to Elric?” he finally asked as she guided his head back again, rinsing the soap from his silver strands. He felt one of her hands creep from the back of his head to his throat again, wrapping around it loosely.
Her breath at his ear made him shudder again, and he felt his cock fill and harden. “I slit his throat open, slowly, and I watched as he choked on his own blood,” she murmured in a soft tone, almost humming.
Aemond shuddered and she kissed him below his ear, lingering. “I will do the same to your whore if you lay a hand on her again.”
“She is nothing. Nothing but a distraction,” Aemond rasped, one of his arms reaching back to touch her. He slid his hand clumsily along the side of her face, her neck, and then curled at her shoulder, gripping the cotton of her tunic.
“I’m sure slitting her throat open would be a good distraction too,” Aerea commented in a merry tone, her grip on Aemond’s hair tightening painfully.
“I might have a go at her before, to see if she was worth your time and your seed,” she added, and this time her tone was one of cold fury —Aemond’s cock twitched under the water, and he had to curl his other hand around the rim of the tub to resist the temptation to touch himself.
“Did you really think you could take your pleasure from me, and then walk away?” Aerea continued, ruthless in her jealousy, and Aemond could only suffer it, rooted to the spot.
“It was a mistake,” he hummed.
“There is no mistake between us,” she hissed back, not dissimilar to the sound Vermithor made when he was displeased.
Then suddenly, Aerea let go of his hair and stood up, pushing away the hand that was still clutched at her shoulder. Aemond’s gaze followed her eagerly, terrified that she would walk away, leaving him aching and wanting, executing her cruel vengeance.
"You wouldn't believe the things I've done to try and forget you,” he surrendered. “No matter what I do, I still somehow find myself crawling back to you."
“If only you gave yourself to me, fully, you wouldn’t have to leave only to crawl back, as you say,” she replied, bending over the edge of the tub, propping herself up over him. The collar of her tunic exposed her breasts, and Aemond looked unashamedly. They were round and heavy, her nipples peaked, flushed a dark pink.
“I’m your sister, your blood, what are you so afraid of?” she asked gently, the blush of her cheek extending to her throat and chest as his gaze trailed on her body, all the way to the curve of her behind, visible where her tunic had rode up.
Aerea sighed as Aemond reached up to grab her arms and tried to pull her closer. “We are both dragons,” he said as she swung a leg over the edge of the tub, and she let him pull her fully into the water with him.
“We are fire made flesh,” she echoed him as she straddled him, her knees on each side of his hips. “We belong together.”
“We are the blood of the dragon… We might consume one another, until all is left is ashes,” he whispered fervently as she hooked her arms around his shoulders, cradling his head. Her face was soft as she gazed at him, from his mouth to the sapphire that shone in his left eye socket.
Aemond hummed, his hands curling at her waist, his mouth tingling as she licked her lips slowly.
“I’ve always known, always noticed…” she trailed as one of her hands came up to his face again, the pads of her fingers tracing the curve of his brow and the shape of his scar. “I knew the day you became a man, just from the way you looked at me.”
“I wanted to consume you,” he recalled. “I still want to.”
“Anything you want, you can have,” she said, and Aemond swallowed the breath of her last word as his mouth caught hers in a deep kiss. He groaned as she pressed back against him, her tongue curling along his. He was starved for her lips, for her kisses and her warmth —and from the way she melted against him, her hips grinding against his stomach, he knew she was as hungry for it as he was.
He prodded the points of her teeth as she started pulling at the last laces of her tunic, and he made a sound close to a whimper when she pulled away from their kiss to remove the garment, throwing aside.
As soon as she was bare against him, he followed the column of her throat with his mouth, tasting her skin and biting it without restraint. He groaned as Aerea curled her fingers around him firmly, enjoying the hot and smooth skin, silk stretched over a hard rod. The feeling of him twitching against her palm was exhilarating, and it made her ache deep inside.
“Aerea,” he groaned against her neck, one of his hands following the line of her throat to her chest, curling a hand over her breast, her whole chest prickling with desire.
He pulled at her by the waist again, and she pushed herself up against him willingly. They moaned in each other’s mouth when his hard length pressed against her stomach, her hand trapped between them. She wrapped her other arm around his neck, using it as leverage to push herself up higher, seeking friction.
“Aemond,” she gasped as Aemond suddenly pushed her up on her knees and lowered himself further into the water, the back of his neck resting against the edge of the tub.
He kissed her core like a man starved, and she rolled her hips forward on instinct, unable to resist the heat of his mouth. She grabbed the edge of the bathtub with one hand as his open mouth devoured her. Her other hand tangled in his hair, pulling at the roots when pleasure took over her, and Aemond groaned as his scalp stung under her assault. He shuddered and groaned as she cursed and rocked her core against his face, searching for her pleasure, his hands sliding to her bottom, enjoying the play of firm muscle under the soft skin.
Aemond took his time savoring her, parting his lips to lick at her sensitive nub, teasing it with firm but quick presses of his tongue. However Aerea was impatient, and he had no choice but to submit to the rhythm she imposed on him, rolling her hips against his mouth as she wished.
It wasn’t long before she grew even rougher, her slender frame wrecked by great shudders; the insides of her thighs were coated in her wetness, and so were Aemond’s mouth and chin. She cried out as he thrusted his tongue inside of her, her hand grabbing his shoulder as leverage; water sloshed out of the bathtub as she rocked against him forcefully.
Throwing her head back, she did not try to muffle her cries. It was the most torturous pleasure she had ever felt —the entrance into her body was sensitive, and his clever tongue was enough to make a great wave of heat lick up her core, but she could feel herself clench around nothing, wanting for more.
Thrusting his tongue farther into her, his mouth closing fully on her cunt, her nub being sucked at almost painfully on each upward stroke, Aerea thought she would burst into flames from the intensity of it, and she sobbed as she felt her peak approaching.
She cried out as Aemond thrusted two of his fingers into her roughly; she clenched around him, crying out again as he curled them and rubbed against her most sensitive spot. He groaned against her like he was the one being pleasured, and heat coiled almost painfully in her core. She felt as though she was about to snap as he quickened his movements, devouring her with precision and obvious enjoyment.
“Aemond,” she cried out, pulling at his hair again, her hips rocking against him frantically. He groaned in time with the thrusts of her hips and the thrusts of his tongue, the both of them growing more frantic with each passing second.
Finally, Aemond pulled her nub into his mouth hard enough to toy the line between pleasure and pain, applying a stronger pressure and suction, and the overload made her tumble over the edge. The tension inside of her snapped and she cried out as she was caught in a whirlwind of flames. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through her as she ground her cunt against his face, encouraged by his own grunts of enjoyment.
It seemed to go on for an endless minute, and as the pressure lessened and a deep sense of relief washed over her, she fell back into the water, letting go of his hair. The sight he made made her head spin again — he looked wild, his hair in disarray, his lips red and wet, his purple eye blown into the darkest of pools.
He was panting furiously, his hard cock twitching against the back of her thigh. She felt her core clench and something primal pulled at her from behind her belly button; she chased the taste of herself in his mouth, and he chuckled darkly as he pushed himself up. She followed him eagerly as he stepped out of the tub, and kissing her fervently, he picked her up with ease.
Aemond groaned in satisfaction when she followed the movement, wrapping her legs around his slender hips. It brought her folds against his hard length, trapping it between them and the feeling of them pressed against one another was heady. As the heels of her feet dug into his ass, he walked to the bed and deposited her on it, crawling after her and pressing himself fully against her.
“Let me see you again,” she said, and he pulled away, rising on his knees.
Aemond looked at her intensely as she spread her knees, one of her feet rising to meet his chest. He curled his hand around her ankle, then smoothed his palm along her calve as his mouth kissed its way from the delicate bone of her ankle to the sensitive crook of her knee. His teeth grazed her skin and she sighed, lifting her other leg to hook it around his shoulder.
His brows furrowed, he bit his lip at the sight she made. Her breasts were round and soft, large enough to fill his entire hand and more, and he wanted to thrust his cock between them, spilling his seed on them as she watched him.
His mind was spinning with the most depraved acts, and her dark eyes told him she was just as wanting as he was. What a glorious sight they made, long and lithe bodies that shared the same blood, the same fire, their hair the same shade of silver. Dragons trapped in prisons of flesh.
"I need you, Aerea," he murmured like a confession."I need to taste the fire between us."
"I belong to you," she answered, pushing herself up on her elbows. “Come claim what is yours.”
Aemond snarled at that, biting the inside of her knee as his cock throbbed. "Show me. Show me how fiercely you burn," she spurred him on.
Aemond pushed her down by the shoulders, rougher than he ever had been with her, and she welcomed his desperation and his hunger; she welcomed his fire as an echo to her own. Her breath was taken away as her back hit the firm mattress and she laughed when it left her lungs. She stayed still as Aemond guided his cock between her folds; there wasn't time for tenderness or patience, and neither of them wanted it. Now was the time for a quick and fierce release, for a moment of madness and a taste of fire.
Aerea groaned when Aemond took her, slow and almost reverent, but after a few thrusts he grew impatient and she could only lie there and take the brunt of his passion. She wrapped her legs around his waist and let herself be swept up by the storm, welcoming every wave that hit the cradle of her hips sharply.
Aemond hissed and grunted when she raked her nails down his back, no doubt hard enough to draw blood. He wrenched one of her arms over her head, holding her hand down by threading his fingers with hers. He sucked a bruise on the swell of her breast, then licked a hot trail from her nipple to her neck, where she felt the sharpness of his teeth.
Incensed by his biting kiss, letting her own wild instincts take over, Aerea untangled her limbs from Aemond and shoved him back by the shoulders. He went along with an amused huff, rising to his knees again, hissing as she angled her hips away and he slipped out of her. He barely had a second to look upon her before she turned around gracefully, and he was blessed with an unobstructed view of her toned back and her curvy behind.
Aemond ran a hand down her spine, following its curve to her tailbone, before curling his hand along the curve of her ass. He pulled Aerea closer by the hips and entered her again in one sharp thrust and the fit was perfect.
He cursed under his breath as he felt himself hit the back of her cunt and she mewled. It felt different, deeper somehow, and tighter, and the primal connotation of the position wasn’t lost on either of them.
He threw his head back, biting his lip as he snapped his hips into her. He moaned as she rocked back against him, chasing his hips, and everytime she brought her ass back to meet his pelvis, the lewd sound made his head spin.
“Am I hurting you?” he grunted, and his hands tightened around Aerea’s hips as shook her head.
Aerea relished in the stretch, intense in a way she could not quantify or qualify — she felt almost speared to the spot, the only urge left in her body being to rock back against him, to chase her pleasure. The feeling of his hips snapping into her backside was heady, as were his large hands handling her hips.
She felt at his mercy, and yet loved and desired in a way she could not name; the intimate language of their bodies came to them as naturally as Old Valyrian. His hands roaming her curves made her feel like a goddess being worshiped, like an ancient muse of Old Valyria.
Aemond shuddered when she cursed in a breathless moan as he stroked his thumb in the valley from her tailbone to where they were joined as one. Dropping her head between her shoulders, she started panting louder and he could feel her flutter around him. She laughed breathlessly as he slid a hand around her stomach, pressing his hand flat on her mound so he could better thrust into her.
Before she could ask, he pressed a finger against her core and she cried out as her pleasure crested, sharper and reaching deeper into her core. Curling a hand into her hair at the nape of her neck, his other gripping her waist hard, he pulled her up against his chest and she pushed on her knees, dropping her weight back against him.
Aemond buried his face in her neck, kissing her skin absently as the rhythm of their hips grew more hurried and uncoordinated. He spilled into her with unrestrained groans while she wailed her pleasure into the air, clenching around him as her peak took her flying above her body.
They fell onto the sheets as one, Aemond draped over her back, their long hair tangling together until their strands couldn’t be made apart —the same shade of silver, just as their skin was the same shade of creamy white.
The darkest hours of the night found them curled together, a pair of dragons nested in linens and furs, Aerea’s head resting against Aemond’s chest to feel the fire thrum beneath his skin, his fingers trailing the curve of her spine and back again. She tilted her head back to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, licking a trail along the vein that pulsed under the skin and tasting it with the points of her teeth. Aemond hummed in response, a deep rumbling that echoed beneath his ribs, and she pushed herself further up against him, one of her legs sliding between his, her core hot against his hip bone.
He knew she was right, they were fated, whether to consume Westeros or one another, until all that was left was ashes.
From those ashes a third dragon might rise, their blood in its veins and their fire in its soul. After all, Harrenhal was a cursed place, and the perfect cradle for a child of doom and destruction — the three of them would rise victorious, as the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
This conquest would be theirs, and so would be the spoils of war.
Author's note:
This pairing was voted for by you, my dear readers, as this blog's celebratory one-shot, for its 6 months of existence.
I left the ending open, in case I wish to come back to Aemond and Aerea in the future. I loved writing them, their dynamic was interesting and quite entertaining to explore.
I need to give credit where it is due, the very end of the story (the last three paragraphs) are not mine but @arcielee's, who helped me wrap up this story as best as possible and also beta read it.
Please reblog to show love, or at least comment. You have no idea how important it is to me. I pour my heart out into my works and work for days on end to produce the best stories I can ♥ It would mean the world to me to know what you thought of it.
Dividers by @saradika
Loosely based on this prompt by @unboundprompts
"You wouldn't believe the things I've done to try and forget you. No matter what I do, I still somehow find myself crawling back to you."
Today marks the two-year anniversary of my first Aemond series on Ao3, Love is a Downfall.
Even though I had started watching the show for Matt Smith, I was very intrigued by Aemond so I decided to give it a try—I had never written an OC story before. On October 29th 2022, I posted the prologue on Ao3 and the rest, as they say, is history.
What started with this series has now culminated in over 80 oneshots and 15 series—I dare not even check the wordcount, and I am amazed and a little scared at the sheer numbers.
I will make another post about how I came to tumblr and the very special people that made it possible for me, when I celebrate this blog's anniversary in February.
In the meantime, I'd like to say how grateful I am for all my readers—some that were here for Love is a Downfall are still here today, still reading my stories and that is priceless to me. To them, and to all the other readers that have come along the way, to the lurkers and fellow fandom creators that have supported me as I kept writing...
This morning I woke up to this comment on my latest Cregan oneshot. It made me feel so disheartened that I wrote the post about how the lack of interaction and appreciation kills the joy and motivation of fanfic writers.
I did not expect it to resonate with so many people. I want to give us all a collective hug.
That comment really hit me hard because sure, I could have made this fic into several chapters, but this is a hobby. There is only so much time and effort I can put into it, so instead of tearing me down, how about finding something else to read…
To the dense, obtuse and obnoxious person who keeps dropping these questions into my inbox and cannot find the point, not even take a hint. Leave me alone. Kindly fuck off, really.
It all started a while ago with the events related in this post. Someone lost their marbles in my inbox after I posted a properly tagged Jacaerys fic where there is a dub con situation. They also got mad at me for writing a fic where Jace receives a blowjob from reader while he's betrothed to Baela.
Since then I believe this person has been pestering me with questions, some of them truly obnoxious, and believe me when I say I've been patient and tried to explain things.
They seem obsessed with some sort of moral code, moral purity, sexual purity even, and cannot seem to accept nuance in fictional works. They keep asking me whether these or those characters have a healthy relationship, questioning the sexual scenes I write, asking for clarifications in a way that really comes across as demanding justifications.
Here is some of their asks. I know it's all the same person because I've learned their speech pattern by now and also always get these asks in super quick succession, one after the other.
Tonight has been the last straw. I reblogged a sexy post about Cregan Stark, right here, and I got those in my inbox.
I answered the first ask but they clearly didn't like it, so within a few minutes I got this.
I'm tired you guys. I've been keeping my inbox open because many of you are lovely, but this kind of behavior is truly disheartening.
I hate that this one person is ruining the fun of anon asks for me, but they really are. I dread opening my inbox and finding these, wondering what they will question next.
This serves as a warning and also an explanation why I might be a bit more silent on here.
