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(+18 mdni) 20s, she/her, call me Elle ☁️ writes on darlingofvalyria!

[witchofthevale]

𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️

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[fioiswriting]

Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew. 

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded.  He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt.  It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation.  A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges.  And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled.  Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger. 

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders.  Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it.  He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own. 

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell.  Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost.  King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you.  Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you." 

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor.  You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back.  It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you. 

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead.  It must have been your imagination.  You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest.  Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen. 

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears. 

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets.  And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company. 

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal.  You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead. 

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly. 

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway. 

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him.  You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be.  You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't." 

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs. 

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you.  You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin.  Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall.  Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself -  but you can't help feeling your heart clench.  You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time. 

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him.  A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly.  Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind.  A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy.  Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips. 

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion.   You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you. 

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit.  He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely. 

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion. 

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly. 

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience. 

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps. 

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you. 

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him.  He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence.  You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious. 

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching. 

He doesn't let go of you. 

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him.  It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his. 

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you. 

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him.  You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow. 

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other.  Your hands are buried in his long silver hair.  You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet? 

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress. 

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices. 

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body. 

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry.  You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable. 

You need him. 

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears.  You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him.  It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you. 

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting.  For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness. 

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you.  You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy. 

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth.  You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie.  You know you should lie.  To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years.  You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not." 

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips. 

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye.  It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words.  You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath. 

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe.  It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity.  Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know." 

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him. 

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him.  You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up. 

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know."  Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence.  He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions. 

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

[witchofthevale]

goodness, reading this made for a topsy turvy of emotions. its haunting as it is beautiful, and with aemond x niece fics, we rarely see what happens during the after part of the dance, and i really enjoyed this! you can just say im a sap that enjoys the haunted part of stories, but this was so good!

[witchofthevale]

Omg you and the boyfriend look so cute together! Can you tell the class how you meT?

THE CLASS HELP SJDHJSDH

Thank you! Our timeline is a little bit complicated and I dunno know how much I want to indulge just because I want to keep certain lines private, but I'm taking the plunge sjdhjd

But we've met three times (technically). Once as children, once more in high school, and finally whilst I was in University (my final year and he's a few years ahead, so he was already working).

We've only been with each other for almost two years though, but have known each other a while. Our parental figures were in a close knit group hence meeting as kiddos, then we met again in high school but we hated each other's guts (long story), then met again during my internship stunt and I was truly baffled who this very handsome man could be and why do I feel like I know him.

He recognised me before I recognised him, and to this day, this is a point of favour in his court whenever we have to order pizza. If anyone asks, yes, he's petty.

I always like to joke we've known each other through all three lives so far, ahahaha.

[nedseii]

I LOVE your art and I know you are a Ned x Cersei blog but I would be ever grateful if I could see a drawing of Ned and Cat by your hand in your style! No pressure or anything!💗

Thank you so much!! And I hope you like this silly doodle Anon

[hereditaryconditions]

khaleesi of the great grass sea

The grass sea swayed and sighed with each breath of wind, the air was warm on her face, and Dany felt at peace.

[valeskafics]

"(Don't Fear) The Reaper" - Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader Scream AU - Chapter Five: Psycho - FINALE

a/n: thank you all for sticking with me through this story! i had so much fun sharing it with y'all, and your support honestly is so humbling and i adore each and every one of you. ❤️

Catch up on this fic HERE

Summary: You struggle with the realization of what your best friend has done.

TW: profanity, innuendo, murder/violence/death, blood, afab reader, she/her pronouns, stalking, gaslighting, p in v sex, unprotected sex

Word Count: 1,625 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

How is one supposed to react when they find out their best friend is a serial killer? You don’t know what to think as you sprint through the corn maze, the sound of Aemond’s laughter echoing through the dark. You’ve long since ditched your phone, having tossed it far away from you when he admitted to murdering Alys because of you. Your legs ache and you feel yourself growing short of breath, but still you continue running, a burst of adrenaline flowing through you when you remember that horrible video he sent to you where he killed Cregan.

“Guess I’m just crazy for you.”

You hear Aemond calling after you, taunting you as you try to lose him between the cornstalks, “Come out, come out, wherever you are. A bunny can’t hide from a dragon, sweetheart.”

You cover your mouth so that he can’t hear you whimper from fear, hands trembling as you hear him continue to call out to you.

“You’re going to be mine, whether you like it or not.”

“You’ve always been mine.”

“I’m coming for you, sweet girl.”

You keep running until, suddenly? There’s nothing but silence. You can no longer hear Aemond’s footfalls. You can’t hear him speaking, hell, you can’t hear him breathing. But you can feel his presence, lingering somewhere in the dark, ready to pounce at you when you show the first sign of weakness.

You slow your pace, peering around the corner cautiously, praying to whatever deity may exist that Aemond isn’t there. How could you not see the signs? How could you be such an idiot? Tears stream down your face as you think about the fact that he killed three people because of you. Does that make you just as much of a monster as he is?

You continue walking, trying to remain calm, when you bump into someone who seems to be the only other person in this maze beside you and Aemond. You heave a sigh of relief at the sight of that familiar mop of brown curls. Jace looks at you, confused, as you burst into tears, clinging to him, rambling incoherently about something or the other. He rests his hands on your shoulders, doing his best to calm you down.

“Babe, take a breath,” he says gently, holding your face in his hands, “Can you do that for me?”

You nod shakily, inhaling through your nose and out through your mouth before blurting, “It’s Aemond. Aemond’s the killer, Jace.”

Jace scoffs incredulously, “Come on, you’re joking, right? Aemond? My cousin, Aemond? Nah. I mean, the guy can be a total asshole, but he’d never kill anyone, I can promise you that.”

“I’m telling you, Jace, it was him!” you nearly shriek, grabbing his shirt and shaking him slightly, your voice desperate as you continue, “He killed Alys and Floris and Cregan. And I don’t know what the hell he’s going to do next. We have to get out of here!”

Jace sees that you’re serious, his stomach dropping as he nods quickly, grabbing his phone and turning on the flashlight, “I helped set up the maze with the rest of my frat, I know the quickest way to the exit. Just stay behind me, okay? I’ll get you out of here. I promise. You’re safe with me”

You nod, grabbing onto the back of his hoodie as the two of you cautiously make your way through the maze. And even though Jace assures you that you’re getting closer and closer to the exit with each step, you can’t help but think that Aemond has you exactly where he wants you. Scared. Vulnerable.

You remember that Aemond promised you that he’d keep you safe. The thought makes you laugh. Keep you safe from himself? But a voice deep inside you reminds you that Aemond is your best friend. The boy who kissed your knee when you skinned it falling off your bike the first time. The boy who took you to senior prom, the two of you sitting on the sidelines making fun of all the losers before sharing that one slowdance, the one where you realized you had a crush on him.

The boy you kissed last night, who held you in his arms like you were the love of his life.

And that feeling in your gut, the one that tells you that Aemond knows where you and Jace are, that he has known all along? It’s proven to be right when he cuts you off three turns before the exit. He’s wearing that fucking Ghostface mask, holding a knife, twirling it between his fingertips in a way that you can only describe as graceful. You grab Jace by the hand and try to drag him the other way, but he shakes his head, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie.

“I’m going to fucking kick your ass, Aemond,” he hisses, “And then I’m going to kill you.”

“Jace, stop it,” you plead, “Let’s just go-”

“Stay out of this,” he snaps at you, causing you to recoil slightly, ignoring his apologetic expression.

“Jacaerys,” Aemond chides in that modulated voice from beneath the mask as he tilts his head, clicking his tongue as if he’s scolding a small child, “Is that any way to treat a lady? Bunny, you should know better than to hang around boys like that.”

“Shut the fuck up, Aemond,” Jace snarls, “You killed my best fucking friend. What the hell is wrong with you? Just because he was going to go on a date with the girl you didn’t have the balls to ask out? You’re fucking pathetic, man.”

“No,” Aemond’s voice is icy cold as he approaches the two of you, “I’m not fucking pathetic. Everything I’ve done has been to get what I want. What I deserve. Cregan didn’t deserve her and neither do you. No one will ever fucking love her like I can.”

You hate that his words make you feel like there are butterflies in your stomach. That you believe him when he says he loves you.

He turns to you and begins to approach you, but Jace takes the opportunity to use Aemond’s blind spot against him and lunge at him, tackling him to the ground. You let out a scream as you watch him tear the mask from Aemond’s face, his fists pounding against him. You hear a sickening crack and realize he must have broken Aemond’s nose, judging by the blood smeared on your best friend’s face.

“Jace, stop it, please,” you cry out, grabbing his arm before he can reach for Aemond’s knife, “Just turn him into the cops, stop hurting him!”

“No,” Jace says, shoving you away, blindly reaching for the knife, “This fucking ends tonight. This is for Cregan.”

And it’s like something possesses you. Maybe it’s your fight or flight instinct. Maybe it’s just sheer stupidity. Maybe it’s your misplaced sense of loyalty to your best friend. But you grab the knife and stab it through Jace’s throat. You watch in horror as he begins to choke on his own blood, his face going deathly pale. You couldn’t let him kill Aemond.

Because, despite everything he’s done?

You love him. You’re in love with your best friend. The only person who’s ever completely understood you and loved you for who you are. You hold Jace’s hand until it goes limp in yours, tears of guilt streaming from your eyes at the look of sheer betrayal on his face. You don’t think you’ll ever forget it, how he looked at you as he died, but you know you can live with that. You can go on because Aemond survived. 

Aemond sits up, wiping the blood from his nose, moving closer to you and gently turning you to face him.

“You saved me,” he murmurs softly, “Why?”

“Because I love you,” you whisper, “Even though I shouldn’t. Even though everything in me is screaming at me to hate you, that you’re a horrible person. I can’t hate you. I can’t stop loving you.”

His lips crash down onto yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. You can taste the coppery tang of his blood and his lips move against yours, as his tongue dances with yours. And even though Jace’s body lies by the wayside, already starting to go cold, all you can think is how worried you are about Aemond’s nose, how you want to take him back to your apartment, to lay in bed with him, watch a movie with him, make love to him.

All you can think about is how much you love him as he undoes the button of his jeans, pushing your dress up to your hips. He strokes your pussy a few times, feeling your wetness against his fingers, but wastes no time in taking you, right then and there. He holds himself up on his elbows, his forehead resting against yours as you give his cock a slow tug, helping guide him inside you, letting out a soft whimper as your bodies join for the first time. He looks so beautiful under the light of the moon, you think to yourself, blood staining his face, his beautiful silver hair slightly mussed, and the most intense look of passion in his eye as he rolls his hips against yours, his large hands cupping your face as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. Like in this moment, there is nothing but the two of you.

“I love you,” you murmur, gasping as he hits your sweet spot with a particularly deep thrust, “I love you, Aemond.”

“I love you too,” he presses his lips to yours, “Just lay back, bunny. Daddy’s going to make you scream.”

[witchofthevale]

ngl, nothing prepard for me for that ending oh my gosh. she really said, if you can't beat em, join em. jsdhjajhsa. also same. we love a happily ever after, ahahaha!!

[thehandymen]

i am not immune to stories in which characters who have endured harsh, empty existences become absolutely transformed by someone’s sincere love for them and learn to live

[witchofthevale]

Picrew Game!

tagged by @evermorre & @snowprincesa1, thanks for tagging me, my loves, i just had to!

i really was just going to do aemond & maybe osferth (or michael bc why not), but im using the boyfie's ipad and he got real huffy jsdhjsdh so welcome to the only me/boyfie reveal pic i will ever do

he says i need to point out the difference, but yes, with aemond, the beloved trope is Obsessed With Each Other, and with the boyfie its just. Tiredt of Her Shit But Still Follows Through With What She Wants.

tagging anybody who wants to do it!!

[buben-ustal]

his majesty's faithful dog

[witchofthevale]

Yikes!

I've been a bit MIA, got down with a flu bug that targeted nearly everyone at my office and got admitted at the hospital for an alarming fever lol, and I only just started to feel better... I still feel like absolute shit so I can't make promises with writing. I do feel bad because there are set goals I wanted to finish... at the same time I'm forgiving myself because boo self-stressors, it's not going to help anybody.

Anyhow, I miss writing and can't wait to finish up on a couple of things. I'm writing this on my boyfriend's tablet while he's peeling me tangerines and I haven't stopped teasing him from not having Tumblr on the ready.

What an uncouth gent.

[valeskafics]

"Inevitable" - Modern Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Adopted Niece!Reader (The Purge AU)

Summary: This year, Aemond has two goals in mind for the Purge. First, he wants to get revenge on your little brother, Luke, for taking his eye all those years ago. And second? He wants to claim you, once and for all.

TW: DUBCON BORDERING ON NONCON, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, chasing (it's not primal PLAY bc he isn't playing lol), fake incest as reader is adopted, physical violence, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH(S), blood, knife kink, fingering, tiddy succin, choking, hair pulling, oral f receiving, bondage, daddy kink, p in v sex, breeding kink

Word Count: 4,315 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

The day Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen adopted you was the day your life changed forever. From living in a group home in Flea Bottom, you were brought to one of the most luxurious mansions on Visenya’s Hill. You had a mom and a dad, something you’d never even dared to dream about. You were around six years old at the time, and Daemon and Rhaenyra had only recently gotten married. Rhaenyra had three children from a previous marriage, all boys, and longed for a daughter, which was where you came in.

You bonded immediately with your sweet brothers. Jace was around your age, Luke a few years younger, and then of course baby Joffrey. For the first time in your life, you felt like you belonged. You loved your family with all your heart. Daemon spoiled you, treating you like his little princess. His two daughters remained with his ex-wife, but your adopted sisters always adored spending time with you whenever they were able.

Your mom’s younger half-siblings were more… Complicated.

Aegon? Simple enough. He was lazy and cared more about sneaking out to drink with his friends than any of you younger kids, though he did enjoy the way your brothers hero worshiped him. He hated babysitting, but he seemed to be okay with you since you caused him very little trouble. Helaena was sweet but always off in her own little world. Daeron was off at boarding school, though you often wondered why he was the only one who was sent away from home.

And then there was Aemond. The middle Targaryen brother.

He was your age, with the most intense gaze you had ever seen in another human being. Aemond tended to keep to himself. He disliked your brothers intensely, but that dislike never seemed to extend to you. He always had an air of polite indifference when it came to you. Sometimes, while the others played, you would sit with Aemond and read in silence. You wouldn’t go so far as to call your young uncle your friend, but you think you were the closest thing he had to one.

Everything changed the night of the fight.

Your father’s ex-wife had passed away, and the family in its entirety had flown to Driftmark for the funeral. Things were tense that day, especially between your mom and her stepmother. Gods, you were adopted into a complicated family. 

The funeral just so happened to coincide with the night of the annual Purge, the night where all crime is made legal for twelve hours. Looting, murder, all of it, with a few notable exceptions as far as the government was concerned.

That evening, all of the younger ones ended up sneaking out, roughhousing as kids do. One thing led to another, heated words were exchanged, and the fighting grew more serious, specifically between Aemond and your brothers. You’re still not sure where Jace and Luke found a switchblade. You remember Aemond pummeling Jace into the ground, the way you threw yourself over his body in an attempt to get Aemond to stop. Aemond froze at that moment, stopping his vicious onslaught, not wanting to hurt you.

And that’s when Luke went at him.

You know your little brother. You know he would never intentionally blind someone. But that is precisely what happened. Aemond lost his sight in his left eye, a long scar running from his forehead down his cheek. When you went to see him at the hospital, he looked at you with such venom in his gaze that you felt your blood run cold.

Since it was the night of the Purge, your grandmother’s case to sue your mother and Luke for treatment went up in flames.

Your mom and dad made a rule after that day. You, the boys, Baela, and Rhaena were not to speak to Aegon or Aemond anymore, Helaena and Daeron being thrown in as collateral damage.

You still attended the same prestigious private school together. But they stuck to their crowd and you stuck to yours. You and Jace ended up becoming close with Cregan Stark when middle school came around. And by the time you were a senior? He was your boyfriend. It was hard not to notice the disdainful glares Aemond would toss the two of you as you walked down the school hallways hand in hand, the way he would purposely shove Cregan when passing by you two, ramming him with his shoulder. But, you and Cregan simply did your best to ignore it.

-

It’s been ten years since that night on Driftmark, to the day. Once again, it’s the night of the Purge, and you sit at the table with your family, listlessly twirling your pasta around your fork.

“I can’t wait to go Purge with Creg,” Jace rambles excitedly, “We’re not gonna do anything too crazy, but still.”

“Darling,” Rhaenyra asks, resting a hand on Daemon’s arm, “Are you sure you’re alright staying home with the kids?”

Before he can answer, you speak up, “I’m nineteen, Mom. Not a kid. A fully grown adult who thinks the Purge is fucking stupid.”

“Language,” Daemon chides you good-naturedly, a smile playing on his lips, “You know the Purge has actually brought the crime rate down substantially during the rest of the year.”

“I’m going to go fuck up that bitch Cerelle’s house,” Baela declares, “Rhaena’s coming with me.”

“I am?” she questions, dumbfounded, the news seemingly novel to her.

You look at your sisters, biting back a laugh, “So it’s just me, Luke, and Dad? You’re taking Joff to the children’s safe house and then Purging, right, Mom?”

She nods, “Yes, sweetheart. And remember, we have that new security system, so the three of you will be completely safe.”

“Yeah, until some Purger manages to break in,” Luke mutters, stabbing at his food, “By the way, it’s total fucking bullshit that I can’t-”

“Language,” Daemon says, pointing a finger at him.

“Fuck you, old man!”

You turn to Jace, ignoring your little brother and dad fighting, concern in your voice as you speak, “You and Cregan are going to be careful, right?”

Jace gives you a little grin before ruffling your hair, “‘Course we are, sis. I’ll bring your precious boytoy back to you in one piece. Scout’s honor.”

“Not just Creg. You two,” you say, squeezing your brother’s hand, “I just… I have a weird feeling. Be careful?”

“Hey, bub, we’re gonna be fine,” Jace’s voice is gentle and reassuring, “I promise. Okay? Just relax. Watch a movie with Dad and Luke or something. The Purge’ll be over before you know it.”

You nod, taking a deep breath and giving him a quick smile, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Have fun.”

You watch as most of your family disperses, Daemon putting the house on lockdown the moment the sirens blare, signaling that the Purge is about to begin. You bite your nails, watching Jace walk away, a sinking feeling in your chest. You see him approach Cregan’s car, your boyfriend poking his head out and waving to you before they don their masks and drive off into the night.

The night starts out with little event. You play a rousing game of Monopoly with Luke and your dad, blatantly stealing from the bank whenever they aren’t looking and building enough houses to run them bankrupt in very little time. When the three of you are about to settle in for a movie, you hear the doorbell ring. You exchange a confused look with Luke, following after Daemon as he goes to the intercom and security camera. You grab a softball bat that Joffrey left lying around, prompting Luke to give you an incredulous look.

“The fuck are you doing?” he hisses, “These people have actual weapons, dummy!”

“I’ll be better off than you,” you retort, “At least I’ll get in a decent swing before they shoot me!”

Daemon shushes the pair of you before checking the security camera. You see a masked figure standing there, staring into the camera, head tilted to the side and a knife in his hand. You feel Luke grab your hand, and you let him. You squeeze softly to reassure him that you’re here and you’re there to protect him.

You watch with bated breath as the figure removes their mask to reveal none other than Aemond. You let out a quiet gasp, covering your mouth, dropping the bat. You turn to Luke, seeing that your brother has gone deathly pale. You wrap your arm around him, pulling him close, feeling the younger boy shivering with fear. You know that, realistically, Aemond can’t see you through the steel door, but the way he’s staring into the camera unnerves you.

“Aemond,” Daemon says over the intercom, “Shouldn’t you be out Purging?”

“I’ve been out, Uncle,” Aemond says in a cool, measured tone, one that makes the hairs on your neck stand on end, “But my real Purge is just getting started.”

“Out looting with your brothers then?” Daemon asks, gesturing for you and Luke to head to the safe room, “Sounds like fun.”

You and Luke remain in the room, ignoring Daemon’s instructions, wanting to see what’s going on. Why in the Seven fucking Hells is Aemond here?

“Something like that, Uncle,” he hums, “Now, would you be so kind as to let me in? I have business with Luke and your daughter.”

“They’re both out Purging, I’m afraid,” Daemon replies, shooting the two of you a look, annoyed that you haven’t obeyed his command.

“No, you see, I know my sweet little niece,” he says, twirling his knife between his fingers, still staring into the camera, his gaze unrelenting, “She’s quite vocal in school about her distaste for this little annual event. And Luke is too young to Purge. No, I’m sure they’re both locked away in the safety of this mansion.”

“Well, they aren’t home,” Daemon insists, “Perhaps Luke went with the twins. I’m sure my daughter is over at that boyfriend of her’s house. They’re always together.”

“That is quite interesting of you to mention, Uncle,” Aemond says, jaw ticking at the mention of your boyfriend, “I just had a little run-in with said boyfriend.”

You freeze in place, blood running cold. You shoot Cregan a quick text, but there’s no response. He always replies within a few seconds. It’s one of the things you’ve always loved about him. You try calling him, frowning when it goes straight to voicemail. You grit your teeth and push past your father, speaking into the intercom.

“What the fuck did you do to Cregan?”

A wicked smile curls at the corner of Aemond’s lips as he replies, his voice mockingly concerned, “Aw, is he not answering his phone, love?”

“What the fuck did you do to him, Aemond?” you demand, eyes flashing with rage at the smug expression on his face.

“Well, sweet girl, the last time I saw him, he was looking a bit worse for the wear,” he pauses, “Perhaps I could tell you more if you let me in. Or if you come out and speak to me.”

Daemon’s voice is low, full of fury as replies in your stead, “You really think I’m just going to hand my daughter over to you?”

Aemond chuckles darkly, placing his mask back on his face, “What’s the matter, Uncle? Does it scare you, what I have planned for your little girl?”

He bangs on the door, laughing to himself as he stabs at the security camera, making it go gray. You watch as Daemon presses the panic button, the shutters rolling down, the whole house going on lockdown. As you race toward the stairs with Luke, Daemon going to grab his shotgun, you catch a glimpse of Aemond through one of the windows just as it closes, wearing his mask, staring directly at you.

You don’t know how long you and Luke sit in the dark, locked in the safe room. You left your phone outside and so there’s no way to tell the time. You sit, hand in hand with Luke, the two of you doing your absolute best to remain silent. You hear the sound of a scuffle, a scream, and then absolute silence. You look at each other, wondering what the actual fuck happened.

That’s when the door to the safe room swings open and you see him standing there. Aemond.

Aemond has waited for this moment for years now. He stares at you, sitting there, huddled with your little brother, looking absolutely terrified. You look so beautiful like this, he thinks to himself, so perfect and ripe for the taking. He watches as you turn to Luke, taking a quick breath.

“Luke,” you whisper, “When I say run, you run. Don’t fucking wait for me. Don’t look back.”

Luke looks at you, eyes wide with horror, “What? I can’t leave you-”

You press a kiss to his forehead before lunging at Aemond, tackling him to the ground, “Run!”

Aemond laughs as you tackle him, his mask falling off. He quickly flips the two of you over so that he pins you to the ground. Luke looks at the two of you, hesitating for a moment, before he remembers your instructions and breaks into a sprint.

“Go, Luke! Get to the guest house!” you scream as you struggle under Aemond, his knife pressed to your neck.

Aemond chuckles, leaning in to press his nose to your hair, inhaling your scent, loving the way you feel as you squirm against him, “You’re mine now, sweetheart. No one’s going to save you now.”

“Yeah, well, you won’t get Luke,” you glare up at him defiantly, “That’s fucking consolation enough for me,” you narrow your eyes, “Isn’t it pathetic that you spent your Purge stalking your niece and nephew? I mean, I bet Aegon and Daeron were doing way more interesting stuff. Look at you.”

He just grins at you as you insult him, the lust inside him burning hotter than ever, your sharp tongue sending a thrill of excitement through him, “Oh, sweet girl, I don’t give a damn what they were doing. I have you all to myself, just like I wanted.”

“Are you going to kill me, Uncle?” you ask, hissing the last word with all the vitriol you can gather.

He shakes his head, stroking your cheek with his blade, moving some hair off of your face, “No, little niece. There are much more satisfying things I have planned for tonight than killing you.”

You spit in his face, fire in your eyes as you continue trying to stare him down, refusing to let him see your fear. And it just makes him even hungrier for you. He laughs quietly, wiping his face before looking down at you.

His voice is impossibly soft and low as he whispers, “Naughty girl. That just made me want you more.”

You try to squirm out from under him, thrashing like a wild animal, “Get the fuck off of me! Dad!”

You scream for help and Aemond has the audacity to laugh, “Oh, sweet girl. No one is coming to save you. Are you going to behave yourself now? Or will I have to punish you?”

Your eyes go wide with shock, voice trembling ever so slightly as you ask, “What the fuck did you do to my dad?”

“Your father is no longer relevant to this conversation,” he says, tracing your lips with the tip of his knife, the sensation startling you.

You shake your head, “You… No…”

“Oh yes, love,” he whispers in your ear, “You’re mine now. And I’m going to enjoy taking what belongs to me.”

You feel his lips move to your neck, kissing you as if he’s waited for this all his life, biting down on your soft skin hard enough to leave a mark. That’s when you take advantage of his momentary distraction and knee him hard in the crotch. Aemond lets out a groan of pain, moving off of you, giving you the time you need to scramble to your feet and race out of the room, down the stairs.

To your living room.

Where your father’s body lies in a pool of blood. You cover your mouth in horror, eyes watering.

“Daddy?” you whisper.

You feel Aemond’s hand wrap around the nape of your neck, his voice in your ear, “You don’t need to call him that anymore. He’s not going to save you. I’m your Daddy now.”

“You’re fucking insane,” you scream, trying to run, twisting away from him, but he grabs you by the throat, shoving you up against the wall behind you, his body pressed against yours.

“Maybe so, darling,” he murmurs, “But what does that say about you being attracted to me?”

“I’m not fucking attracted to you,” you manage to eke out, feeling his fingers squeezing your neck ever so slightly, “Fucking psycho!”

Aemond grins, clicking his tongue as if he’s scolding an unruly child, moving his fingers to trace your mouth, pressing down on your plush lower lip, “Oh, I think you are. You just refuse to admit it.”

You slap him hard across the face, your hand smarting ever so slightly from the impact, feeling quite pleased with yourself at how red his cheek is, the way his head reels ever so slightly. But then, he just laughs, throwing his head back.

“You see? You’re perfect for me, little one,” he says, moving his hand into your hair, tugging on it harshly, “My little spitfire.”

“My mom and Jace will be back any time now,” you bluff, “And they’ll fucking kill you!”

He snickers, as if you’ve just said the most amusing thing in the world, “Do you really think they stand a chance against me, love? Anyway, Jace was quite… Tied up the last time I saw him. He and your little boyfriend didn’t put up much of a fight when I finished them off.”

You tremble with horror, “No! No, Not Jace!”

Aemond tugs on your hair once again, pressing himself up against you so you can feel just how turned on he is, rolling his hips against yours, “You want this. Just admit it.”

You claw at his hand desperately, “You killed my dad, my brother, and my boyfriend! Of course I don’t want it!”

Your eyes go wide with surprise as he grabs your hand, dragging your nails across his cheek, his lashes fluttering ever so slightly at the feeling, “I did what I had to. You’re mine. You were always meant to be mine.”

Aemond grabs you by the arm, dragging you up to your bedroom, ignoring your screams of protest, slamming the door shut behind the two of you. He shoves you onto your bed, crawling over you, a lustful fire in his gaze.

He pins you down, brushing his nose against yours, “I’ve waited for this for years. Don’t you dare try to deny me.” Aemond moves one of his hands along your waist, up to your breasts, squeezing one and letting out a low moan of delight, “So soft. Wonder if the rest of you feels like that too.”

You wince as he slices the fabric of your tank top open, practically tearing it off of you and using it to tie your wrists above your head. You glare up at him angrily, shivering as he traces the knife between the valley of your breasts before cutting open your bra, revealing your bare chest to his eyes. Aemond licks his lips, dragging the tip of the knife along one of your nipples, his good eye twinkling with delight as it hardens at the action. You turn your face away from Aemond, ashamed at the way your body is betraying you, but he grabs you by the jaw, squeezing your cheeks together, his forehead pressed to yours.

“Keep those eyes on me, sweet girl.”

You watch, teeth sinking into your lower lip so that you don’t make a sound as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, rolling it between his lips as he palms at your other tit, the calluses on his hand making you press your thighs together, desperate for friction. You hate him. You hate this. And yet, everywhere he touches, you feel like your body is on fire. You keep eye contact with him as he continues mouthing at your breast, his fingers tweaking your other nipple, pinching it, loving the little whimper you let out in spite of yourself.

“Is this getting you wet, sweetheart?” he murmurs, kissing your neck before brushing his lips against yours, the knife now at the waistband of your sweatpants, “Are those cute little panties you’re wearing soaked from what I’m doing?”

“No,” you whisper weakly as he slides your sweats down your legs, admiring the skin that is now bared to him.

You scrunch your eyes shut in shame as he presses one of his fingers against you and lets out a nasty little laugh, “Liar.”

You yelp as he lands a slap against your pussy over the fabric of your underwear before returning to teasing you, his fingers rubbing at you over your panties, then he slaps you again. He moves his mouth to the apex between your thighs, kissing you over your underwear, nuzzling his face against you. You let out a soft moan, thrashing against your restraints, trying to press your knees together to keep him away from you, though every cell in your body screams at you to let him touch you. Aemond pushes your knees apart, slicing your panties off with two quick movements of his knife, letting out a groan at the sight of your bare cunt. You’ve never felt this vulnerable in your entire life, but you’re given little time to think about it when you feel him lick a stripe along your pussy.

“Aemond,” you cry out pathetically, “Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Aemond taunts, “Don’t taste what belongs to me? Sweetheart, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

You cry out as he buries his tongue inside your pussy, making the most lewd, obnoxious slurping noises as he tastes you, he holds his arms in a way that prevents you from closing your legs, his thumb rubbing against your clit as he fucks you with his tongue. You feel tears stream down your face at the intensity of the pleasure he’s giving you. He brings you closer and closer to the edge, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with every movement of his tongue in and out of you. He moves his lips to wrap them around your clit, electing to fuck you with his fingers, reaching so much deeper than your own ever could. You mewl pathetically as he rubs against your sweet spot, bringing you closer and closer to the edge, your cunt squeezing around his fingers, desperate for his touch.

“Aemond, please…”

“Not Aemond, sweetheart,” he murmurs, breath tickling your skin, “Tell Daddy what you need.”

“Please let me come, Daddy,” you say, voice cracking as you hold back a sob.

And he does let you come. Your orgasm hits you so intensely that you think you black out for a moment. And when your eyes open? He’s smirking down at you.

“Who knew you were a squirter, pretty girl?” he coos, lips coated with evidence of your arousal, the wet patch on your bed between your legs making you cringe, “Such a good girl for your Daddy.”

You watch as he undresses quickly, tossing his hoodie and jeans to the side of the room, stalking toward you, already rock hard, the tip of his cock leaking precum. He settles between your legs, smacking your clit with his cockhead, chuckling at the way you shiver. He does it again before running himself along your cunt, pushing in slightly before pulling out, teasing you. You look up at him, lips parted, eyes hazy, desperate for him to just fuck you already.

“That’s my girl,” Aemond chuckles as he sheathes himself inside you to the hilt, swallowing the loud moan you let out by pressing his lips to yours in a fiery kiss.

You find yourself kissing back, even though you know it’s wrong. Even though you know he’s a horrible person. You don’t care. Not when he’s making you feel like this. You’ve never been fucked like this, not even by Cregan. Aemond is like an unhinged beast, rutting against you with a nearly inhuman speed, his balls slapping against your ass as he whispers the filthiest things in your ear about what a pretty cunt you have, how he’s splitting you open, how he’s going to fuck you so hard that you feel his cock inside you for days.

“Going to cum inside you, pretty girl,” he says, nipping at your lower lip, grabbing his forgotten knife and holding it to your throat, loving the way you shiver against it, “Going to breed you. Going to take you home with me, make you my pretty little wife. My little plaything. Your only purpose will be me. I’ll be the only thing you’ll ever need. Going to fuck a baby into you, keep you with me forever. Say you want it.” You’re too overwhelmed by the feeling of the blade against your throat, coupled with the feeling of his cock hitting that rough patch deep inside of you with every animalistic thrust. He tosses the knife aside and squeezes your throat, “Fucking say it, baby.”

“Yes, Daddy, I want it,” you babble almost incoherently, “Wanna be your wife, want you to breed me, fuck me, please…”

And Aemond knows that he has you.

You were always meant to be his, and now, the inevitable has finally happened.

And he will never let you go.

You belong to him now.

[witchofthevale]

I’m your Daddy now.

just... absolutely unhinged. trust bel to unlock something in me every time she writes jesus f

[valeskafics]

"Fortune & Glory" Chapter 6: Apparition (Aemond Targaryen x Reader Treasure Hunt AU) - FINALE

a/n: i know this series wasn't my MOST popular, but it's by far been my favorite to write, so i hope you guys who've been keeping up enjoy this 🥰❤️

Series Masterlist HERE.

Summary: You and Aemond finally make it to Mount Zaldrīzes, where you reunite with an unexpected familiar face.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, oral m receiving, blood, character death, p in v sex

Word Count: 2,130 words

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

Aemond feels like a petulant child, wanting to ignore the shaking of the mountain and continue kissing you, but you’re off of him within moments, grabbing your things, declaring that the two of you need to leave.

“We’re so close,” you say, excitement dancing in your eyes, along with something he thinks might be hope.

You’re right, he realizes. You’re too close now to give up. The two of you exit your tent, racing toward the volcano, not a single thought as to your own personal well-being. You hike up the mountainside, a dangerous and arduous trek. Aemond nearly loses his balance, only for you to grab him by the arm, your muscles tensing as you pull him back to safety.

“I’ve got you,” you promise, mouth set in a determined line.

He gazes at you, lovestruck, and nods. The two of you continue ascending until you reach the side of the crater. You gaze down, hands on your hips as the ground continues to shake. Aemond wonders what your next move is.

“Lower me down,” you say, grabbing a rope and harness from your pack, “The lava chamber is empty.”

Aemond looks at you, wide-eyed, “Are you insane?”

“Just trust me, Professor,” you snap, finding a rock and tying your rope to it, yet another skill Aemond didn’t know you had, “I’ll check it out down there and if it’s safe, you rappel down after me, got it? But only after I give the all clear for you to come.”

Aemond nods hesitantly, watching as you descend into the volcano. He feels like an absolute pervert for admiring the way the muscles of your thighs flex as you go, how you wrap your body around the rope so expertly, but he digresses. The two of you could die any minute, so if he wants to admire you, he bloody well will. Sweat beads at his temples as you continue your descent, further and further until you’re completely gone from his sight.

He calls out your name, his voice low, good eye darting around for any sign of you, “Are you there? Are you alright?”

He panics when you don’t respond, wondering what has happened, getting ready to go in after you when your voice calls to him, “Yes! It’s safe! Follow me down!”

Aemond clips himself in and begins rappelling down into the volcano, his heart thudding against his ribcage. He knows he’s coming down too fast in his haste to be with you again, groaning slightly when he lands hard on his arse. You rush to help unclip him, helping to his feet before taking him by the hand and dragging him to the center of the lava chamber.

“Look,” you whisper.

The inside of the volcano is absolutely gorgeous and blows Aemond’s mind. It’s like you’re on a different planet. The vibrancy of the colors of the rocks is mind-blowing as the two of you run your hands along the stones. It is as though every color on earth is down here, in this tiny chamber. And yet, all of it pales in comparison to you.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he whispers, voice echoing through the chamber, gaze still on you, “Beautiful…”

You see that he’s looking at you rather than the natural wonder and grin, bumping his shoulder playfully, “Alright, lover boy. Let’s get going. A few meters ahead is where the temple should be.”

Aemond smiles at your words. You’re right. He’s a lover boy and he’s damn proud of it when it comes to you. He follows after you, the two of you taking your time as you traverse the inside of the volcano. He tentatively moves to brush his hand against yours, smiling like a fool when you intertwine your fingers, squeezing softly. Something has changed between the two of you. Somewhere along the way, something changed.

You keep walking for what feels like hours, occasionally stopping to take sips from your canteens before you finally reach a stone carved gate, one that looks entirely regal and majestic.

But it’s not the gate that catches your eye. Your heart pounds in your chest, tears filling your eyes as you whisper.

“Dad?”

Aemond freezes when he hears your words, looking in the direction you are before seeing a man standing there. Not any man. 

Henry Jones.

He watches as you race to your father, throwing yourself in his arms, a sob escaping your throat, “I knew you were alive! I knew it! No one believed me!”

Aemond watches you with a gentle smile on his face. You had been so terrified that your father was lost to you forever, that you’d never see him again. And now, here the three of you are, standing inside of Mount Zaldrīzes.

Your father hugs you back, “Hey, kiddo. Sorry I’ve been out of touch. No postman around here.”

You laugh as your father wipes your tears, hugging you tightly, “Dad, I… Oh,” you smile, grabbing Aemond by the hand and bringing him to meet your father, “This is Aemond. My partner. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.”

Your father shakes Aemond’s hand, smiling and thanking him for taking care of his little girl.

“Actually, Dr. Jones, it’s her who’s been taking care of me,” Aemond says sheepishly.

“Good man to admit that,” your father claps him on the shoulder before regarding both of you, “The temple requires virgin blood to enter. I’ve been stuck here because, judging by the fact that I have a grown up daughter, I am indeed not a virgin.”

You let out a snort of a laugh, “Don’t look at me, Dad.”

“I did not need to hear that,” your father sighs.

Realization hits you and you turn to smirk at Aemond, leaning in to whisper in his ear, your lips tickling his skin, “Good thing we stopped when we did, hm, Professor?”

Aemond’s cheeks flush a bright shade of pink at your teasing. He looks away from you shyly, his entire being aching to reach out and touch you, but then he remembers your father is standing right there, eyes darting between the two of you with amusement. You pull out your dagger and give Aemond an apologetic smile before cutting his palm.

“Sorry, virgin.”

You giggle at the way he purses his lips in annoyance, taking him by the hand, pressing it to the temple gate. The rocks begin to shift and you take a moment to wrap Aemond’s hand, cleaning it off with the last of your water, a fact that doesn’t escape Aemond’s attention. You truly care about him, he realizes, as much as he cares about you.

The three of you walk into the temple, finding it completely barren, much to your surprise. The only thing there is a humble altar with a giant sapphire sitting at its center. You gasp, approaching it slowly.

“The Stone of Cold Fire,” you whisper, “We found it…”

“You found it,” Aemond corrects softly, taking your hand and squeezing it.

Your father looks between the two of you, a soft, far-away look in his eyes as he watches you walk up to the altar. You stand there admiring the stone for a long moment before reaching out to pick it up.

And that’s when the volcano begins to shake, even more violently than before.

“Uh oh…” you mutter.

Aemond looks around, panicking before staring at the stone, “It must have triggered something!”

“We need to get out of here,” your father says quickly, “The volcano is going to collapse.”

The three of you run out of the temple, racing through the lava chamber as fast as you can, racing against time to make it back to your rope. You try to send your father up first, but he shakes his head, his voice wistful as he speaks.

“It’s the end of the line for me, bub,” your father says softly, “I died here, all those years ago. The gods of Old Valyria only gave me enough time to see you again, to see the person you’ve become. And I’m so damn proud of you, sweetheart.”

Tears begin to stream from your eyes, “No, Dad, what’re you saying? I can’t leave you here, I’ve got to save you!”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, before turning to Aemond, “Take care of my little girl for me.”

Aemond nods solemnly, a lump in his throat as you send him up first, wanting a moment alone with your father.

“I love you, Dad,” you say, voice thick with emotion, “I’ll miss you forever.”

“I love you too, kid.”

You watch as he fades from your view, quickly wiping your eyes and beginning to harness yourself, more and more debris falling, the situation growing increasingly precarious with every minute. As you climb, Aemond’s face getting closer and closer, you panic as the volcano shakes worse than ever, nearly falling from the rope. Aemond grabs you by the hands, but alas, the stone escapes your grip. You try to climb back down, but Aemond stops you.

“We came all this way!”

He looks you right in the eyes, shaking his head, “No. I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

You let out a sigh and nod, climbing out to safety, the two of you racing down the mountainside before it crumbles in on itself, taking the Stone and your father’s spirit with it. You watch from a safe distance as Mount Zaldrīzes slowly disappears, nothing left behind but rubble.

“I guess we’re going home empty-handed,” you sigh, turning to Aemond.

He takes your hand, bringing it to his lips, whispering, “I wouldn’t say that.”

You and Aemond set up camp in the forest which you know quite well by now, sitting by the fire and eating in silence. Then, the events of the day hit you and you burst into tears, the loss of your father now a fresh pain in your heart, though you’re glad to know he’s at peace and he died in pursuit of his dream, that he got to see it come true before he left this world forever. Aemond pulls you into his embrace, rubbing a hand along your spine, soothing you. His warmth brings you a comfort you’ve seldom experienced in your life and you relax into his embrace.

After you’ve calmed down, you turn to gaze at him, a soft smile on your face.

Aemond is completely bewitched by your beauty, moving a hand to rest on your cheek. You rest your hands against his chest before kissing him, desperately and passionately, fingers curling into his shirt to hold him close to you. You push him to lay down on his back, kissing his neck, unbuttoning his shirt to run your hands over the planes of his chest, kissing each and every freckle on his stomach before coming to the waistband of his trousers. You gaze up at him as you undo his pants, giving his cock a quick stroke before taking him into your mouth.

He lets out a soft whimper at the way you keep your eyes on him as you bob your head up and down on his cock, your mouth feeling so fucking perfect around him, those lips of yours so gorgeous as they wrap around him. Your hands massage his balls softly, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. Aemond’s glasses fog up as he breathes heavily, covering his face with his hand, cheeks burning bright red as you keep up your ministrations. Then, suddenly, he moves to lift your face off of him, a sheepish smile on his lips.

“I… I want to be inside you… When it happens.”

You give him a little smirk, quickly undressing, revealing inch by glorious inch of your bare body to his gaze. Aemond looks at you as though you are a goddess when you come to straddle him, your nails raking down his chest.

“Do you want me, Professor?” you purr seductively.

Aemond nods eagerly, “More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life. I love you.”

You lean in to kiss him, lifting your hips slightly to sink down onto his cock as you breathe out, “I love you too, Aemond.”

He buries his face in your neck, arms wrapped around you as you roll your hips, bouncing up and down on his cock, the sounds of the forest night, your moans, and skin slapping against skin pervading the air. This is perfect, this is what the Seven Heavens must look like, he thinks. You gaze down at him and he gazes up at you before your lips find each other’s once more.

Yes, you didn’t get your treasure, but you found something even better.

You found love.

[witchofthevale]

gaze still on you, “Beautiful…”

You see that he’s looking at you rather than the natural wonder and grin,

we have found the simp your honour, he is right here

as much as there's a sad element to this, it is extremely hilarious that aemond's virginity is the key, i was giggling

[nedseii]

gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss

[arte072]

Omg!! I finally found your artwork again from the amazing Arya illustration.

I couldn’t find your blog for so long but if you do request in the future if you could do Rhaena of Pentos I would really appreciate it!

first of all, thank you so much!! second, i'm so sorry this ask has been in my inbox for 80,000 years 😭😭😭😭😭

please take this rhaena as penance

[barbieaemond]

EWAN MITCHELL as ABRAHAM | GRANTCHESTER 3.05

[witchofthevale]

inhales

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Consequences | Series Masterlist

Summary: Only nine and ten, she does not know much about the world and when she acquires a job at the Red Keep as a maidservant, she catches the dark and ominous attention of the One-Eyed Prince. Unsure if she even wants it, she may realise that the realm is not so kind to lowborn women, regardless of the situation they find themselves in.

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist  ​

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, noncon, dub-con, mean Aemond, manipulation, gore, blood, violence, major angst

Consequences Playlist | A03 Link

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six (End)

Epilogue

TikTok edit by @hisvaleryan

My Artwork​

dividers by @saradika

[witchofthevale]

This is not spoiler free!

What can I say... that would encompass how truly heartbroken I was finishing this. I devoured this fic, rushing through wishing to see a happy ending knowing it was futile because Aemond here... God, Aemond here is one you recognised if you've seen the book. I can see him acting like this if he was a bit more like Aegon, if he upheld his blood purity less, if he was given a chance to see a ray of sunshine and corrupt it by want alone.

Aemond's adoration, his desire, is devouring that it ruined maid!reader.

Him being haunted by her by brought me a ray of vindictive joy.

Liz, oh my gosh. I dunno why I chose to read this at 1 in the morning but I have no regrets, thank you for the heartbreak, it really made me want to go find a pond and stare at it until morning light woke through the darkness.

[bbygirl-aemond]

hotd's commentary on patriarchy is so much more interesting when you allow yourself to acknowledge the differences in privilege and power between the various women we see. aemma, alicent, laena, rhaenys, rhaenyra- they all have varying levels of privilege that come to them either indirectly or directly. rhaenyra is, ofc, undisputedly at the top. and this doesn't sideline or villainize rhaenyra in any way, because no amount of privilege will change the fact that she is not a man. like otto said: she could be jaehaerys reborn, could be as wise and powerful and mighty as any human being could be, and at the end of the day society would still see her as a woman. as the most powerful woman, sure, but as a woman. and i think that's just a much more salient point- that no amount of power within a system will allow you to breach the confines of that system. no matter how much influence these woman gain within the system of patriarchy, they're never able to be free of it.

[snowprincesa1]

Beautifully said!