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summary | after the prank, it tore you and Josh apart, now a year later Josh wants to be with you again
tags | 18+ (MDNI), smut, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (remember kids: wrap it before you tap it), hurt/comfort, confessions, no description of reader, sam&reader
a/n | so this takes place right after Josh fakes his death with Ash and Chris. again this is an extraction from my actual fanfic on A03, unfortunately it is Josh x OC, but if you guys are interested it's called Echoes Of Us
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨
MASTERLIST
You took a deep breath as you stepped into your designated guest room, closing the door softly behind you.
It was so strange, normally you'd sleep in Josh's room, and before that Beth always wanted you to sleep in her room. The weight of the evening clung to you like the chill in the air.
Fumbling for the light switch, you flicked it on, only to be met with darkness. "Great," you muttered under your breath, glancing around the shadowy room. The moonlight filtering through the edges of the thick curtains offered little help.
Sighing, you crossed the room and pulled them open, letting a silvery glow spill across the space.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough to let you navigate to the bedside table. You rummaged through the drawer until your fingers brushed against cold metal—a lighter.
Striking it, you carefully lit the scattered candles, the warm flicker of flames chasing away the darkness and casting long shadows on the wooden walls.
The soft glow made the room feel marginally less oppressive, though the unease from the seance still lingered like a weight on your chest.
You sank onto the edge of the bed, your hands resting on your lap as you stared at the flickering candlelight. You were grateful Josh had given you space to collect yourself.
After what had just happened—between the spirit board and your *moment*—you needed to get your thoughts in order before seeing him again.
Alright, you thought firmly. Josh had told you it was a mistake, that he still wanted you.
He still loved you.
You exhaled slowly, trying to push away the nagging doubts creeping into her mind. And did you love him? That wasn’t even a question—of course, you did. You always had.
Maybe it was a good thing that Josh had planned this weekend, even if parts of it had already gone off the rails.
Maybe it was a chance for things to start healing, for him to finally find some closure and for you to help him. But the events of the evening... the séance, the cryptic messages... they gnawed at the edges of your mind.
You tried to shake it off, blaming Chris. It had to be one of his tasteless jokes, right? That was the only explanation. But still, something about it had felt... wrong. The way the planchette moved, how Josh had acted—it had been so strange. You couldn’t just ignore it.
Your thoughts, as always, circled back to Josh. Your moment together earlier replayed in your mind, and while you felt reassured by his words, the doubts still lingered.
You needed a second opinion, someone who could help you untangle the mess of emotions and unanswered questions swirling inside your head. And there was no one better for that than Sam.
With a determined sigh, you slipped out of your room and headed toward the bathroom nearest to Sam's. You knocked lightly on the door. "Sammy?" you called.
There was no response.
You rolled your eyes, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. Of course, you thought. Sam probably had her headphones in again. Without waiting for an answer, you pushed the door open and peeked inside.
Sure enough, there Sam was, lounging in the tub surrounded by a sea of bubbles, her head tilted back against the rim, earphones firmly in place.
Suppressing a laugh, you stepped inside and quietly approached the tub, your movements deliberate to avoid startling your friend too much. When you reached the edge of the tub, you snapped your fingers right in front of Sam's face.
Sam’s eyes shot open in panic, her hand splashing water as she jolted upright. When she saw you standing there, grinning, she let out a groan and pulled her earphones out. “Can’t a girl get some privacy around here?”
“Privacy is overrated, Sammy,” you teased, perching yourself on the edge of the tub. Your voice softened as you added, “Besides, I really need your help.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, her annoyance melting into curiosity as she leaned back into the bubbles. “This sounds serious. What’s up?”
You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip as you searched for the right words. Finally, you sighed, your voice low. “It’s... Josh. Everything tonight has just been so weird, and I can’t get a handle on how I’m supposed to feel about it all.”
Sam’s expression softened as she tilted her head in concern. “Weird how?”
“Just... him,” you admitted, your voice growing softer. “We kind of had a moment earlier. And you know how Josh is—he keeps cutting me off when we get close. I want us to be together again, but I’m scared.” your hands fidgeted in your lap as you stared at the floor.
Sam straightened in the tub, droplets sliding off her arms as she leaned forward. “Scared that he’ll push you away again?”
“Kind of,” you murmured. “It’s just… there’s so much history between us. And I don’t know if he’s ready to really deal with everything. Especially not here, of all places, with all these memories hanging over us. It feels like he’s holding on to so much, and I don’t know if there’s room for me in all of that anymore.”
Sam studied you carefully, her gaze steady and full of understanding. After a moment, she reached out to touch your arm, her voice calm and reassuring.
“Honey, you’ve been there for him through everything—more than anyone else. If anyone can help him face this, it’s you. But you’ve got to remember, it’s not all on you to make him okay.”
You nodded slowly, your eyes glistening as you processed Sam’s words. “I know. And I’m not trying to fix him. I just... I want him to feel better. To be happy again.”
Sam’s expression softened, her voice gentle but firm. “I get it, babe. But we’re all supposed to be keeping an eye on him—not just you. It’s not all on your shoulders.”
“I know that,” you sighed, your gaze dropping as you fidgeted with the hem of your sweater. “It’s just... there’s this part of me that feels like I should take it all on. That maybe if I could just carry it for him, then he wouldn’t have to. It sounds stupid, I know.”
Sam raised a brow, her tone lightening. “And when has something sounding stupid ever stopped you before?”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Fair. But seriously... I just want to take all his pain away. Put it on me, instead.” your voice lowered slightly, your sadness plain as you looked back at Sam.
Sam reached out, placing her damp hand over yours and giving it a firm squeeze. “Oh, sweetie. That’s not how this works. You can’t just take it all away. But what you can do is be there for him. And maybe... I don’t know... really talk to him. Like, lay it all out.”
You smiled faintly, your heart feeling a little less heavy. “Thanks, Sammy. You’re a really good friend, you know that?”
Sam’s smile faltered for just a moment, but she quickly masked it with a laugh, looking away briefly before turning back.
A good friend wouldn’t secretly feel the way she did about her friend’s boyfriend.
Pushing the thought aside, she mustered her most genuine smile. “Anytime. Now, unless you want to help me wash my hair, I’m kicking you out.”
You stood, brushing off your jeans with mock dignity. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you to your royal bubble bath, your highness.”
“Damn right, servant,” Sam teased, sinking back into the water with a grin.
As you left the bathroom, you felt a little more grounded. Sam was right—you weren't alone in this, and neither was Josh. Whatever happened, you'd figure it out. Together.
You stepped out of the shower, tightening the towel around you as the steam followed you back into your room. The soft glow of the candlelight illuminated the space, casting flickering shadows across the walls. At least the candles had warmed the room enough that you didn’t need to bundle up.
You let out a contented sigh and slipped into one of your favorite silk nightgowns, the delicate fabric cool against your skin. You crossed to the mirror and sat down, brushing through your damp hair with slow, rhythmic strokes.
Around your neck hung a golden chain, the intricate sapphire promise ring glinting in the candlelight—a constant reminder of everything you and Josh had been through.
As you finished brushing your hair, you picked up your lip gloss, applying a light layer, then reached for your eyelash curler.
You barely had time to finish when you heard the soft creak of the door opening behind you. Your heart jumped in your chest as you set down the curler and glanced at your reflection.
Taking a steadying breath, you turned to see Josh stepping into the room.
He’d changed into fresh clothes, but his disheveled hair and the faint sheen of sweat on his brow gave him away. He was panting slightly, as though he’d been in a hurry—or a fight with himself.
“Hey,” you murmured softly, your voice cutting through the tense quiet. “You alright?”
Josh hesitated for a moment, then flashed you his signature cheeky smile, though the faint tension in his eyes betrayed him. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a little too casual. “Just had to take care of something.”
You arched a brow, folding your arms across your chest. “Uh-huh. And what’s this something?”
Josh didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crossed the room and dropped onto the edge of your bed with a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. Your gaze softened, and you stood, moving toward him.
“Josh,” you said gently, sitting beside him. “What’s really going on?”
He glanced at you, his bravado slipping as his hand reached for the chain around your neck, his thumb brushing against the sapphire promise ring. “Just... thinking about a lot of things,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “About us. About everything.”
You leaned into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder, your own voice soft and laced with honesty. “Me too.”
Josh’s green eyes lingered on the ring. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was heavy with unspoken feelings. “I thought... I thought you took it off,” he said, almost in disbelief.
“Never,” you murmured, your voice firm but tender.
Your thoughts flickered back to your conversation with Sam, and you took a steadying breath. You stayed leaning against him but decided to ask the question you'd been too scared to voice before. “Josh... how do you feel about me?”
There was a pause. Josh shifted slightly, the tension rolling off him in waves. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.
You sighed, sitting up to face him fully, your eyes locking onto his with a dry, knowing look. “You know exactly what I mean.”
Josh avoided your gaze, his hands fidgeting in his lap. He finally murmured, almost awkwardly, “Well, what do you want me to say? That I’ve been head over heels for you since I was eleven and Beth brought you home for a sleepover?”
A small, teasing smile tugged at your lips. “How could I forget? You spent the whole night perving at me.”
Josh scoffed, leaning back against the bed and pulling you down with him. “I wouldn’t call it perving. Or... staring, for that matter.”
You smirked, your voice light with teasing. “Oh? Then what would you call it?”
Josh made a thoughtful face, his lips twitching as he tried not to grin. “More like... admiring,” he said with mock seriousness.
“Nice save,” you hummed, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him, your smile warm and genuine.
Josh nodded solemnly. “Thank you. I try.”
For a moment, the banter gave way to comfortable silence, your shared laughter fading into quiet breaths. You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “I’m glad you told me,” you whispered.
Josh’s grin softened into something more vulnerable, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a slow, deliberate motion. “I meant it, baby. Every word,” he murmured. His green eyes searched yours, raw and earnest. “I want us to be together again. I... I can’t live without you.”
You didn’t need words to reply. Your actions spoke for you as you leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. The warmth of your lips against his skin sent a shiver down his spine, and he closed his eyes, savoring the moment.
When he opened them again, his gaze was full of longing. “I missed you so goddamn much,” he murmured, his voice cracking ever so slightly.
Before you could respond, Josh leaned toward you, closing the distance between you. His lips brushed yours in a soft, tentative kiss, the kind that carried months of unspoken feelings and bottled-up desire.
To Josh, it felt like eternal relief—like finding water in a desert after wandering aimlessly for far too long.
Yours hands instinctively reached up, one resting on his shoulder while the other lightly traced his jawline.
Josh’s hand moved to cup your cheek, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was steady, deliberate, and full of love.
In that moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist. It was just the two of you, your broken pieces fitting together again as if they had never been apart.
For the first time in a long time, Josh felt like he wasn’t drowning in the weight of his isolation and madness. He felt... whole.
When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested against each other, your breaths mingling in the quiet room. You opened your eyes, your gaze meeting Josh’s. “I missed you too,” you said softly, your voice steady but full of meaning.
Josh smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that made your heart ache. “Good,” he said with a quiet chuckle, brushing your hair behind her ear. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go again.”
You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in once more, capturing his lips in another kiss, this time with more fervor as you straddled his lap, Josh's hands instantly moved to your hips.
Josh groaned into the kiss, his hands tightening on your hips as you settled onto him. The heat of your body seeped through the thin fabric of your nightgown, igniting a fire within him that had smoldered for far too long.
Breaking the kiss, Josh looked up at you with lust-darkened eyes, his breathing ragged. "God, I've wanted this," he rasped, his thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. "Wanted you."
Your cheeks flushed, your pupils dilated with desire. You rocked your hips gently, feeling Josh's hardness beneath you. "Then take me," you whispered, your voice husky with need. "Make me forget everything else."
Your words were a siren's call, urging Josh to claim you, to lose himself in the pleasure only you could provide. With a low growl, he turned, flipping you effortlessly with him. He pinned you against the bed, his mouth devouring yours as his hands roamed your curves.
"I will," he promised against your lips, his voice thick with arousal. "I'll make you forget your own name if that's what it takes."
Josh's hands slid under your nightgown, caressing the warm skin of your stomach before dipping lower to bunch your skirts. He lifted them up your thighs, his fingers tracing the edges of your panties before slipping beneath the fabric to stroke your slick folds.
You moaned into the kiss, your nails digging into Josh's shoulders as you ground against his touch. "Please," you whimpered, your hips circling desperately.
Josh swallowed your whimper with another searing kiss, his fingers delving deeper into your heat. Your wetness coated his digits, making them glide easily over your sensitive clit.
He circled the swollen nub, applying just the right amount of pressure to send shockwaves of pleasure through you.
"Tell me what you need, baby," Josh breathed against your lips, his thumb continuing its maddening dance on your clit while his middle finger pushed inside you, curling to stroke that sweet spot deep within. "I'm gonna give it to you."
Your head thrashed from side to side, your hips bucking wildly against Josh's hand. "Don't stop," you gasped, your walls clenching around his invading finger. "Fuck, Josh, please..."
Your pleas fell on deaf ears as Josh continued his relentless assault on your senses. He added a second finger, scissoring them inside you as he pumped them in and out, his thumb still mercilessly stimulating your clit.
"You're so fucking tight," Josh grunted, his cock straining against his zipper. "I can feel you milking my fingers."
He curled his fingers just right, hitting that magic spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Your legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back as you rode his hand with abandon.
"Yes, yes, oh fuck!" you cried out, your orgasm cresting like a tidal wave. Your inner muscles spasmed around Josh's fingers, drawing them even deeper as you came beneath him.
Josh felt your climax wash over you like a tsunami, your cunt clamping down on his fingers like a vice. He worked you through the aftershocks, prolonging your pleasure until you collapsed back against the mattress, panting and dazed.
With a final, tender kiss to your forehead, Josh withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips to taste your wetness. "Delicious," he murmured, his green eyes never leaving your flushed face.
He quickly unbuttoned his jeans, pulling it down just enough to reveal his hard, throbbing cock.
Josh crawled over you, propping himself up on his elbows as he aligned his member with your entrance. "You ready for me?" he asked, his voice rough with need.
You nodded, your hands reaching for him, eager to pull him close. "Please, Josh," you begged, your body arching towards his.
With a low, primal groan, Josh thrust into you, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke. Both of you gasped at the sensation, Josh's thickness stretching you impossibly wide as he filled you completely.
Josh began to move, setting a relentless pace as he drove into you again and again. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, punctuated by your panting and Josh's guttural moans.
You met every thrust with equal fervor, your hips rising to meet Josh's as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Your nails dug into his back, piercing his skin through his shirt as you urged him on.
"So good," you whimpered, your head tossing from side to side. "Fuck, Josh, you feel amazing! I missed you so much."
Josh's grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your hips as he pounded into you with reckless abandon. The way you took him, so eagerly, so perfectly, sent waves of ecstasy crashing through his veins.
"I missed you too," he gritted out between clenched teeth, his breath hot against your neck. "Every damn day without you felt like forever."
He reached between your straining bodies, finding your swollen clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. The added stimulation sent you careening towards another peak, your inner walls fluttering around Josh's cock.
"That's it, baby," he coaxed, his voice a low rasp. "Come for me again. Let go and scream my name."
Your world narrowed to the incredible feeling of Josh's cock driving into you, stroking that secret spot inside you that made you see stars. His fingers on your clit were the final trigger, sending you hurtling over the edge once more.
"Josh!" you gasped, your voice cracking as your orgasm ripped through you. Your pussy clenched rhythmically around him, milking his cock for all it was worth.
Through the haze of your pleasure, you felt Josh's movements become erratic, his thrusts growing shorter and more urgent. With a final, deep plunge, he buried himself inside you and stilled, his hot seed spurting into your welcoming depths.
"Oh god!" Josh groaned, his body shuddering above yours as he emptied himself into you.
Josh collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he struggled to catch his breath. Your hearts raced in tandem, pounding out a frantic rhythm that seemed to fill the entire room.
After a long moment, Josh lifted his head, his eyes searching your face with a mix of tenderness and awe. "That was... incredible," he whispered, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your forehead. "Being with you again... it feels like coming home."
Josh pressed a soft kiss to your lips, savoring the taste of you, "I know I messed up, baby," he whispered, his voice full of quiet desperation. "But I promise, I won't let anything tear us apart again."
You smiled up at him in a daze, your heart swelling with relief. His words were everything you wanted to hear. As your eyes fluttered tiredly, a small sigh escaped your lips. "I love you," you murmured, your voice barely audible as sleep overtook you.
Josh watched intently as your breathing evened out, the soft rise and fall of your chest the only sound in the room. Your face softened in sleep, a peaceful expression settling over your features.
He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice barely a whisper. "I love you too."
For a moment, he lingered, staring down at you, his heart aching with the weight of everything between the two of you. As much as he wanted to stay there, holding you, forgetting the world outside, he knew he couldn’t.
Not yet.
He stood slowly, his movements deliberate as he fixed his clothing, then blew out the candles, the room sinking into darkness. The soft moonlight streaming through the window cast long shadows across the floor.
With one last glance at you, Josh made his way toward the door, the tightness in his chest almost unbearable.
Before closing it behind him, he locked the door from the outside, his hand lingering on the knob for a moment longer than necessary.
You didn’t deserve this.
His heart twisted as he walked away, leaving the room behind. He didn’t want you involved. But the plan was already in motion, and he couldn’t back out now.
summary | you are slowly pulling away from your boyfriend, Josh, frustrated because of this secret his keeping. Matters only get worse when you realize your period is late.
tags | angst, hurt/comfort, pregnancy scare, mentions of pregnancy, teenagers in love, fluff, mentions of mental illness, confessions, no description of reader
a/n | hey beautiful people, just wanted to say that these are extractions from my actual fanfic on A03, unfortunately it is Josh x OC, but if you guys are interested it's called Echoes Of Us
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨
MASTERLIST
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
Your mind was racing as you sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the calendar pinned to your wall. The little red circle marking the start of your period last month seemed to mock you now. It had been over a week—a week—and nothing.
Your chest tightened as you buried your face in your hands, letting out a shaky breath. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not like this.
You were eighteen—still figuring everything out, still planning your future. And now the universe had decided to throw you a curveball you weren't ready for.
To make matters worse, you hadn’t spoken to Josh in days. You had been dodging his texts, ignoring his calls, and making every excuse to avoid seeing him when he came back home for the weekend.
It was easier this way. The secrets he’d been keeping had created a wedge between the two of you, and it was suffocating you.
You didn’t know what was worse—the way he would dodge your questions with a charming smile or cheesy joke or the nagging feeling in your gut that he didn’t trust you enough to let you all the way in.
And now? Now, you might be pregnant. Pregnant, for god’s sake. You let out a bitter laugh at the thought. "Eighteen and pregnant. That’ll look great on my college applications."
Your gaze drifted toward your phone on the nightstand. Josh’s name was still at the top of your unread messages. The last one from him was from this morning:
Sun, May 20, 2012,
10:47 AM
Josh: Baby, I’m sorry. Can you just talk to me?
11:19 AM
Josh: Please?
Your stomach churned. The thought of talking to him made you want to scream and cry all at once. What would you even say? That you were furious with him for keeping things from you?
That you weren't sure you could trust him? Or maybe you'd lead with the bombshell that you might be carrying his baby?
Your fingers trembled as you grabbed the unopened pregnancy test from your bag, your heart pounding in your chest. You had driven two towns over to buy it, far enough from Santa Monica that no one you knew could catch you.
Even then, you hadn’t been able to meet the cashier’s eyes as they scanned the box and handed it over.
Now it sat in your hands, small and unassuming, but it felt heavier than anything you'd ever held. A deep groan escaped you as you shoved the box under your pillow, as though hiding it would make it less real. Flopping back onto your bed, you grabbed your phone, hoping for a distraction.
Big mistake.
Your chest tightened as you scrolled through your notifications. A string of unread messages from Josh stared back at you, a silent accusation.
You locked your phone without responding, holding it to your chest. The guilt gnawed at you. Avoiding Josh was one thing, but there were also unread messages from Beth. That was worse. So much worse.
You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. Beth didn’t deserve this. She'd always been the supportive one, the steady one. Ignoring her felt like betraying your friendship.
But how could you face Beth right now? The thought of seeing her filled you with dread. Beth had this uncanny ability to read you like a book—she’d take one look at you and know something was wrong.
You could already picture the concerned tilt of Beth’s head, the gentle but insistent questions, the way she’d push until you cracked.
And then, before you could stop yourself, the words would come spilling out, “Hey, B, guess what? You’re going to be an aunt.”
Just imagining it made your stomach twist into knots. You couldn’t handle that conversation—not with Josh, not with Beth, not with anyone.
The spiral was already beginning, your thoughts circling darker and darker, and you clutched your pillow tightly against your chest as though the pressure might keep you from completely unraveling.
Your breaths were shallow, and you were dangerously close to a full-blown breakdown when the soft buzz of your phone snapped you out of it.
You froze, your heart jumping into your throat. Tentatively, you picked up the phone, half-dreading yet another message from Josh or Beth.
But when you glanced at the screen, you let out a shaky sigh of relief. It wasn’t them.
It was Em.
13:05 PM
Emily: Shopping later?
You stared at the text for a moment, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. Emily’s bluntness was weirdly comforting—it was one of the few things you could count on to stay consistent. You really could use a distraction, something to pull you out of your own head.
13:06 PM
You: Barney's in an hour?
It didn’t take long for Emily to reply.
13:07 PM
Emily: See you there, bitch.
You couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at your lips. For now, you could put everything aside—the unopened test, the missed calls, the terrifying what-ifs—and focus on something mindless.
You tossed your pillow aside, grabbed your purse, and headed out the door. Shopping with Emily wouldn’t fix your problems, but it might give you just enough strength to face them.
“Y’know, I’m surprised Jess isn’t here,” You murmured as you scanned the racks of dresses, running your fingers over the fabric, your thoughts far from the clothes in front of you.
Emily stood beside you, meticulously inspecting each hanger with the precision of someone on a mission.
"Don't get me wrong, I love Jess," Emily replied, her voice casual as she shifted a dress aside. "She’s my best friend, but sometimes… I don’t know. She doesn’t really give the best advice and doesn’t always get... certain things."
You turned to glance at Emily, raising an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Are you calling her dumb, Em?”
Emily laughed softly, shaking her head. "I’m not! Don’t twist my words like that."
But then her laughter faded, her gaze lingering on a dress she wasn’t really looking at. Her lips pursed, and she hesitated before adding, “It’s just… I’ve been having some problems with Mike.”
At the mention of Mike, you let out an audible sigh, unable to hide your disdain.
Emily shot you a sharp side-eye. "What was that sigh for?"
You shrugged, toying absentmindedly with a strand of your hair. “You know I don’t like him.”
"I’ll never understand why," Emily replied with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. She pulled a dress from the rack but didn’t even look at it before putting it back. Her tone softened as she admitted, "But… there’s something else."
You frowned, turning your full attention to Emily. "What is it, Em?"
Emily hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with a price tag. “I haven’t slept with him yet,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant but failing to hide the tension in her voice.
Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline, your surprise evident. Emily noticed and immediately scoffed. "Why the hell are you looking at me like that?"
"I’m not shocked," You said quickly, though your tone betrayed your curiosity. "It’s just… you two have been together for, like, a year."
Emily sighed, crossing her arms defensively. “Yeah, and? Relationships aren’t all about that, you know.”
“I didn’t say they were,” You replied, your voice gentler now. You leaned slightly against the rack, studying Emily’s expression. "But if it’s bothering you, why haven’t you told him?"
Emily hesitated, her shoulders slumping slightly. "It’s not that easy. Mike’s… Mike. He can be so pushy sometimes, and I just—ugh, I don’t know."
You tilted your head, your tone blunt but kind. “If he’s making you feel pressured, that’s not okay, Em. You don’t owe him anything just because you’ve been together a while.”
Emily glanced at you, her guarded expression softening. “It’s not just him. It’s me, too. I guess I feel… guilty? Like I should be ready by now, but I’m just… not.”
You reached out, placing a hand on Emily’s shoulder. "Then that’s his problem, not yours. If Mike really cares about you—and I mean really—he’ll wait. No questions asked."
Emily nodded slowly, exhaling a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Thanks, babe.”
"Anytime," you replied with a small smile. Then you added, unable to resist, “But just for the record, I still think you could do better.”
Emily rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” You quipped, a teasing grin on your face as you pulled another dress off the rack. For a moment, the air lightened between you.
But as your eyes wandered, something stopped you cold—the maternity section.
Your heart skipped a beat as your feet carried you there almost instinctively. You reached for a dress, a soft, pink summery thing with a flowy cut.
It was adorable and obviously meant for someone who was heavily pregnant. You stared at it, your mind spiraling. You could almost see yourself in it, your stomach round and heavy with life.
“What the hell are you doing?” Emily’s voice cut through the moment like a knife, startling you.
You jumped, the dress slipping from your hands. You shoved it hastily back onto the rack. “Nothing, Em,” you said, too quickly.
Emily raised a skeptical brow, her sharp eyes darting from you to the maternity section. A slow smirk tugged at her lips. “What, you pregnant or something?” she teased lightly.
You let out a forced laugh, waving your hand dismissively. “What the fuck? No.”
But Emily wasn’t buying it. Her playful expression gave way to something more calculating as she studied you closely. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Wait... are you?”
“No, Em,” you said, too fast again, your voice dropping to a shaky murmur. You hesitated, then added, “My period’s just late, that’s all.”
Emily’s eyes widened, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “Oh my god,” she whispered, the teasing gone from her tone entirely.
“It’s nothing, Emily,” you snapped, your voice firm but not convincing. “I swear. Don’t make a big deal about it, okay?”
Emily nodded, her lips pursed like she wasn’t entirely convinced. Then, with a glance at you, she reached out and plucked the pink dress from the rack.
She held it up, studying it for a moment before saying, “If you are, you know you can’t keep it, right?”
You froze, your stomach dropping like a stone. “Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Emily shrugged, her tone casual, almost flippant. “Because we’d be terrible moms.”
You frowned, your chest tightening. “Why would I be a terrible mom?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent but failing miserably.
“Don’t take it personally, Hon,” Emily replied with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “It’s just… we all turn into our parents eventually, right? And I mean, as soon as Junior you hits puberty, Senior you becomes a bitter bitch. It’s just how it goes.”
Your jaw clenched as you looked away, your gaze landing on the dress again. Emily’s words were meant to be casual, maybe even a joke, but they stung.
You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to cry. Somehow, your already bad day had just gotten worse.
You sat on the edge of your bed, staring down at the pregnancy test in your trembling hands. Your eyes were fixed on the single, unbroken line in the tiny window.
Not pregnant.
You should’ve felt relief. You wanted to feel relief. But all that settled in your chest was a heavy, hollow ache. Emily’s words echoed in your mind like a cruel mantra: We’d be terrible moms.
A lump formed in your throat as your grip tightened on the plastic stick. No, you thought fiercely. I wouldn’t be like that. You'd try. You'd try so damn hard to make your baby happy, to protect them from everything. You'd do better. You could do better.
But none of that mattered now. You weren't pregnant.
Distantly, you heard the doorbell ring, followed by your mother’s sharp, impatient voice cutting through the quiet of the house. “Get the door!”
You exhaled shakily, breaking out of your thoughts. You tossed the test into the trash with more force than necessary, the hollow clink of plastic against metal strangely satisfying.
With a sigh, you got to your feet and headed for the door, leaving the hollow ache behind—or at least trying to.
You froze when you opened the door, your heart leaping into your throat as you stared at Josh’s face. His green eyes, wide and pleading, met yours, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.
Josh cleared his throat, looking a little sheepish as he murmured, “Can I come in?”
You didn’t trust your voice, so you just nodded and stepped aside, letting him cross the threshold. He slipped inside, shutting the door softly behind them.
“Thanks,” he said quietly, before reaching out and thrusting a bouquet of pink peonies into your hands. “These are for you.”
You blinked, surprised by the gesture. The delicate flowers felt out of place in your clammy grip, and all you could manage was a quiet, “Thanks.” You set the bouquet on a nearby table, your movements awkward and uncertain.
Josh stuffed his hands into his jean pockets, his shoulders hunched slightly as he asked, “Can we talk?”
You nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. Just... let’s go to my room. My mom’s in one of her moods.”
Josh followed you down the hall, his footsteps slow and tentative. Once inside your room, he closed the door softly, his gaze roaming the familiar space.
The walls were decorated with photos of all of you together—laughing at the beach, posing at school events, arms slung around each other.
Your bed was piled high with stuffed animals, and posters of The Cranberries and ABBA lined the walls. It hadn’t changed since the last time he’d been here, but it felt like a lifetime ago.
Josh took a deep breath, running a hand through his messy hair as he perched on the edge of your bed. His knee bounced nervously, the movement betraying the calm he was trying to project. “So... I’m sure you’re wondering why I came here.”
You stood stiffly near your vanity, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Your gaze was guarded, your tone biting as you replied, “No, not really. I’m just hoping for an explanation—any explanation, really.”
Josh winced at your words but managed a dry chuckle. “Yeah, I figured as much.”
He looked up at you, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, self-deprecating smile, “I know I’ve been a really shitty boyfriend. And I’m so sorry for all the crappy things I’ve done. But... I don’t want to lose you, baby. I really don’t.”
You leaned against your vanity, your fingers gripping the edge as though it could steady you. Your voice softened slightly, but the edge of frustration still lingered. “But that’s not the truth, Josh.”
He looked away, guilt flickering across his face. Of course, you'd call him out. There was no way he’d get off that easily. “Yeah...” he murmured, his voice low. “That’s what I need to explain.”
Your silence was heavy, expectant.
Josh sighed, his hands rubbing over his jeans as if to release the tension coiling inside him. “I was hoping you’d just... I don’t know... kinda understand without me having to say it out loud.” He shook his head, a sad smile flickering briefly before fading. “But that’s not fair to you.”
He paused, his throat tightening as he tried to find the words. “I love you, baby. I don’t know how else to say it. I love you so much it scares the hell out of me sometimes."
Your voice cracked as tears welled in your eyes. “How about showing it, Josh?” you said, your words trembling. “I’m not trying to push you away—I’m holding on for dear life—but I need you to need me back.”
The sight of you breaking made Josh’s heart twist painfully. He stood, his movements slow and deliberate, before wrapping his arms tightly around you.
“Hey, hey,” he murmured, his voice soft and pleading.
“Don’t cry, baby. Please don’t cry. I promise you—I do need you.” He pressed his lips to your hair, holding you like you might disappear.
You sobbed against his chest, your hands pushing weakly against him as you choked out, “Then why won’t you just tell me? Why do you need the medication? Where do you go when you disappear? Why won’t you let me all the way in?!”
Your words cut deeper than any knife, and Josh felt his resolve crumbling. He hated this—the way he was hurting you, the way his silence was tearing the two of you apart. He tightened his grip on you as though that alone could keep you two from unraveling completely.
“Baby…” He trailed off, his voice heavy with guilt. He couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. How could he tell you?
How could he say the words he’d been terrified to utter? But lying—or saying nothing—would only hurt you more.
He took another shaky breath, his throat tightening as he finally said it. “Because I’m sick. Okay?”
You pulled back slightly, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean... sick?”
Josh’s hands tightened slightly on your waist as he closed his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I-I have schizophrenia. I was diagnosed when I was twelve.”
His words hung in the air, heavy and raw. He couldn’t bear to look at you, couldn’t face the possibility of seeing disgust—or worse, pity—in your eyes.
“What?” your voice was small, almost inaudible, as you stared up at him, your tears momentarily forgotten.
Josh finally forced himself to look at you, his green eyes wide with vulnerability. “I didn’t want you to know because... because I was scared. Scared of how you’d see me. Scared of losing you.”
His voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I hear things that aren’t there. I see things. I have these thoughts I can’t control, and... I didn’t want you to think I was crazy.”
Your heart sank as the weight of his confession settled over you. You reached up, cupping his face with trembling hands. “Josh,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the tears slipping down your cheeks. “You’re not crazy. You’re... you’re Josh.”
His furrowed his brows, and for a moment, he looked as though he couldn’t believe your words. “You don’t... you don’t think I’m broken?”
You shook your head firmly, your trembling hands still cradling his face. “You’re not broken, Josh. You’re human. And if you’re scared, let me be scared with you. I want to be here for you. But you have to let me.”
Josh’s throat tightened as he pulled you into his arms, holding you against his chest like you were his lifeline. He buried his face in your hair, his voice barely a whisper. “You still love me,” he murmured, attempting to lighten the heavy moment.
You scoffed, your voice muffled against his shirt. “Of course, I still love you, you idiot.”
Josh let out a quiet laugh, the sound soft and relieved. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands sliding up to cup your cheeks.
Gently, he brushed away the tears still clinging to your skin with his thumbs. “I know, I know—I’m an idiot. Just... stop crying, okay? It’s killing me.”
You let out a thick chuckle, sniffing as you wiped at your face with the back of your hand. “Fine, but you owe me a whole box of chocolates for this.”
“Deal,” Josh said, his lips quirking into a small, crooked smile. His hands slipped to your waist, anchoring you as though he was scared to let go.
You stepped back slightly, giving him a sheepish look. “Wanna stay for a movie? Something light, maybe?”
Josh smirked, tilting his head as though considering your suggestion. “Only if it’s horror.”
You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “You call that light? Fine, but if I scream, you’re paying for my therapy.”
“Deal,” Josh said again, his voice warm and playful now.
“Alright,” you said, gesturing toward the bed. “Pick something while I go freshen up. And no weird indie stuff this time, I mean it.”
Josh raised his hands in mock surrender, a light grin tugging at his lips. “Scout’s honor. But no rom-coms either—I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
As you disappeared into the bathroom, Josh sat on the edge of your bed, trying to collect his thoughts. But something caught his eye, and his heart skipped a beat.
A small object was sticking out of the trash can beside your desk. His hand reached out almost instinctively, and his fingers closed around a small white stick—a pregnancy test.
Josh’s pulse quickened as he stared at it, feeling a knot form in his stomach. A small part of him prayed it would be negative, that the whole situation would be a misunderstanding, something you two could laugh off later.
The air around him suddenly felt thick, suffocating. A tidal wave of emotions crashed over him: happiness, fear, panic, and confusion.
He sat there, frozen for a moment, staring at the test in his hand as if it were some sort of cruel joke. Was he really about to become a father? At nineteen? Was he ready for this?
The sound of your voice broke through his haze, pulling him back to reality. “Josh?”
He looked up, his face pale, still holding the test between his fingers. The words felt heavy on his tongue, but they spilled out anyway.
“You’re… pregnant,” he said quietly, his gaze still locked on you as if the reality of it hadn’t fully hit him yet.
Your eyes flicked down to the test in his hand, and you let out a deep, small sigh. “Josh, it’s one line. That means negative,” you said, walking closer to him.
Josh’s heart thudded in his chest, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He glanced down at the test again, now noticing how the faintest second line appeared to be nothing more than a shadow.
Josh swallowed hard, the embarrassment still fresh as he asked again, “It’s negative?”
You nodded softly, your shoulders slumping with a mixture of relief and lingering unease. “Yeah, it’s negative,” you murmured before sitting down beside him, your hands clasped tightly in her lap. “My period was late, and I just… I was so scared, Josh. I didn’t know what to do.”
He nodded slowly, letting out a breath as he placed the test back in the trashcan. “Well… it’s a good thing it’s negative, right?” His voice was light, almost hesitant, as if trying to gauge how you felt.
You didn’t respond right away. Your gaze was distant, fixed on the trashcan. “I told Emily,” you said quietly, her voice carrying a hint of sadness.
Josh frowned, his concern deepening. “What did she say?” he asked gently, noticing how your mood had darkened, your shoulders tightening.
Your lips trembled as you tried to keep your composure. “She said… she said I shouldn’t keep it if I was pregnant. That I’d make a terrible mom,” you said, your voice breaking slightly as you blinked back tears.
Josh’s eyes widened in disbelief, a flash of anger rising in his chest. “Why the hell would she say that?”
He shook his head, his expression softening as he turned towards you. “That’s such a shitty thing to say. Baby, you’d be an awesome mom someday.”
You shook your head, your pout deepening as you murmured, “She said we all turn out like our parents. And if I had a baby, I’d just end up like my mom… a bitter bitch.” Your voice cracked slightly, and you leaned your head against his shoulder for support.
Josh let out a soft sigh, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer so you were nestled against his chest. “That’s total bullshit. You're not a bitch, and you could never be one either. You have the biggest heart I know, and— and any kid would be lucky to have you as their mom.” he said firmly, rubbing your back in soothing circles.
You glanced up at him, your wide eyes shining with both doubt and hope. “Do you… do you want babies?” you asked softly, your voice laced with hesitation.
Josh blinked, the question catching him off guard. He leaned back slightly, thinking it over. “I… yeah, I think I do,” he admitted after a moment, his tone gentle but honest.
“It’s scary to think about, you know? But yeah… I’d really like that someday.” He smiled down at you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.
You felt your heart skip a beat at his words. You bit your lip before asking hesitantly, “With me?”
Josh let out a soft laugh, cupping your cheek as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze. “Of course with you, silly. Who else would I want that with? You’re the only person I can imagine having a family with.”
A small, genuine smile broke across your face, warmth spreading through your chest. You tilted your head up slowly, your heart pounding as you closed the distance between the two of you.
Your lips met in a gentle, lingering kiss, the kind that made you feel like the world had melted away.
When you finally pulled apart, Josh rested his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face. “See? You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
You let out a small, watery laugh, your fingers brushing away a stray tear. “You’re really good at this pep talk thing, you know, Mr Washington?”
“Hey, someone’s gotta be, Mrs Washington,” he teased with a grin, pulling you closer.
For the first time in a few months, you felt lighter, as though the storm clouds in your mind had started to part.
You didn’t know what the future held, but as long as Josh was by your side, you knew you could face anything.
Hey, hoping you’re finding some joy in your first job. It can be draining when you first start but your body and mind will get used to it. I think. Actually do not at me on that. Don’t work yourself too hard though. Remember, we work to live, not live to work. And if you aren’t a big fan of the job right now, here’s to the dream that you’ll eventually find a job that you really click with.
oh babe, I'm so sorry for the late reply but work has taken over my life (I literally applied for part time, and now I'm working six days a week, eight hours)
anyway what you've said is sooo special to me, and I'm literally resigning on Sunday, since I'm moving to England at the end of Jan and I have to get my life in order. I come from literally the bottom of Africa, so I'm not gonna spend the last few days i have here working myself to death.
youre so sweet for checking on me and here's to one step to my dream💕🥹
I'm much more late babe, MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY HANUKKAH AND HAPPY NEW YEAR 🎊🎉🎊🎉.
You guys don't know, but Tumblr is literally so special to me considering I've only found it recently. anyway love you guys and let's manifest good things for the new year❤️❤️🔥
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Hey girl hey. Hope you are still alive and life is treating you well. Just checking in.
you're so sweet for this omg. so ive graduated from high school, have this whole summer, but I can't really enjoy it since a broke girl's got to work. got my very first job and it's sooo draining, but I've got to get that bag
Sevenmas
pairing | aemond x wife!reader
word count | 9.2k words
summary | amid the haunting ruins of harrenhal, aemond's pregnant wife senses the looming threat of alys rivers, a witch whose presence fuels her nightmares and aemond's growing distance.
determined to protect her husband and unborn child, she delves into the secrets of warding magic, reclaiming her bond with aemond as she invites him back into her bed and vows to stand against the witch’s dark influence.
tags | 18+ (MDNI), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pregnancy, magic, fluff, soft aemond, hubby aemond
a/n | it's summer, the heat is evident, yet I've only been at work or home. I needdd to leave my house!
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨
ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ
My Dearest Babe,
It has been a full moon since your father and I arrived at these dreary halls of Harrenhal. It is bleak here, cold and damp, and the walls seem to hold the whispers of the dead.
I have not known a single night’s rest since we set foot in this cursed place. My sleep grew all the more restless when your father saw fit to move me into a separate chamber.
Harrenhal weighs heavily upon him. It has changed him in ways I cannot yet understand. He walks the halls as if hunted, and I see the shadows of his unrest in his eyes.
Each night, his dreams twist into dark things—visions that wrench him from sleep, leaving him gasping as though clawing his way back to wakefulness. He grows ever more volatile, as if the very stones of Harrenhal press upon his mind, threatening to drive him to madness.
One night, he woke from a nightmare so violent, I feared for him. I reached out to calm him, but he struck out, not knowing it was I. I do not hold it against him—he was deep within whatever horror plagued him.
But he looked upon the bruise on my wrist with such anguish, fearing for my health and yours. It was then he resolved to put me in another room, to shield us both from his torments.
Yet, my sleep has only worsened since he made this change. This keep holds no comfort, only shadows and sighs, and I feel that something - someone - wicked watches us, waiting.
The sixth day of Sevenmas dawned in Harrenhal, a day to honor the Crone, she who carried the lantern of wisdom and foresight. How you longed for that guidance now, caught in the maze of cold stone walls and shadows that seemed to stretch into eternity.
The ancient keep, with its crumbling towers and halls seeped in ghosts of past horrors, gnawed at your spirit with every passing hour.
The days bled together, each as gray and listless as the last. Time itself felt suspended, and there was little to fill it but your prayers to the Seven and the slow, meticulous pull of thread and needle.
Embroidery was meant to calm the mind, but here it became another way for your thoughts to spiral into dark corners. How could you not let them when the halls echoed with whispers not your own and the air felt thick, laden with something unseen yet suffocating?
Your husband, Aemond, the prince with a fire in his blood and the shadow of the conqueror in his step, had become a stranger cloaked in duty.
Since Rhaenyra had laid siege to King's Landing, his days were consumed with strategy, flame-bright eyes scanning maps and murmuring with commanders until dawn kissed the horizon.
You would catch glimpses of him, his presence fierce and distant, a sword poised to strike. And still, there was one tether left—he would always return to break his fast with you, no matter the hour, as if the morning meal was a sacred pact he refused to break.
This shared ritual was a brief light in the gloom, a moment where his brow would smooth, and he would offer a small nod, as if to say, I am still here.
Yet even then, the weight of Harrenhal seemed to press upon him, creasing the corner of his eye and stealing the little warmth from his voice.
You wished for the strength of the Crone’s wisdom, to find words that could soothe whatever haunted him, whatever pulled him into those long, silent stretches where he barely met your gaze.
And so, with the sun’s first pale rays stretching over the stone battlements, you whispered a prayer to the Crone. Let me see what he cannot. Let me guard us in ways unseen.
There was another shadow cast over your time at Harrenhal, one that gnawed at your peace like a hound at a bone. Within the first week of your arrival, an attempt on Aemond’s life had been made, a sloppy affair that left more questions than answers.
Yet the mere notion of betrayal and blood sharpened Aemond’s already fierce nature into something perilously close to madness.
In his rage and paranoia, he swept through Harrenhal like a storm, burning and executing every male Strong—lords and bastards alike, sparing none.
The aftermath left the keep haunted by its own silence, populated mostly by women and children who dared not cross his path. Yet among the survivors, there was one who set your skin crawling like no other: Alys Rivers, the bastard daughter of Lionel Strong.
Her gaze, dark and knowing, seemed to pierce through you whenever it drifted your way. The keep’s old women, those who lingered in the kitchens and halls, were full of whispers, speaking in hushed tones about Alys and the tales that clung to her like a shroud.
They claimed she was a wet nurse with no babes of her own, that her cradle stayed empty because she offered her children to dark gods, drawing power from their sacrifices.
The word witch passed between toothless mouths with reverence and fear, a name that conjured images of blood and whispered spells in the dead of night.
You would catch Alys watching Aemond from the shadowed corners of the great hall, her green eyes glistening like the polished scales of a serpent.
There was something about the way she looked at him, a gaze that lingered too long, with a subtle curl to her lips that suggested she saw beyond what others did. Each time, a cold knot formed in your stomach, winding tighter with each day.
Aemond, for his part, seemed oblivious—or perhaps unwilling—to acknowledge her attention. He stalked the halls of Harrenhal like a restless dragon, his eyes always aflame with thoughts of war and vengeance.
But you, kept to the fringes and left with little to occupy your time, had learned to listen. You had overheard more than once the old wives’ tales, how the stones of Harrenhal bore witness to strange sights in the dark of night.
The morning light struggled to filter through the narrow, soot-streaked windows of Harrenhal’s great hall, casting long, somber shadows across the cold stone floor.
You sat at the grand table, an expanse of dark oak that seemed almost too vast with just the two of you seated at its head.
The hall’s emptiness swallowed the small noises of clinking silver and the rustle of fabric, leaving only the low crackle of a distant fire to break the silence.
You glanced at Aemond, his face severe and sharp as ever, eyes narrowed and distant as he picked at the bread before him. His hair, pale as moonlight, spilled over his shoulders, catching the dim glow of morning like polished silver.
You traced the line of his jaw with your gaze, noting the tautness there, the slight twitch that spoke of restless thoughts.
In truth, you did not know this man well—your husband, your prince, and yet a stranger in so many ways.
It had only been moons since you first met, and within days, the marriage vows were spoken, the ink on the alliance barely dry before you found yourself bound to him in name and in fate.
Your father’s fleet had been your dowry, a formidable power that the Greens could not afford to spurn. You understood your role, the politics and power that tethered you to Aemond, but understanding him was another matter entirely.
His silences were as deep and dark as the Blackwater, and he carried an anger that smoldered beneath his skin, an unquenchable flame that whispered of vengeance and old wounds.
But despite the cold armor of his demeanor, Aemond had never raised his voice nor his hand to you. He moved with a kind of carefulness in your presence, a restraint that bordered on gentleness.
He treated you with a respect that was rare among men of power, where wives were often little more than pawns on a board.
And though it was likely due to the child you carried beneath your heart, it kindled a small warmth within you to think that he had not left you behind when he marched to Harrenhal.
Instead, he had commanded that you come with him, a choice that puzzled you even as it comforted you.
Harrenhal was a desolate place, steeped in old, cracked stone and a history that groaned beneath every step. You despised it, with its drafty halls and the air that always seemed to taste of ashes.
Yet sitting here, across from Aemond as the thin light etched sharp lines across his face, you felt a reluctant flicker of gratitude.
The silence between you was not companionable, but it was not cruel either. It was a space where the two of you existed, tethered by duty and an unspoken understanding.
Your gaze lifted from your untouched plate to meet his. “You barely ate anything,” you ventured softly, the words almost swallowed by the great hall’s vastness.
Aemond’s eye flickered to you, just a moment of acknowledgment, before drifting back to the distant, unfocused point beyond the hall’s great hearth. “I have much on my mind,” he replied, his voice low and guarded, as always.
You lowered your gaze, the golden glint of your cup catching the flicker of the fire as you turned it in your hands. “Today is the day of the Crone,” you murmured, the soft words drifting into the vast emptiness of the hall.
Aemond’s eye settled on you again, this time with a sharper intensity, as if he were trying to read the thoughts that played behind your eyes. The violet of his gaze, stark and unyielding, seemed to see through flesh and bone.
You felt the heat rise to your cheeks but pushed on, lifting your head with a tentative, almost sheepish smile.
“I have been holding small celebratory suppers in my chambers for each of the Seven,” you said, the words trembling on the cusp of hope. “Perhaps you would join me tonight?”
Aemond’s expression remained inscrutable, carved from the same marble as the gods whose names you spoke. He was silent, his lips pressed into a thin line as he measured the request. You held your breath, bracing for the sting of rejection, but after a moment, he inclined his head with a slow, deliberate nod.
“I shall see if I am free to attend later, wife,” he replied, each syllable precise, as if spoken under a watchful eye.
A smile unfurled across your face, a small, fragile bloom that brightened the somber air. You nodded, your gratitude silent but deeply felt, and returned your attention to the meal before you.
The hall fell back into its familiar hush, but the silence seemed gentler, softened by the promise—no matter how uncertain—that he might sit with you as the evening drew near.
Throughout the day, you moved with a purpose that had been absent for some time. Excitement flickered within you, casting a rare warmth over the bleakness of Harrenhal’s cold stone walls.
You spent more time preparing yourself than you had in weeks, choosing a gown of deep violet, the color rich and regal, one you knew would match Aemond’s eye.
Your hands worked carefully as you braided your hair, fingers weaving strands with practiced precision. You wound the braids into a half-up style, securing them with thin silver pins, and threaded small pearls between the coils, their soft luster catching the waning light that seeped through the chamber’s narrow window slits.
As the sun dipped lower, you prepared the chamber for supper, eager to cast away the dreariness of Harrenhal’s stone embrace. The table, though small, was set with care.
You placed a modest arrangement of primroses at its center, their pale petals lending a touch of softness to the somber room.
Candles, thick and tapered, were placed with a meticulous eye, their wicks waiting to be lit and offer a warm glow that would banish the shadows lurking in the corners.
Tonight was meant to honor the Crone, a day of wisdom and reflection, yet you could not help but hope for something more—a chance to share a moment, however fleeting, with the man you called husband.
The hours had been long since you’d known any touch of intimacy, any whisper of companionship. The prospect of Aemond joining you, even for a brief supper, was enough to make your heart beat with anticipation.
Time stretched on, heavy and unyielding, as you sat alone at the small table in your chambers, a solitary figure in a room filled with muted light. The food before you, once steaming and fragrant, had grown cold, the sheen of oil on the meats congealing in the chill air.
The candles you had lit earlier had burned down to stubs, their light dwindling as shadows crept up the walls.
The fire in the hearth, once crackling with warmth, had reduced itself to a bed of glowing embers, the last vestiges of heat sputtering as they surrendered to the draft that snaked through the stones.
Your heart, which had quickened with hope earlier in the day, now felt leaden with disappointment. The silence pressed in around you, each passing moment a reminder that Aemond would not come. The anticipation that had kept your spirits aloft now left a hollow ache in its absence.
Pushing your untouched plate away, you rose from the table, your movements deliberate as anger stirred in your chest. It was not the hot, reckless kind, but the slow-burning indignation that came when expectation was met with silence.
You wrapped your cloak around your shoulders and slipped into the dim corridor, determined to find him, to seek an answer rather than stew in this quiet, stinging rejection.
Harrenhal’s halls were a maze of stone and shadow, empty and vast, with only the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the cold. The castle held a thousand whispered secrets, and tonight, it seemed eager to keep its prince among them.
You turned corners and climbed staircases, the flicker of dying torches casting your shadow long against the walls, until the familiar paths grew strange and your resolve wavered.
Finally, as you entered a lesser hall that stretched toward a wing of old chambers, you spotted movement—a maidservant carrying linens, her head bent as if afraid to be seen. Relief mixed with frustration as you quickened your step.
“Excuse me,” you called out, your voice sharper than intended.
The servant started, nearly dropping her burden before bowing her head hastily, eyes fixed to the floor. It was a common sight in Harrenhal, the way they kept their gaze averted in your presence.
Word of your husband’s fierce reputation as Prince Regent and Kinslayer had traveled swiftly, and it seemed they feared that to slight you was to invite his wrath upon them.
With a lifted chin and a tone that brooked no disobedience, you asked, “Where is my husband?”
Before the maid could stammer out an answer, another voice cut through the dim hallway—a voice that chilled the blood in your veins and haunted your sleep with its whispers.
“I fear the prince is still occupied in the council chamber, my lady,” said Alys Rivers, her tone smooth and deceptively courteous, like the edge of a blade.
You turned slowly, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, but a knowing smirk pulled at her lips as she regarded you, taking in the sight of your tense shoulders, the protective way your hand drifted instinctively to your rounded stomach.
There was no warmth in her expression, only the sly amusement of a cat toying with a bird that dared to stray too far from its nest.
Your nostrils flared, and you straightened your back, eyes narrowing as you corrected her in a low, simmering murmur, “Princess.”
Alys tilted her head, feigning surprise, though her eyes betrayed nothing but a cold mirth. “Pardon me,” she said, her gaze sliding deliberately to your abdomen before flicking back up to meet yours, daring you to react.
“I am not your lady,” you hissed, “I am your princess.”
With a final, steely glare, you turned on your heel, the folds of your violet gown sweeping the floor as you made your way back through the shadowed hallways, heart pounding beneath your ribs.
The silence of Harrenhal enveloped you once more, and you did not pause until you reached the safety of your chambers, locking the door behind you and pressing your back against the cool, unyielding wood.
The echo of Alys’s smirk lingered in your mind, but you would not let her see your fear. Not tonight. Not ever.
A scream ripped from your throat, raw and primal, as the pain surged through you, tearing its way up your spine and scattering your senses. It felt as though your very body was being split apart, the agony sharper and deeper than any blade.
“Keep pushing, my princess; the babe is almost here,” urged the midwife, her voice steady but relentless.
You clenched your jaw, wanting to curse her, to scream at her to hold her tongue, but the pain stole all words from you, leaving you breathless and shaking.
It was a torment that came in relentless waves, each cresting higher than the last, only to drag you under when you thought you could surface for air. The burning, the stretching—unbearable, blinding.
“I cannot,” you sobbed, tears mingling with the sweat that drenched your brow. “Please… I can't,” you pleaded, your voice broken and desperate.
The pain surged again, stealing the air from your lungs, and then you felt it—a firm, familiar hand pressed gently to your cheek. Through the haze of pain, you turned your head, and your vision cleared just enough to see the sharp lines of Aemond’s face.
His single violet eye was intent, fierce, a rare expression of vulnerability breaking through his stoic mask. Relief, so profound it was nearly painful, swelled in your chest.
“Aemond,” you gasped, his name a lifeline, an anchor in the storm.
Husbands were not meant to be present for the birth, tradition forbade it. But he was there, and you did not care for any rule or rite that would keep him away.
“Just a few more pushes, my love,” he murmured, his voice low, a thread of steel woven through the gentleness.
You nodded weakly, mustering what remained of your strength. A deep groan escaped you as you pushed once more, the room spinning around you. The midwife’s voice rose above the roaring in your ears.
“The babe is crowning, my lady.”
But the tone was wrong. Too familiar, too cold. Alarm jolted you to consciousness, and you struggled to prop yourself on trembling elbows. Your eyes darted to the space at the foot of the birthing bed, and dread coiled tight in your gut.
There, in the dim light of the chamber, knelt Alys Rivers. Her dark hair framed eyes as green and sharp as glass, eyes that glimmered with a knowing, malevolent gleam. A smile curled at the corners of her lips as she met your gaze.
“No, no!” you screamed, panic twisting your voice. “Get away from me!”
With a surge of fear-driven strength, you tried to kick her away, your limbs thrashing wildly, but Aemond’s hands clamped down on you, firm and unyielding. “Calm yourself,” he commanded, his voice cool, steady as stone.
Alys turned her gaze up to him, a shadow of mock sympathy curving her lips. “You must choose, my prince,” she intoned, each word dripping with false solemnity. “The babe, or your wife.”
A sob wrenched from your chest as you felt your breath come in sharp, shallow gasps. “No. No!” The pain was drowned beneath the torrent of fear that flooded you.
Desperately, you looked up at Aemond, seeking the warmth, the fierce protection that once resided in his eye. But what you found was a gaze distant and unreadable, as though he stood apart, watching from some cold, unreachable place. His jaw tightened. “Save the babe.”
Time seemed to fracture around you. His words, so final, crashed over you like a wave of ice. Your eyes widened, disbelieving, as rough handmaids or shadows, you could not tell—pressed you back, holding you firm as you struggled.
“Let me go! Let me go!” you screamed, your voice raw with betrayal and terror, limbs straining against the iron grip that pinned you.
Pain cleaved through you, and you felt the weight of the babe shift within. But your focus broke as Alys moved, no longer at the foot of the bed but gliding closer, the flicker of torchlight catching on the edge of a cruel, glinting blade.
The chamber seemed to darken around her, the faint cries of the midwives fading into an ominous silence. And all you could see were those green eyes, bearing down on you like a curse whispered in the dark.
You jolted upright, heart pounding and breath ragged, the remnants of your nightmare clinging to your skin like a shroud. A trembling hand reached up to brush the tears from your cheeks, the dampness proof of the terror that had gripped you in sleep.
Your eyes drifted down, catching the soft curve of your swollen belly under the covers, rising and falling with your shallow breaths. A shaky sigh escaped your lips, a bitter mix of relief and unease.
The babe was still safe within you—at least for now. You pressed your palm over it, as if to reassure yourself of its presence.
Beyond the thin light filtering through the shuttered window, the sky remained cloaked in the indigo of night.
The stillness told you it was not yet dawn, that liminal time when dreams and waking often blurred. But sleep would not find you again; not after that vision, nor for many nights to come, you were sure.
The memory of Aemond's cold, detached gaze as he spoke words that sealed your fate in your dream clung to you. It pierced deeper than any blade, a wound festering with fear and doubt.
Yet you forced yourself to swallow the sharp sting of betrayal, directing your thoughts toward another source of your unease—Alys Rivers.
The whispers, the eyes that followed, the dark air that seemed to shift when she was near. Your fears, your husband’s torment, the sense of something wicked gnawing at Harrenhal’s bones—it all traced back to her.
Resolve steeled your spine. You pushed back the covers and rose, the weight of your pregnancy making the motion slower, more deliberate.
Wrapping yourself in a heavy fur cloak, you reached for the candelabra on the nightstand. Its small flame sputtered in protest before catching steady, casting long shadows that danced upon the walls.
The corridors of Harrenhal, once alive with whispered conversations and the hurried footfalls of servants, now loomed around you in cold, watchful silence. The draft that crept through the ancient stones nipped at your cheeks and sent a shiver down your spine.
Clutching the fur tighter against your body, you moved forward, the warm light in your grasp flickering as it met the draft.
The silence was thick, broken only by the soft rustle of your cloak and the creak of old floorboards beneath your weight.
At last, you reached the great doors of the library, their dark wood carved with sigils long forgotten and gnarled from centuries of use. Setting the candelabra down, you pushed against one of the doors, muscles straining with the effort.
It groaned open, the sound reverberating through the stillness and sending a cold gust rushing past you. Picking up the candelabra, you stepped inside and let the heavy door drift shut behind you with a thud.
The scent of old parchment and dust surrounded you, familiar and oddly comforting. Shelves stretched high, towering sentinels filled with the stories of old and the wisdom of those long gone.
On other nights, you would have lost yourself in the tales that wove through these tomes—myths and sagas that spoke of courage and triumph. But tonight, solace was not what you sought.
You moved through the rows with purpose, eyes scanning the spines until they found those few volumes that hinted at the arcane.
The lore of witches, their dark arts, the means by which they could twist men’s dreams and cloud their minds—it all lay within reach, hidden among dusty pages that no one dared speak of.
You placed the candelabra down, its light casting a golden glow that flickered across the cracked leather and faded titles.
With trembling hands, you opened the first book, its binding stiff with age. The parchment crackled as you turned the pages, your eyes drinking in the inked words.
If there was any way to guard yourself, to protect Aemond from the shadows that had seeped into your lives, you would find it here. No longer would you be haunted by that witch’s knowing gaze or the dread that coiled tight in your belly.
With each turn of the page, the flickering glow of the candelabra cast dancing shapes upon the stone walls, warding off the chill that seeped through Harrenhal’s blackened stones.
The words spoke of charms and tokens, of age-old rituals whispered by the smallfolk who feared the unseen.
Marking doors with protective sigils or crosses to ward off malevolent forces. The purifying strength of salt, said to bar dark spirits and their ilk. Rowan wood, revered for its protective properties, best used when tied with crimson thread to seal its potency.
The hours crept by, measured by the slow guttering of candle wax. You read, forgetting the passage of time as the nightmare’s claws loosened their grip on your heart.
Knowledge was your weapon now, and you wielded it with the silent promise that neither you nor Aemond would fall victim to powers unknown.
The day’s first light spilled through the high, narrow windows, a pale and hesitant glow that bled into the room and painted the bookshelves in muted gold.
It was the day of the Stranger, seldom celebrated, yet you paid it no heed. Lost in the pages, you missed the bells that tolled the hour and forgot the warmth of your usual morning meal shared with Aemond.
When at last you closed the final volume, a resolve settled in your chest, resolute and unyielding. You would need these items—symbols of protection—and that meant venturing beyond the castle’s shadowed halls and out into the market.
The fur-lined cloak wrapped snug around you, guarding against the bitter drafts that swept through the corridors as you made your way back to your chambers.
As you reached the windows, a rare sight unfolded before your eyes—snow, soft and unrelenting, blanketing the bleak spires of Harrenhal.
Snow was a rarity in King’s Landing, seldom seen during your girlhood there. For a moment, untouched by fear or doubt, you felt the stir of childish wonder rise within you.
Three knights of the Kingsguard, their white cloaks pristine even in the snow, flanked you as you ventured to the market. The square bustled despite the cold, vendors calling out their wares with voices hoarse from the chill. Your list of protective items, hastily scrawled in the early hours, guided your every step.
Surprisingly, the rowan wood was easy to find, its branches bundled tightly with red thread as per custom.
Charms of polished crystal and talismans wrought from iron and bronze were procured with little effort, their sellers eager to part with them for a handful of silver stags.
The murmured blessings from the old crones at their stalls made the hair on the back of your neck prickle, but you pressed on, their eyes shadowed with both reverence and suspicion.
By the time the sun began its descent, casting a gilded glow over the snow-draped stones of Harrenhal, your arms were laden with your newfound protections. You returned to your chambers with purpose, setting to work immediately.
With meticulous care, you bound the red thread around the twigs of rowan wood and placed them above each entrance.
Salt, precious and fine, was spread across the thresholds, each grain catching the firelight like scattered stars.
With charcoal from your writing desk, you etched intricate symbols—wards against dark magics—onto the cold, unyielding stone walls.
But it was not just your own safety you sought to secure. For Aemond, you had combed the market for a piece both practical and protective. After much haggling, you procured a leather eyepatch, supple and black, unmarred by wear.
Returning to your chamber, you carefully stitched shards of black tourmaline into its edge, each piece glinting with a subtle, protective gleam. Your needlework was steady, each pull of the thread imbued with silent prayers.
Lost in your task, you barely noted the soft knock at your door or the maidservant who entered, setting a tray of supper on the table near the hearth.
The aroma of roasted fowl and warm bread wafted through the chamber, but your focus remained fixed.
As you worked by the fire's glow, the shadows that had haunted your waking hours seemed to lessen, replaced by the steady rhythm of thread and needle, and the quiet resolve that this time, you would be ready.
You were so absorbed in your needlework, fingers deftly stitching the dark crystals onto a supple leather patch, that the sudden clearing of a throat startled you. Your gaze snapped up, eyes wide with surprise as they met the cool, familiar face of Aemond Targaryen.
“Husband,” you said, breathless as you hastily hid the finished eye patch beneath a velvet pillow. Rising to your feet, you inclined your head, though your heart thudded with residual tension.
He stood tall and imposing in the dim glow, the silver-white of his hair catching the light like a crown. For a moment, the room felt smaller, as if the walls themselves pressed in with the weight of his presence.
“What brings you here?” you asked, voice touched with confusion and a hint of sharpness. Exhaustion dulled your sense of propriety, leaving the question more pointed than intended.
Aemond’s lone violet eye narrowed, an unreadable glimmer within its depths. “To have supper with you,” he replied, as if such a thing were the most natural answer in the realm.
Your eyes flickered to the table, where two silver plates now sat, the steam rising lazily from the dishes set by the silent servant moments before.
You pressed your lips into a thin line and sighed, murmuring, “I believe my invitation was for yesterday.”
A shadow of regret crossed his face, so brief that another might have missed it, but you saw. As you moved past him to take your seat, you caught the soft murmur that slipped from his lips, “I deserved that.”
Aemond followed and took his place across from you, the creak of the chair echoing in the quiet chamber. For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearthfire. His gaze settled on you, sharp and searching.
“I have not seen you at all today,” he said at last, the words carrying a hint of something that might have been longing, tempered by pride.
Your eyes dropped to your hands, fingers fiddling absently with the edge of your gown. Remorse pricked at your heart—you had broken your shared morning ritual, the one part of the day reserved just for the two of you.
“I was very busy,” you replied softly, the excuse feeling thin on your tongue.
Aemond’s expression remained unreadable as he tilted his head slightly. “I heard. Visits to the market square,” he said.
You hesitated, holding back the details of the charms, the salt, the ancient warding sigils you had traced with trembling hands. He would only deem you foolish or worse, mad.
“I needed fresh air.”
His eye narrowed, a flicker of displeasure passing over his sharp features. “It is too dangerous for one in your condition to wander beyond these walls,” he said, the admonishment clear, though his tone held an undercurrent of concern.
You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with defiance. “That is why I took three of your White Cloaks,” you retorted, the fire in your voice matching the spark in his eye.
For a heartbeat, the tension crackled between you, the weight of unsaid words pressing down like a heavy cloak. Then, Aemond’s lips quirked, almost imperceptibly, as if some silent battle had been waged and resolved within him.
“Good,” he said at last, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You are no fool, wife.”
The tautness in the room eased, and though unspoken, an accord was reached.
Aemond leaned forward, and placed a carved wooden box on the table between you. “I’ve brought you something,” he said, his voice a measured calm, yet there was an undercurrent of something softer. “An apology for last night.”
Your brows knit together, skepticism clear in your eyes. “My forgiveness cannot be bought with trinkets, husband,” you said, your tone edged with defiance. Yet even as you spoke, curiosity stirred within you.
One of his silver brows arched at your remark, and a small smile ghosted his lips. “Let us see if it is worthy,” you murmured, reluctant to give ground but unable to hide the intrigue that tugged at you.
With a careful hand, Aemond lifted the lid of the box, revealing a necklace of silver and sapphire. The deep blue stone glimmered like the sea under moonlight, capturing the room’s faint candle glow.
Your breath stilled for a moment, eyes tracing the intricate work of the silver links, each carved to mimic dragon scales.
Your fingertips brushed over the gem, the cool surface grounding you as warmth bloomed in your chest. Unbidden, a soft smile tugged at your lips, an expression so rare that even you felt its presence.
“Thank you, husband,” you whispered, your voice softened by genuine gratitude.
Aemond’s face shifted, pride flickering across his sharp features. There was something triumphant in his half-smirk that you could not allow him to savor unchallenged. You rose from your seat, skirts rustling as you moved.
“I, too, have a gift for you,” you said, your tone now light with a note of playfulness.
“Oh?” he replied, one silver eyebrow lifting in surprise, though the glint in his lone violet eye revealed his interest.
“Mm,” you hummed, stepping to the chaise where a small cushion lay. Your fingers slipped beneath it, retrieving the item hidden there. Turning back to him, a touch of shyness colored your expression, a rare sight that softened the lines of your face.
With both hands, you presented him with an eye patch, the black leather supple and embroidered with fine strands of broken tourmaline crystals, catching the dim light with a subtle shimmer.
Aemond took it, surprise giving way to careful scrutiny. His fingers traced the delicate work, the weight of the crystals and their arrangement thoughtful.
“Black tourmaline,” you said quietly, watching his gaze flick between you and the patch. “It is said to have powerful protective qualities.”
You hesitated, unwilling to speak of how it was also believed to ward against dark energies and unseen dangers—of how it might shield him from threats both known and hidden.
For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Aemond’s mouth quirked into a faint smile, rare and genuine. “Thank you, wife. 'Tis a very thoughtful gift,” he said, voice low and sincere.
A moment passed, and you froze in silent shock as Aemond reached up to remove the eye patch he wore. Of course, you had seen what lay beneath—the striking sapphire set into the hollow of his missing eye—but Aemond was never keen on showing it.
In King’s Landing, he would only take it off moments before sleep and replace it the moment he awoke.
Before he could put on the new eye patch, you placed a hand over his arm. “You know you don’t have to wear it around me, yes? I have no issue with it, and you should not either.”
Aemond stared at you for a long moment, his nostrils flaring slightly. For a heartbeat, you feared you had overstepped, but then he nodded, leaving both eye patches on the table.
A small, victorious smile touched your lips as you felt the weight of this unspoken understanding between you. “Allow me to have the maids bring us some dessert,” you said, the tension lifting.
Aemond nodded, his gaze lingering on you as you turned to the doors.
Stepping into the corridor, you quickly found a maid and requested something sweet to be brought to your chambers. When you returned, your heart faltered at the sight before you. Aemond stood at your desk, his tall frame hunched slightly as he leaned over an open book—your journal.
Panic surged within you, and you strode forward, slamming the book shut with a sharp motion. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice sharper than intended, eyes wide with both shock and alarm.
Aemond straightened, holding the closed journal in his hand. His expression was unreadable, though his eye bore into you with quiet intensity. “What is this?” he asked evenly, tilting the book slightly for emphasis.
“My private journal,” you answered quickly, reaching for it, but he lifted it just out of your grasp, his superior height giving him the advantage. “Give it back, husband. It is mine.”
Aemond’s voice was steady but carried an undertone of something raw, almost fragile. “Then why,” he began, his eye fixed on you, ignoring your protests, “do you write to our babe?” There was an ache in his tone, a depth of emotion he hadn’t yet voiced.
The question caught you unprepared, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your skirts, and your shoulders sagged as you avoided his penetrating gaze. “In case,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.
“In case of what?” he pressed, his voice low and edged with a demand for understanding.
His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could uncover your secrets by sheer will. Unable to face him, you closed your eyes and let out a shaky sigh. “In case I’m not there,” you admitted at last, the words barely audible, like a confession carried on the wind.
Aemond’s brows drew together, confusion shadowing his features. “What do you mean if you’re not—” He stopped mid-sentence, his breath catching as realization dawned. The tension in his posture shifted, his shoulders falling ever so slightly. “…There.”
His sharp features softened, a rare vulnerability settling over his face. “Women do survive the childbed,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, as though he feared the weight of his words might shatter you.
“Not every time,” you countered, your tone edged with resignation. “And there’s also… that choice.” Your voice broke on the last word, and you felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire. Then, with a tenderness that made your heart ache, Aemond reached out and cupped your cheek.
His touch was warm, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he tilted your face toward him, forcing your eyes to meet his.
“There can be more babes,” he said softly, his words a promise etched with fierce determination, “but there is only one you.”
His eye, a storm of violet and sapphire, held yours with such intensity that you felt as though he was laying his very soul bare. A tear escaped and traced down your cheek, but Aemond caught it with his thumb, his touch steady, grounding you in the moment.
“I would not choose otherwise,” he said firmly, the weight of his vow lingering in the air between you. “Not for all the heirs in the realm.”
Your lips trembled as you whispered, “You swear?”
“I swear it,” he replied, his voice low and resolute. “I will not lose my wife.”
The ache in your chest eased slightly, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a shield. You placed your hand over his, pressing it gently against your cheek.
With a soft breath, you tilted your head upward, letting your lips meet his in a gentle caress. The kiss was tender at first, a quiet exchange of affection that carried the weight of your unspoken fears and his unyielding promise.
Aemond responded eagerly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours as his hand slid from your cheek to cradle the nape of your neck.
His other hand found your waist, gripping you firmly as he pulled you closer, as if the mere thought of distance was unbearable. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entrance, and you granted it willingly.
As his tongue met yours, the kiss deepened, a slow, fervent dance that sent warmth coursing through your veins. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten in response, his fingers digging into the fabric of your gown.
Your hands moved up his chest, tracing the hard planes of muscle beneath his tunic, before curling into the fabric as if to anchor yourself.
The world around you faded, leaving only the press of his body against yours, the taste of him on your lips, and the heat that built between you like the fire crackling in the hearth.
When the kiss broke, it was with a reluctance that lingered in the air between you. Your breaths came in shallow pants as you gazed up at him through hooded lashes, the corners of your lips curving into a teasing smile.
“My love,” you purred, your voice sultry and laced with affection, “you’ve left me wanting… again.”
Aemond’s gaze darkened, the stormy hue of his violet eye smoldering with barely restrained desire. “Have I now?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Then it seems I must remedy that, wife.”
You guided his hands lower, to the swell of your belly, then further down to the hem of your nightgown. “Will you show me how much you desire me?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper. “Make me forget everything but the feel of you inside me...”
A low growl rumbled in Aemond's throat as his hands moved beneath your gown, fingers tracing the curves of your swollen belly before dipping lower to find the damp heat of your core.
“You have no idea how often I dreamt of this,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Of burying myself deep within you, feeling your walls clench around me...”
With a swift motion, he lifted the hem of your nightgown and pulled it over your head, throwing it aside, revealing your naked form.
His gaze devoured every inch of you, from the full breasts that rose and fell with each ragged breath, to the soft, rounded hips and the glistening folds of your sex.
“Tell me what you want, my queen,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire.
A shiver ran through you at Aemond's bold appraisal, your nipples hardening into tight peaks as his hungry gaze seared your skin. You reached for the fastenings of his breeches, your fingers fumbling with urgency to free his straining erection.
“I want you,” you murmured, your voice low, thick with a desire that lingered like a soft melody in the air. Your eyes never left his, the depth of your longing laid bare in the way your breath hitched.
Aemond’s violet gaze darkened, the flicker of a smirk ghosting his lips. His head tilted ever so slightly, a predator’s grace, as though savoring your words before acting upon them.
You took a step back, your movements slow and deliberate, your footsteps light against the floor as you inched toward the bed. The flicker of the firelight cast a warm glow across the room, the shadows dancing across the carved posts of the bed.
As you reached its edge, you let yourself fall gracefully onto the soft mattress, your body sinking into the luxurious furs and silks. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you gazed at him through lowered lashes, a sly smile curving your lips.
“You beckon me so boldly,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet drawl, the faintest edge of amusement laced within it. “Have a care, wife, for I am not a man to resist such temptation.”
Aemond watched, transfixed, as you sank onto the bed, the mattress creaking under your weight. His cock throbbed in time with his racing heart, the tip already glistening with precum.
He shed his clothes the rest of the way, letting them fall carelessly to the floor as he stalked towards you, muscles rippling with each step. By the time he reached the bed, he was fully erect, his shaft jutting proudly from a nest of silver curls.
Lying beside you, he reached out to cup your breast, thumbing the sensitive peak before leaning in to capture your mouth in another searing kiss.
His free hand trailed over your round stomach, pausing to tease the edge of your slit before delving deeper, fingers probing your slick folds.
“You're so wet for me already.”
You gasped into the kiss as Aemond's fingers found your entrance, your hips bucking instinctively to meet his touch. “Please,” you whimpered, breaking away from his mouth to gaze up at him with pleading eyes. “I need you inside me. Fill me up, make me yours again.”
As if sensing your desperation, Aemond positioned himself between your thighs, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at your opening. With a deep groan, he thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke.
You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure-pain crashed over you. It took a moment for your body to adjust, to relax and welcome the thick length filling you so completely.
Aemond's breath hitched as he bottomed out inside you, your velvety walls gripping him like a vice. For a moment, he simply savored the exquisite sensation, reveling in the tight heat enveloping his throbbing cock.
Then, with a slow, deliberate withdrawal, he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a relentless pace.
The bed frame creaked ominously beneath the force of his thrusts, but Aemond paid it no mind, lost in the primal rhythm of rutting his mate.
“Yes, just like that,” he growled, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. “Take my cock, my queen.”
You wrapped your legs around Aemond's waist, heels digging into his firm behind as he pounded into you with wild abandon.
Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins, your inner walls fluttering wildly around his pistoning shaft.
“Aemond!” You wailed, your nails raking down his back as you met his ferocious pace.
The obscene slap of flesh against flesh filled the room, punctuated by my wanton cries and Aemond's guttural grunts. You could feel the pressure building within you, coiling tighter and tighter like a spring ready to snap.
Suddenly, you were hurtling over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name as your cunt clenched rhythmically around him, milking his cock for all it was worth.
Aemond's eye rolled back in his head as your velvet sheath spasmed around him, your climax triggering his own. With a hoarse groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came undone, his seed erupting in thick, pulsing jets.
He continued to thrust through the aftershocks, prolonging your shared bliss until he was spent, collapsing beside you with a grunt. For a long moment, the two of you lay entwined, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.
The chamber was awash with the warmth of the firelight and the quiet hum of your contentment. As you lay entwined, your bodies barely a breath apart, your gaze lingered on Aemond’s face.
His sharp features, so often hardened by duty and war, were softened now, his violet eye fixed on you with a tenderness rarely seen.
Your noses brushed lightly, a quiet intimacy, as his hand rested possessively over your waist while yours splayed across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.
Almost as if drawn by a spell, he leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to your lips, a gesture so gentle it felt like a whispered promise. When he pulled away, he settled back onto the pillow beside you, his arm still wrapped protectively around you.
You shifted, nestling closer, your head finding solace in the crook of his neck. Your hand lay over his heart, its steady rise and fall a soothing cadence that began to lull you into slumber.
His breathing slowed, each exhale a soft brush against your hair, and soon, the quiet comfort of his presence drew you into a deep, dreamless sleep.
But the peace did not last.
You jolted awake, startled by the sudden thrashing of Aemond’s body beside you. His face, so serene moments ago, was now contorted in anguish, his brow slick with sweat.
His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, and his hands clenched the sheets as if warding off some unseen terror.
Your heart clenched at the sight. He had spoken little of his nightmares, but you knew they haunted him—a torment born of battles fought, losses endured, and burdens carried.
Pushing yourself up, you moved with as much haste as your swollen belly would allow, the weight of your pregnancy slowing you only slightly.
Grabbing the robe draped over the chair, you wrapped it around yourself, its soft fabric barely warding off the chill of the room as you padded toward the small table where you had placed your new goods.
Your hands rummaged through the items with purpose, your fingers finally curling around a small vial. You held it up, peering at its contents even in the dim light. The faint, familiar scent already began to calm your racing heart.
Lavender oil.
You returned to the bed, the vial clutched firmly in your grasp. As you sat beside him, Aemond's thrashing began to subside, though his breaths were still ragged, and his jaw clenched tightly.
Carefully, you uncorked the vial, the soothing aroma of lavender wafting into the room. You poured a small amount onto your hands, warming the oil between your palms before leaning over him.
With gentle, deliberate movements, you began to anoint his temples, your touch light yet firm as you traced small, calming circles.
The oil left a faint sheen on his skin, its scent filling the space between you. "Aemond," you whispered softly, your voice low and steady, a tether pulling him back from the depths of his nightmare.
His breathing began to slow, the tension in his body easing under your ministrations. You moved to his wrists, massaging the oil into his pulse points, your hands steady despite the ache blooming in your lower back.
“You are safe,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. “I am here.”
You whispered a silent prayer under your breath, invoking the gods for protection and peace. Your gaze stayed fixed on him, your heart clenching as you watched his features begin to soften, the tension melting away.
You held your breath, waiting. When his form finally stilled, his breathing evening out, you let out a soft sigh of relief. The lavender and your quiet vigil had worked.
Exhaustion weighed heavily upon you, and you slid back into bed beside him, pulling the covers over the both of you. But just as you were about to lay your head against Aemond’s chest, you froze.
A chill ran down your spine, and the hairs on your arms stood on end as an inexplicable sensation swept over you.
You were being watched.
Your eyes darted to the chamber doors, which you now noticed were slightly ajar. Beyond them, barely visible in the darkness, you caught the faint glimmer of glowing green eyes.
Your heart raced, a primal fear coursing through you. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with an unseen presence.
But you steadied yourself, your breathing slowing as you reminded yourself of the protections you had set in place earlier that day.
You had taken every precaution, warding the chamber with runes and incantations, ensuring that no ill intent could cross its threshold. Alys Rivers might wield her strange gifts, but she would not claim Aemond—not without a fight.
With a courage you hadn’t known you possessed, you tightened your arms around Aemond’s sleeping form, drawing strength from the warmth of his body against yours. Lifting your chin, you stared directly into the glowing eyes, refusing to show weakness.
“I won’t let you have him,” you whispered fiercely, your voice a low, steady vow. “Not without a fight, witch.”
For a moment, the air seemed to hold its breath. The green eyes lingered for a moment longer, unblinking and cold, before retreating into the darkness.
Only when the oppressive feeling lifted did you allow yourself to exhale. A trembling sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your head, nestling into Aemond’s chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear, became a soothing rhythm, lulling you out of your fear.
As the night enveloped you once more, you clung to him, your resolve unshaken. Whatever forces sought to disturb your peace, you would face them.
For Aemond, for your babe, for the family you were building together—you would fight.
hi i was just wondering when the next chapter of his lady love will come out? it's an amazing story and i have not found anything else like it im obsessed!!👉🏻👈🏻☺️
heyyy....
His Lady Love (12)
pairing I aemond x vampire!mikaelson!reader
taglist I to be added to the tag list just add your username to this DOC
word count | 3.8k words
summary I aemond has kept his distance from you since your secret. you discover something about helaena and distance between you and aemond grows further as he confesses a secret just to hurt you
tags | ANGST, ANGST, oh and more ANGST. temporary break up??? pregnancy mention.
note I uhhh hi. so explanation - I graduated high school and there's no time to actually enjoy summer because this girl is broke. so I got a job for the very first time in my life, yeah, that and i fell into a rami malek dark hole and accidentally wrote an 80k word josh washington fanfic
likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨
𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫
Aemond retreated into himself after your confession, his cold silence heavier than any words he could have spoken.
The weight of your secrets hung between you, and his refusal to meet your eyes only amplified the crushing sense of rejection that echoed in your chest.
"I need time," he had said, but all you heard was rejection, rejection, rejection—a refrain that cut deeper than any blade could.
The days that followed passed in a blur of quiet torment, each tick of the clock marking the growing distance between you and Aemond. You found yourself in Helaena’s company more than ever.
She was a balm for your wounded soul, her gentle presence a rare comfort in the storm of your mind. It was with her that you could breathe, the children a welcome distraction from the chaos within you.
As you sat beside Helaena, the needle threading through the fabric of your embroidery, you allowed your thoughts to drift elsewhere.
Your fingers moved almost mechanically, following the familiar rhythm of the stitches as your mind wandered to the shadows you had left behind.
But no matter how hard you tried to lose yourself in the mundane task, your heart never stopped aching. Aemond's words, his retreat, followed you like a shadow.
You wondered, briefly, if it was selfish to want him to stay, to want him to understand you when you had already caused so much pain in your lifetime.
Helaena’s soft voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. "What’s troubling you?" she said gently, her eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored your own.
You paused, the needle hovering above the fabric as you hesitated. "Everything," you whispered, not knowing where to start, or if you even could. "But mostly... Aemond." Your words were fragile, as if speaking his name would shatter whatever thread of hope remained between you.
Helaena gave you a soft, understanding smile, though there was a trace of sorrow in her eyes. "He’ll return to you when he’s ready. Aemond is not like the others. He carries more than he shows."
You nodded, though skepticism clouded your expression. Helaena’s words were always laced with a strange wisdom, one that seemed to come from somewhere beyond this world.
You already knew that the Targaryens were no ordinary humans—there was fire and magic in their blood—but Helaena... Helaena was different. Her aura was otherworldly, almost prophetic, and it made you both trust her and fear her answers.
"Helaena," you said softly, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the room. Her light, lilac-hued eyes turned to you, dreamy and distant, yet wholly focused on you. "How do you see this ending?"
She blinked slowly, tilting her head in question. "You and Aemond?" she asked, her tone curious but kind.
You shook your head, "No," you whispered. "The war."
Helaena’s gaze drifted away, her attention drawn to the small cages on the table beside her, where her insects scuttled and fluttered.
She furrowed her brows, her lips pressing into a thin line as she contemplated your question.
Finally, she spoke, her voice slow and deliberate, each word dripping with an ominous certainty. "No one will win. It is inevitable. All it will succeed in doing is leading the Targaryens to become... extinct."
The words sent a chill through you, colder than any winter wind. You stared at her, searching for any sign of hope in her expression, but there was none.
Her gaze remained fixed on her insects, her hands idly tending to them as if the weight of her revelation meant nothing.
Your throat tightened, "Extinct?" you echoed, your voice cracking with disbelief.
Helaena nodded solemnly. "Dragons cannot thrive in a house divided. Fire turns on itself, consuming everything in its path until only ash remains." She looked at you then, her eyes piercing despite their faraway quality. "It is our nature to destroy. And so, we will be destroyed."
The silence that followed was oppressive, a heavy pall that settled over the room.
You swallowed hard, your mind racing against the inevitability of her words. "Is there not a way to fix all of this?" you asked softly, setting your embroidery aside.
"I don't know," Helaena murmured, her tone tinged with regret. Suddenly, she winced, clutching her stomach as a flicker of pain crossed her face.
You immediately leaned forward, concern etched across your features. "What’s wrong?" you asked, your voice steady but laced with urgency.
Helaena exhaled shakily, her hand still pressed to her abdomen. "I... I’ve been feeling unwell these past moons," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Your brow furrowed as you stood, moving closer to her. "Have you not spoken to the Maesters?" you asked, your tone edged with frustration.
She shook her head faintly. "They are all busy attending to Aegon," she replied.
Reaching out, you placed the back of your hand gently against her forehead. Her skin was cool to the touch—no fever, no signs of sickness.
Still, something was wrong. You focused, your senses sharpening as you attuned yourself to her body, listening for any irregularities.
Your eyes widened as you caught it: a faint but distinct sound, a rhythm that wasn’t her own. Your breath caught, and you stepped back slightly, staring at her with newfound realization.
"What is it?" Helaena murmured, her tone both curious and cautious as she noticed the change in your expression.
You hesitated for a moment, then spoke softly, your voice laden with wonder and a touch of disbelief. "I listened to your body," you said, your words careful and deliberate. Your gaze drifted downward, settling on her stomach. "And I hear two heartbeats."
Helaena blinked, her lips parting in a quiet gasp. "Oh," she muttered, her hands instinctively moving to cradle her abdomen. Realization dawned in her lilac eyes, and she whispered again, this time with more weight, "Oh."
Without thinking, you kneeled before her, your hands gently resting on her lap. “Helaena,” you began cautiously, your voice barely above a whisper, “when last did you... lay with Aegon?”
Her expression tightened in distaste as she wracked her memory. “Aegon made use of me,” she said bitterly, “that night of the last supper.”
“The last supper?” you repeated, your brow furrowing as you tried to place the moment. And then it struck you—the supper when all the Targaryens had gathered, Viserys’ final attempt to unite his fractured family. The night before everything began to crumble. “Oh,” you breathed, the word heavy with understanding.
Helaena’s eyes turned glassy, her gaze distant. “Having a babe during a war is a bad omen,” she murmured, her voice filled with a quiet, resigned sorrow.
“Or,” you said softly, reaching for her hands and covering them with your own, “it could be a good one. A babe symbolizes life. Hope.” You offered her the warmest smile you could muster, though the shadow of unease lingered in your own heart.
“They shall be fine,” you promised, your voice firm despite the chaos you knew was to come. “You shall protect them.”
Helaena stared at you for a long moment, her wide, lilac eyes flickering with unspoken fears and fragile faith.
Her hands tightened around yours, and finally, she shook her head, her voice trembling. “I could not protect Jaehaerys.”
Her words were a blade to the heart, but you refused to falter. “And that is why I am here,” you said firmly, your voice laced with quiet determination. “To protect you. To protect them. All three of you.” You paused, catching your mistake, then softly added, “Four.”
A faint, hesitant smile flickered across her lips, fragile but genuine. You tried to match it, but your sharp hearing interrupted the moment.
Your brows furrowed as a distant sound reached your ears—wings, massive and powerful, cutting through the air. You rose swiftly, striding toward the balcony with purpose.
The sight that greeted you stole your breath. A dragon, light and unfamiliar, soared above King’s Landing, its wings slicing the air like a predator circling its prey. Its immense shadow fell over the Red Keep as it flew past, the sight both majestic and foreboding.
Helaena joined you on the balcony, her expression dreamy yet tinged with concern. Her gaze followed the dragon as it disappeared into the horizon.
“Whose dragon is that?” you asked, your voice low but urgent. “I don’t recognize it.”
Helaena tilted her head slightly, her tone distant but sure. “It’s not ours,” she murmured, her hands lightly gripping the railing. “And it is not one of Rhaenyra’s, either. It must be one of the unclaimed dragons of Dragonstone.”
Your lips pressed into a thin line, a faint frown pulling at the corners of your mouth. “Well, it’s not unclaimed anymore,” you said dryly, though your words carried an undercurrent of unease.
Before Helaena could respond, a mighty roar echoed through the skies, deep and reverberating. The sound cut through the air like a blade, making your head snap toward the source.
Your sharp senses picked up what came next before your mortal eyes could: **Vhagar** rising into the heavens, her ancient wings spreading wide, her silhouette monstrous against the fading sunlight.
And atop her sat Aemond.
“No,” you breathed, your chest tightening with dread as you leaned forward, gripping the balcony railing. Vhagar’s great wings flapped, her movement deliberate, as she veered toward the distant horizon. Toward Dragonstone. Toward the mysterious dragon.
Helaena’s voice broke through your haze, soft and detached. “Vhagar will not falter. But Aemond…” She trailed off, her brows knitting faintly as though seeing something only she could. “He seeks dominance, but it may bring ruin.”
You gripped the railing tighter, your nails digging into the stone. Her cryptic words did little to soothe the storm in your chest.
The hours stretched endlessly, a gnawing worry festering in your undead heart. You had long left Helaena's chambers, not wanting to subject her to the tumult of your thoughts.
Instead, you roamed the castle halls, your pacing restless and your mind racing, oblivious to the leering gazes that followed your every move.
A pointed clearing of a throat brought you out of your thoughts. Turning, your eyes landed on Lord Larys Strong, limping toward you with that infuriatingly smug expression that seemed permanently etched on his face.
His head dipped in a mockery of respect. "Lady Mikaelson," he greeted, his voice as smooth as it was insidious.
"Lord Strong," you replied curtly, your tone clipped, your patience already wearing thin.
Despite your disdain, you knew better than to dismiss him outright. Larys Strong was the keeper of whispers, his ears always first to catch the murmurs that mattered.
You approached him warily, your voice low. “Do you know of Prince Aemond’s whereabouts?”
Larys tilted his head, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Worried, are you?"
The polite mask you had been forcing dropped immediately, your eyes narrowing into sharp slits. “Why wouldn’t I be concerned about the Prince Regent?”
His smirk widened, his gaze uncomfortably probing. “Yes, yes, of course. Especially given... your intimate relationship with him.”
Your lips pressed into a hard line, your jaw tightening at his insinuation. You loathed how he delivered the words with such deliberate emphasis, knowing well how the court gossiped about you.
You were no stranger to their whispers—Lady Mikaelson, now whispered about as the prince’s concubine.
Stepping closer, you allowed the faintest edge of your vampire nature to seep into your demeanor. Your eyes glinted dangerously, your voice dropping to a silk-lined threat. "Careful, Lord Strong. Tongues like yours have a way of getting bitten."
Larys raised his hands in mock surrender, though the satisfaction in his eyes only grew. “A thousand pardons, my lady. I meant no offense.”
You leaned back, your glare unwavering. “If you have nothing of use to share, then spare me your presence.”
As you turned, ready to leave the conversation behind, his voice slid after you like a poison-laced whisper. “Sharp Point.”
You stopped dead in your tracks, your brow furrowing in confusion. You turned back to him, your voice dripping with skepticism. “Excuse me?”
Lord Larys, sensing the shift in your mood, adopted a more somber expression, almost as if he were doing you a favor by sharing such information. “The pretender Queen, Rhaenyra, has found three new riders for her dragons.”
A flicker of realization sparked within you, understanding the true identity of the dragon you’d seen earlier. You straightened, the tension in your body tightening as Larys continued.
“Prince Aemond flew out to challenge her. And when his eyes fell on Dragonstone, he fled in terror, or so the rumors say.” He paused, watching you for any reaction. “And after that? He let loose his fury upon Sharp Point, razing the whole town to the ground.”
A sickened breath escaped you, your heart racing in your chest as you absorbed the weight of his words. “No…”
Larys nodded, his voice laced with mock sympathy. “Yes. It’s true. Quite the display of anger, I hear. I would think it would be most frightening to find yourself in the presence of such a man. Dangerous, even, for a lady such as yourself.”
A slow, predatory fury began to unfurl inside you, and your eyes darkened with a mix of disbelief and contempt. How dare he insinuate that Aemond would ever turn his wrath upon you, let alone lay a hand on you.
But before you could retaliate, your heightened senses caught the distant sound of wings—a powerful, unmistakable beat that stirred the air around you.
Aemond had returned.
You turned sharply toward the sound, your pulse quickening. The fear that had gnawed at you now shifted into something else entirely: an unrelenting need for the truth.
You stormed into Aemond’s chambers, the heavy door slamming shut behind you, your steps echoing like thunder. He was there, standing at the edge of the balcony, the dim light of dusk framing him in shadow.
His silver hair caught the faint glow of the moon, but his back remained rigid, unyielding. You desperately hoped the whispers weren’t true, yet the ash smudging his tunic filled you with dread.
His actions reminded you far too much of the cruelty you had fled from—Niklaus, in one of his darkest moments.
“I waited hours for you, Aemond. Hours,” you began, your voice sharp with the tension that had built inside you all day.
He didn’t turn, didn’t so much as flinch, his voice cold and distant. “You need not concern yourself with where I go, or with my choices.”
That cold indifference stung more than it should have, yet it only fueled your anger. Your eyes narrowed, the fire within you rising. “I do concern myself, Aemond. Especially when you leave without a word, and come back covered in ash, with a storm of rumors following in your wake.”
He moved then, slowly, deliberately, turning to face you. His single eye, colder than you’d ever seen it, locked onto yours, and for a moment, it felt as though he was a stranger. “I didn’t ask for your concern,” he said, his tone biting, cutting straight to the bone.
You inhaled sharply, your frustration boiling over. “And yet here I am, concerned,” you snapped, stepping closer, your voice trembling with restrained anger. “I know you, Aemond. I know fear when I see it. You are not above it, no matter how you might pretend otherwise.”
His voice was dark, dangerously calm as he spoke, “Do not pretend to know me. You know nothing of who I am—not truly. You’re too busy hiding your own monstrous truth to see anything clearly.”
The words struck, sharp as Valyrian steel. You ignored the pang of hurt that lanced through you, straightening as you took a step toward him, your voice sharp and unrelenting.
“Hiding my truth? You think I’m the monster here? What of you, Aemond? You destroyed an entire town. You burned it to the ground, tore it apart like it was nothing. That wasn’t strategy. That wasn’t wisdom. That was rage. Unbridled, destructive rage you refuse to face.”
“Do not preach to me,” he growled, his voice low and venomous, his eye narrowing with contempt. “You stand there, self-righteous, speaking of things you do not understand. You may have lived centuries, yet you are no better than the rest of us. You have blood on your hands, the same as anyone else.”
You inhaled sharply, steadying yourself, though your voice betrayed none of the hurt simmering beneath. “I never wanted this life, Aemond. But I’ve accepted it. I know what I am. But you—you wear your anger like a crown, as if it grants you dominion. You think fire and blood will bring you peace? It won’t. It never does.”
His expression twisted in offense, his voice rising. “You dare speak to me of peace, when you know none yourself?”
You stepped forward, closing the distance between you, your tone sharp and unwavering. “I have peace in knowing who I am. I have peace in knowing that no matter what the world throws at me, no matter how much it tries to break me, I stand. But you… You’re just a boy, Aemond. A boy pretending to be a king.”
His eye flickered, his jaw tightening as he looked away, gesturing toward the door with finality. “Enough. I will not stand here and listen to this.”
You sighed, your lips trembling, but your voice was as sharp and unyielding. “But you shall.”
Aemond’s jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides. Then, with a coldness that cut deeper than any blade, he said, “Do you know when I last felt peace? When I went to the Blue Pearl.”
The words struck like a thunderclap. Your breath caught, sharp and sudden, as you stared at him, searching for some sign that this was a cruel jest. “What?” you whispered, the word barely audible.
He took a deliberate step toward you, his tone chillingly indifferent, almost mocking. “You heard me. When I thought you were gone—when I thought I’d never see you again, when you left me with nothing but questions and a shattered heart—I sought comfort elsewhere.”
There was a flicker of something in his eye—regret, anger, defiance?—before his lips curled into a faint, cruel smirk. “There. Now I’ve hurt you as you've hurt me.”
You froze, his words slicing through you like dragonfire. Your mind spiraled with unbidden thoughts, primal urges—rip out his heart, tear his throat with your teeth, leave him broken and bleeding as his words had left you.
But instead, you stood there, unyielding, forcing the tears brimming in your eyes to stay put.
Blinking them away, a hollow, bitter laugh escaped your lips, raw and filled with disbelief. “Hurt me,” you echoed, the words dripping with venom.
You studied him, the man you had once believed you understood, the one you had allowed yourself to care for despite your nature. How quickly the tides could turn. Only yesterday, you were in bliss, Aemond’s arms a sanctuary.
And now, here he stood, confessing how he had lain with a whore in your absence, mocking the bond you thought you shared.
Your voice was low, trembling with suppressed fury. “How utterly predictable of you, Aemond. To nurse your wounds with spite and call it vengeance. You speak of broken hearts, but you—” you stepped closer, your voice rising, “—are the one who destroys everything you touch with your pride and your anger.”
He flinched, but his resolve didn’t waver, his gaze meeting yours with an icy defiance.
You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself. If he sought a reaction, he would not have it—not the one he wanted, at least. “I never wanted to be the one to hurt you,” you murmured, your voice soft but unyielding as you looked away.
His presence, the very sight of him, sickened you. “I told you who I am because I thought it would bring us closer. I thought you, of all people, would understand.”
You paused, letting the silence stretch and coil between you like a serpent. “And now I see it was all for naught. You cannot be saved, Aemond. And I shall not endeavor to try.”
Your words hung in the air, sharp and final. You turned to leave, your steps slow and deliberate, each one heavy with the weight of your disappointment. But just as your hand reached for the door, his voice stopped you.
It was different now—no longer cold and cutting, but softer, laced with something almost resembling regret. “I did not say you could leave.”
His words halted you momentarily, your back still turned to him. You closed your eyes, drawing in a deep, steadying breath before replying, your tone soft yet cutting.
“But your actions have,” you whispered. “Why be together when all we’ve done is hurt each other, yes?”
The silence that followed was deafening. And with that, you walked away, your steps resolute, leaving Aemond standing in the shadow of his own choices.
You didn’t look back, though every part of you ached to do so. Instead, you left the room, the door shutting softly behind you—a sound that felt louder than any scream.
A/N — I'm going to be writing out of my ASS from now on, maybe including a teeny tiny bit of the f&b material, even though to me book Aemond and show Aemond are completely different, but ciao
hey, so ur works are literally heaven in itself (im in love with u)
you guys reading my works are what validate me in life (i'm so in love with you too, babe)
Scales and Arpeggios
pairing | aemond x wife!reader
word count | 4.3k words
summary | aemond and his wife share tender moments with their children, engaging in music lessons that bring warmth and joy to their family amidst the shadows of the dance of dragons.
note | slight angst, hotd au (greens win), KING AEMOND, toothrotting fluffff, children, no description of reader, fluffy Aemond, soft aemond, pregnant!reader
a/n | aristocats inspired (duchess and her kittens), I thought of this this morning. I really needed this fluff after all my negative thoughts and feelings. also don't worry, I have all my requests in the making, and in my draft's - prepare for the angst and feels.
likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Aemond was tired.
Day upon day, his life was mired in endless council meetings, audiences with quarrelsome lords, and grievances of the peasantry, all in the name of healing a realm ravaged by war.
It had been two years since the Dance of the Dragons had torn through the land, yet the scars remained, as fresh as the charred ruins left in the dragons’ wake.
And here he was, King of the Seven Kingdoms—but at what bitter cost. He had bested Daemon in the fierce clash over the God’s Eye, and his half-sister, the self-styled Queen, had been devoured by her own madness.
She met her end as Sunfyre tore her asunder upon Aegon’s command. Not long after, Aegon himself succumbed to his wounds, leaving the crown a hollow prize.
Aemond had defeated the Blacks. The traitors were vanquished, their cause snuffed out. But his family had been taken in the fires of war. Jaehaerys murdered; young Maelor torn apart; Daeron slain.
Helaena, dear Helaena, had taken her own life. And Aegon—Aegon had burned away with his dragon, his defiance crumbling under the agony of his wounds.
All that remained of his bloodline were fleeting shadows of memory and ashes of kin. Only his wife, the woman bound to him since he was but fourteen, remained steadfast.
Through the dark days of the war, you had been his only constant, his sole source of solace. In the end, that was all he had left: his bride, his son Aeron, his niece Jaehaera, and his mother, Queen Alicent, who clung to life with a frail resilience.
It was his wife, too, who had stayed his hand when he considered the fates of Daemon’s daughters. You had urged him to spare the lives of Baela and Rhaena, allowing them sanctuary with their sole surviving brother, Aegon the Younger, now far away in Driftmark.
And yet, his mother had been torn asunder by grief, the madness that followed the loss of three of her children consuming her like a wildfire. Just months ago, Alicent had succumbed to the cruel grip of Winter Fever, and with her passing, the warmth of their family had dimmed further.
He blamed himself, for in his fervor to protect his own—the children he adored and his beloved wife—he had allowed himself to be blind to his mother’s decline. Each day, he devoted himself to the care and nurturing of Aeron and Daenys, ensuring Jaehaera felt the presence of family, while the ever-looming responsibilities of the crown overshadowed his duties as a son.
Now, he barely caught glimpses of the life that remained. He would rise in the early hours, the dawn light casting a soft glow upon his wife’s sleeping form, a fleeting moment of peace before he was swept away by the relentless tide of royal obligations.
In the fleeting minutes before he departed for court, he could only admire the serene lines of your face, knowing that the day would steal him from your side again.
The children were no better; brief encounters in the corridors felt like whispers of a past he could hardly grasp. Aeron would be playing with his toys, and Daenys might be crawling after the palace cats, laughter echoing softly in the halls, but those joyful sounds seemed distant, muffled by the duties that consumed him.
But on this day, a flicker of fortune shone upon him; he had managed to complete his duties earlier than usual. Typically, he toiled long into the night, only to return to the warmth of their chambers when all were asleep. Though it was after supper, a glimmer of hope sparked within him that perhaps he could still find them, to grasp those precious moments he had so dearly missed.
Through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, the young Prince Aeron and Princess Jaehaera raced, their laughter echoing against the cold stone walls as they hurried toward the music lesson that awaited them. The air was filled with the thrill of their spirited competition, each eager to claim the title of first to arrive.
As they rounded a corner, Jaehaera noticed Aeron pulling ahead, determination etched across his small face. In a quick, daring move, she reached out and tugged at his tunic, managing to pull him back just enough to dart ahead. “Me first!” she shouted, her voice ringing with triumph.
Not to be outdone, Aeron swiftly grabbed hold of her arm, attempting to halt her advance. “And why should you be first?” he challenged.
Jaehaera strained against his grip, lifting her chin defiantly as she met his gaze. “Because I am the future queen, that’s why!” she declared, her voice bold and unwavering.
With that, she broke free, dashing down the corridor, but Aeron was quick on her heels, bumping her to the side in a playful shove that almost sent her sprawling against the wall. “You’re not a queen! You’re nothing but my cousin!” he yelled.
Jaehaera shot him a fierce glare, her brows knitting together. “I’ll show you if I’m a queen or not,” she murmured under her breath, determination simmering in her tone as they neared the door to the music room.
In a last-ditch effort to claim victory, Jaehaera pushed Aeron aside just as they reached the threshold. He stumbled slightly but quickly regained his footing, throwing a frown her way. “Fight fair, Jae!”
Without missing a beat, she rolled her eyes and slipped into the room, only to be met with an unexpected shove from Aeron as he followed closely behind. He hadn’t meant to, but the force sent Jaehaera tumbling to the ground with a hard thud that echoed in the hall.
She shot him a fierce glare, her lips forming a pout as she rubbed her side. “Now that hurt!” she exclaimed, the hint of a whine creeping into her voice.
“Aunty! Aunty!” she called out, her tone shifting to one of urgency.
Moments later, you entered the room, carrying Daenys on your hip. A mixture of sternness and affection danced on your face as you regarded the two children. “Jaehaera, my darling, Jaehaera,” you said, your voice firm but softening with a smile. “You must stop that; it is really not ladylike.”
Your gaze shifted to Aeron, your tone turning slightly admonishing. “And you, Aeron, such behavior is most unbecoming of a lovely gentleman.”
Aeron’s cheeks flushed, and he scowled at Jaehaera, ready to defend himself. “Well, she started it,” he retorted, crossing his arms defiantly.
Jaehaera, unfazed, lifted her chin in a gesture of regal disdain, pointedly turning her gaze away from him. “Queens do not start fights,” she declared, her voice dripping with authority. Then, with a scrunch of her nose, she added, “But they can finish them.”
Aeron rolled his eyes dramatically at Jaehaera, sticking out his tongue in mockery, but the jest was short-lived as he heard his mother’s voice call out from across the room. “Now, Aeron, don’t be rude,” you scolded, your tone firm but laced with affection.
He turned to you, flashing an innocent smile, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. “We were just practicing fighting and pushing,” he replied, his words punctuated by an exaggerated shrug that only added to the mischief of the moment.
You felt a jolt of discomfort at his words, a wave of haunting memories crashing over you. The echoes of past conflicts flickered in your mind—battles fought and lives lost, the heavy price of such lessons. “Targaryens do not practice fighting and pushing and things like that,” you replied, your voice low, the irony of your own words hanging heavily in the air. “It is just horrible.”
With a determined effort, you sought to redirect the conversation and lighten the mood. “Now,” you began, your expression softening as you turned your gaze to Daenys, nestled in your arms, her tiny form clearly on the brink of sleep.
You smiled adoringly at her, a sense of calm washing over you as you looked back at Jaehaera and Aeron. “Why don’t you two head over to the piano, and let’s begin our lesson?”
“Yes, Aunty!” Jaehaera chirped, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as she practically danced toward the instrument, subtly shouldering Aeron aside.
Aeron glared at Jaehaera, his indignation flaring up momentarily, but he quickly turned to you with a soft nod. “Yes, Mama,” he replied.
“It’s time to practice your scales and your arpeggios,” you encouraged, as you moved toward the piano. You settled onto the chaise beside it, Daenys resting her head comfortably against your shoulder, her eyes half-closed as she watched her brother and cousin with a sleepy fascination.
Jaehaera stood poised beside the grand piano, her back straight and shoulders squared, a picture of determination. She cleared her throat, the sound echoing softly in the air, and waited expectantly for Aeron to begin.
However, she cast him a pointed glare as he took his sweet time, leisurely warming up his hands as if the lesson were no pressing matter.
Finally, after an impatient moment, Jaehaera announced, “I’m ready, Maestro,” her voice ringing with a blend of authority and hautiness.
Aeron shot her a sideways glance, his mischievous grin returning as he subtly shifted his foot and stomped down hard onto Jaehaera’s, eliciting a sharp squeak from her.
“Aunty, he did it again!” she exclaimed, turning her wide eyes toward you, indignation clear in her voice.
Aeron, unfazed, looked away, propping his chin on his hand with an exaggerated air of nonchalance. “Tattletale,” he whispered in response.
You carefully rubbed Daenys' back, the gentle motion soothing your daughter. Your patience was unwavering, as you said, “Now, Aeron, please, darling, settle down and play me your pretty little song.” Your voice was calm, and your tone both firm and nurturing.
With a resigned sigh, Aeron nodded, his playful demeanor shifting as he positioned himself at the piano. “Yes, Mama,” he murmured, fingers poised above the keys. As he began to play, the room filled with the soft, melodic strains of his music.
Aemond was at a loss, frustration tightening his chest as he searched the sprawling halls of the Red Keep for you. He had scoured your shared chambers, his personal solar, and the children’s bedrooms, but you were nowhere to be found.
The sinking feeling in his gut only grew as he realized he needed assistance, and at last, he sought out one of the guards stationed nearby.
The guard cleared his throat and straightened slightly, sensing the prince’s impatience. “At Her Grace's music lessons, sire,” he replied, his tone respectful.
“Music lessons?” Aemond murmured to himself, brow furrowing in confusion. He had not realized such an event was taking place, nor had he been informed of it.
Without another moment's hesitation, he rushed in the direction indicated, making his way down a seldom-used wing of the castle, its walls lined with faded tapestries and the whispers of history.
As he drew closer, he heard the unmistakable sound of a piano, its notes cascading through the air like a gentle stream, drawing him forward.
Coming closer to the door, he opened it quietly before he peeked his head inside, his heart melting at the sight as he heard Jaehaera's voice.
"Do mi sol do do sol mi do," the girl of six summers sang, her voice young and somewhat pitchy as she sang confidently, "Every truly cultured music student knows. You must learn your scales and your arpeggios Finger music ringing from your chest And not your nose. While you sing your scales and your arpeggios"
Aemond stood just beyond the doorway, a swell of pride filling his chest as he watched his five-year-old son, Aeron, seated at the piano. The boy’s fingers danced across the keys with a mixture of enthusiasm and concentration, his small face lit with determination.
To Aemond’s surprise, Aeron broke into song as well, his voice sweet yet tinged with the tremor of youth. “If you’re faithful to your daily practicing, you will find your progress is encouraging,” he sang, each note imbued with his budding confidence.
Beside him, Jaehaera stood, arms crossed and a hint of exasperation in her eyes as she rolled them subtly at Aeron’s exuberance. Aeron continued, his voice growing bolder yet still wavering, “Do mi sol me do, mi sol me fa la sol, it goes. When you do your scales and your arpeggios.”
Jaehaera lifted her voice to sing her part again, “Do mi so do,” but she was abruptly cut off by Aeron, who had become overly enthusiastic at the piano, his fingers now racing across the keys with fervor.
“Do mi sol do, do sol mi do,” you chimed in, your voice ethereal and melodic, casting a gentle spell over the room. Aemond found his gaze drawn to you, the light catching your features as you sang alongside the children.
Jaehaera quickly fell in with you, her voice harmonizing beautifully, “Do mi sol do, do sol mi do. Though at first it seems as though it doesn’t show, like a tree, ability will bloom and grow.”
In your arms, Daenys, who had previously been drifting off to sleep, now sat wide awake, her bright eyes filled with wonder as she attempted to mimic the words you and Jaehaera sang. Her babbling intermingled with the melody.
The three of you continued in unison, your voices intertwining, “If you’re smart, you’ll learn by heart what every artist knows. You must sing your scales.....and your arpeggios.”
Aemond leaned against the doorframe, a small smile gracing his lips as he took in the delightful scene unfolding before him. The flickering light of the candles cast a warm glow across the room, illuminating the joy radiating from his children.
Aeron beamed at you, his face aglow with pride as the final notes of the song faded into the air. “How was that, Mama?” he asked, his bright eyes shining with eager anticipation.
You turned to him, your heart swelling with affection. “Absolutely wonderful, my love,” you replied, your voice laced with warmth and encouragement. Just as you opened your mouth to add more praise, a small, excited voice broke through the moment.
“Kēpa! Kēpa!” Daenys cried out, her tiny hands clapping together in delight, her wide lilac eyes fixed on the door where Aemond stood.
All three of you turned your attention toward the threshold, and Aemond couldn’t help but feel a slight flush of warmth at the sight of his little girl’s enthusiasm. He stood there, somewhat awkwardly.
“Do you wish to join us, my king?” you teased gently, a playful amusement dancing in your tone as you gestured for him to enter.
Aemond gave you a small smile before striding into the room, the familiar weight of his crown momentarily forgotten in the presence of his family.
Daenys, her cherubic face lighting up with excitement, eagerly raised her arms toward him, and he scooped her up effortlessly from your embrace, her giggles filling the air. “I was not aware there were music lessons in the first place,” he remarked, an amused glimmer in his eye.
“Merely for the children’s entertainment, I assure you,” you replied softly, your heart warmed by the sight of your husband.
Aemond shot you a skeptical glance, an eyebrow arching slightly as he nodded. “Oh, I am sure,” he replied, a hint of teasing lacing his tone.
“Father, did you see how I played?” Aeron asked eagerly, his small hands still resting on the piano keys, a bright grin spreading across his face.
“Yes, I did,” Aemond said, his expression softening as he smiled down at his son. “Much better than any bard I’ve heard.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and Aeron beamed at the praise.
“And did you see how I sang, uncle?” Jaehaera chimed in, her voice a melodic chime that danced through the air like the notes of the piano.
“Yes, of course,” Aemond replied, nodding with genuine admiration. “One day, you might even come to rival the Queen’s voice.” The compliment brought a bright flush to Jaehaera's cheeks, her eyes sparkling with delight.
“She’ll be even better than me,” you murmured, a soft smile gracing your lips as you watched the exchange unfold.
As the children chattered excitedly, desperate for their King's attention, your gaze drifted to the doorway, where you spotted your maid, Emery, standing patiently, signaling that it was time for bed.
You cleared your throat gently, drawing the children's attention back to you. “Children, it’s time to go to bed,” you announced softly, your voice laced with warmth yet firm.
Aeron turned to you, his wide eyes shimmering with innocence as he clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture. “Do we have to, Mama? Father just got here,” he implored, his lower lip jutting out in a way that made your heart ache.
You sighed, feeling your resolve weaken under the weight of his pleas. However, Aemond came to your rescue, his hand affectionately ruffling Aeron’s fluffy silver hair. “And I’ll come say goodnight once you are in bed, little king,” he promised, his voice soothing and reassuring.
You tilted your head toward the door, giving a gentle nudge. “Emery is waiting for you,” you murmured, the soft authority in your tone guiding them toward the inevitable.
Disappointment flickered in both Jaehaera’s and Aeron’s eyes, yet they nodded reluctantly. Jaehaera approached your side and planted a tender kiss on your cheek, her small frame radiating warmth as she bid you goodnight.
Following her lead, Aeron hurried to do the same, his kiss lingering a moment longer before he bent down to press his lips against your swelling stomach, his sweet gesture eliciting a smile from you.
Aemond, observing the tender moment, passed baby Daenys into your arms. She giggled excitedly, her laughter a delightful sound as you smothered her with kisses, before you handed Daenys to Emery, who was prepared to lead the children out.
As the soft patter of little feet faded down the corridor, the lively laughter and chatter of the children ebbed away, leaving you and Aemond cocooned in the warm embrace of the cozy chamber.
A serene silence enveloped the two of you, a precious moment amidst the storm of duties and the remnants of grief that lingered in the air.
“Hello, husband,” you greeted softly, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to shatter the comfortable stillness that settled between you.
“Hello, wife,” Aemond murmured in return, his tone low and warm as he lowered himself onto the piano bench beside you.
With a gentle grace, he let his hand drift over the piano keys, pausing just short of touching them. It was a silent acknowledgment of his lack of skill, yet he seemed fascinated by the instrument nonetheless.
You watched him, the lines of his face illuminated by the soft glow of the chamber, and felt a pang of affection.
“I apologize for not informing you about the lessons,” you said, your voice steady yet filled with sincerity.
“Tis alright,” he replied, though his gaze remained fixed away from you, a flicker of concern shadowing his features. “When did it begin?”
“The day of your mother’s funeral,” you replied gently, choosing your words with care. “Your duties had taken you away, and Aeron and Jaehaera were feeling very down. I thought music might lift their spirits, and it has. Jaehaera even asked me to teach her to sing and play.”
At the mention of that day, Aemond’s expression shifted. Guilt washed over him, and memories flooded back—his mother’s service at the Sept, the heavy atmosphere of sorrow, and how he had been swept away in the currents of his responsibilities, never given a moment to truly mourn.
He nodded thoughtfully, his voice barely above a whisper. “Aeron seems particularly skilled.”
“He is a very intelligent little boy,” you agreed, your eyes not leaving his as he continued to stare at the piano, lost in thought. “He has an eagerness to learn that reminds me of you.”
Aemond chuckled softly, the sound breaking through the solemnity that hung in the air. “I fear he has far more talent than I ever did,” he said, a hint of pride seeping into his words. “But I’m glad to see them find joy in something so beautiful.”
“Music has a way of healing,” you remarked, a wistful smile playing on your lips. “Especially in times like these.”
He turned to face you fully, his piercing violet eye searching yours. “And what of you? How do you fare amidst the shadows of loss?”
You hesitated, feeling the weight of his concern. “I carry the grief, as we all do. But I find solace in our children. Their laughter reminds me of the light we can still find in our lives.”
Aemond’s gaze softened, and he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing over yours with an intimacy that sent warmth coursing through you. “You are stronger than I,” he said earnestly. “I often wonder how you manage to bear the burdens we both carry.”
With a gentle squeeze of his hand, you replied, “We bear them together, my king. That is what family is for.”
Aemond's brow furrowed slightly, and he murmured, “Aeron... he shall be a better king than I.” His voice held a weight of expectation and uncertainty, a reflection of his own doubts.
You turned your gaze toward him, a hint of sadness flickering in your eyes as you stood and swiftly settled beside him on the bench.
Reaching out, you cupped his face in your hands, grounding him with your touch. “Only because he shall learn from your mistakes. Every king should be better than the former.”
Aemond stared into your eyes, his heart swelling with gratitude. In truth, he had often wondered what he had done to deserve your steadfast presence. Memories washed over him—of the day he first met you when he was merely fourteen, a boy angry and hateful at the world.
He leaned his forehead against yours, finding solace in your warmth. “You are very wise, my queen. You never lead me astray.”
“Destiny has its designs,” you replied softly, a small smile gracing your lips. “And I am merely fulfilling mine. To guide you, to stand by your side.”
He chuckled lightly, the sound a blend of affection and admiration. “Even when I do not deserve it?”
“Especially then,” you countered, your tone playful yet sincere. “Every king needs a queen to keep him grounded, to remind him of what truly matters.”
Aemond took a deep breath, the weight of the realm and his responsibilities momentarily lifted. “And what is that, my love?”
You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It is love, loyalty, and the hope for a better tomorrow. The kind of future we want for our children.”
Aemond leaned back, a rare lightness settling in his chest for the first time in what felt like an age. He placed his hand over your round belly, feeling the warmth radiate from within. You tilted your head, an amused smile blossoming on your lips as you caught his gaze.
“Aeron has taken to kissing my stomach,” you said, your tone playful. “He believes that if he shows enough affection, it might persuade my body to grant him a brother. He claims it would make his chances of having a fair fight against the girls much better.”
Aemond chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement. Then, nodding toward the piano, he added, “Teach me. I may never reach the heights of Aeron’s talent, but perhaps I could aspire to match little Daenys’ skill.”
Your laughter chimed like music in the air, a sound that warmed his spirit. Aemond grinned at the absurdity of comparing his potential to that of his infant daughter. “Very well,” you said, your eyes sparkling with delight. “First, let us see what you can do.”
You guided him closer to the piano, instructing him to place his large, slender hands over yours on the keys. “Feel the movement,” you encouraged, your voice soft and patient. “It’s not merely about the notes; it’s about the rhythm and the heart behind them.”
Unbeknownst to you and Aemond, enveloped in your own intimate world, three pairs of curious eyes peered in from the slightly ajar door of the chamber. Jaehaera, Aeron, and little Daenys had quietly slipped away from their caretakers.
Jaehaera, though only six years of age, sighed wistfully as she watched her uncle and aunt. “How romantic,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a sense of longing.
She cradled baby Daenys in her arms, the infant unusually calm, her wide eyes reflecting the gentle glow of the room as she took in the scene of her mother and father together.
Aeron, standing beside Jaehaera, observed his parents intently, a thoughtful frown furrowing his brow. “Do you think our marriage will be like that?” he asked, glancing over at Jaehaera to gauge her reaction.
Jaehaera turned to him, her gaze sharp and serious, her little brows furrowing in determination. “It has to, Aeron. It has to.”
“Do you think we’ll be that happy?” he pressed, his youthful innocence shining through, even as the shadows of doubt crept into his mind.
She nodded vigorously, her long silver hair bouncing with the motion. “Of course! The king and queen love each other. If we love each other like they do, it will be just as wonderful.”
Aeron pondered her words, his gaze drifting back to the sight of you and Aemond, lost in your shared moment. “And what if…” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “What if things become difficult, like they do in the stories?”
Jaehaera frowned slightly, her youthful optimism momentarily faltering. “Then we fight for each other, just like they do,” she declared with conviction.
Aeron nodded, a small smile creeping onto his face. “I like that idea,” he said softly, his gaze drifting back to the happy scene of his mother and his father.
“We’ll make it the best story ever.”
[Jaehaera, Aeron, Daenys]
headcannonsss:
— aemond and reader end up having six children in total: aeron (18), daenys (15), mikael (13), jaemes (10), elaena (7) and aelora (4) + jaehaera (19)
— aeron and jaehaera marry
— daenys falls in love with aegon (rhaenyra's son)
— mikael comes out as gay
— jaemes and elaena marry
— aelora refuses to marry and part with her mother (sophie/donna relationship)
Hello, I would like to make an obscene yandere request to Aemond Targaryen for a cousin who is a Helen of Troy, she never met her cousins and Gwayne locked her in the lighthouse because the children in Antigua have already declared duels and fights for her, please
“Alexa play Angel by Massive Attack.”
A Beauty Too Tempting
pairing | aemond x cousin!reader
word count | 5.4k
summary | when aemond targaryen learns of his cousin—a beauty so captivating that men are willing to die for you—he becomes dangerously obsessed, determined to claim you for himself.
tags | 18+ MDNI! smut, p in v, slight dubcon, fingering, oral sex (f) receiving, possessive sex, rough sex, virginity kink, breeding kink, obsession, dirty talk, no description for reader, creampie, religious guilt, guys this was crazzzyyy, yandere aemond, delusional aemond, obsessive aemond.
a/n | this was such an interesting and creative prompt, damnnnn. also I think this might be the best smut I've ever written. KEEP BOTH HANDS ON THE PHONE (NOT PROOFREAD)
likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Aemond had finally ascended.
His reckless, wine-soaked brother was a shadow of the past, burnt and broken beyond repair. Though the Seven Kingdoms still called him “Prince Regent,” Aemond knew he held the true power of a king—and wielded the might of a dragon unmatched in all the realm.
He was Prince Regent, yes, but also the rider of Vhagar, the Queen of Dragons, the slayer of Daemon Targaryen, the butcher of his treacherous half-sister and her rabble of bastards.
At God’s Eye, he had cast Daemon down, wresting from him the title of warrior to which he clung so stubbornly. And when Alys Strong’s deceit led him astray, she too had met the edge of his blade, her charms and false promises extinguished in the cold stone of Harrenhal’s dungeons. Now, what was left of his family was but the bones of the house.
Only his mother and his niece remained, the ones bound by duty and blood. Helaena, broken by grief and driven mad with sorrow, had thrown herself from her chamber balcony, finding an end that her shattered mind had long sought. Aegon, the crown’s fool, lay in a stupor of smoke and agony, burned and nearly lifeless after his fall from Moondancer’s flames.
But Aemond ruled now—his alone was the realm’s rightful power. The Seven Kingdoms were his to bend, as was his every desire. He had broken his betrothal to the Baratheon girl without a second thought; a warlord and dragonrider of his stature deserved a bride worthy of his legend. He was the last dragon of House Targaryen, and his queen would be a beauty revered, one whose grace and purity might rival the Maiden herself.
And that was when Aemond first heard of you.
Fleeting whispers had reached him from Oldtown, speaking of his uncle Gwayne’s daughter—a maiden so beautiful that men spoke of you as if you were touched by the gods. Tales claimed you had been cloistered away in the Watchtower’s highest chamber, veiled to protect the eyes and sanity of any man who caught sight of you.
There, concealed behind shadows and stone, you were kept far from the reach of suitors who risked life and honor in duels, each vying for even a single glimpse of your face.
Your father, Ser Gwayne Hightower, had fallen in the fires of the Dance, and your mother had died bearing you, leaving you alone in that desolate tower—an unclaimed jewel, hidden and waiting.
The thought stirred something fierce within Aemond. He would go to you, he decided. He would see this beauty so lauded, this Hightower daughter untouched by the world’s corruptions, and he would decide if you were worthy to become his Queen, his Targaryen bride. For if your beauty proved true, you would belong to him alone, bound by devotion and a loyalty owed only to the dragon and its rider.
After landing Vhagar just outside Oldtown, Aemond took a horse into the city, riding with the air of a conqueror. But even he was taken aback by the scene awaiting him. High walls surrounded the Watchtower of House Hightower, fortified and stern, yet it was the gathering outside that seized his attention.
Hundreds of men crowded the courtyard and spilled into the streets, shouting, some nearly brawling as they jostled against one another. Their voices rose in a fervent cacophony, names and cries echoing like a battle chant.
Aemond’s gaze swept over them with disdain. Fools, all of them, clamoring over the mere hope of being in your presence. As he approached the Tower’s gates, the guards lowered their spears and bowed their heads, recognizing the rider of Vhagar, the One-Eyed Prince who now held the realm in his grip.
They opened the gates without question, allowing him through to the Tower’s base, where a young servant girl waited nervously.
She kept her eyes down as she led him up the spiraling stairway to the highest chamber. But Aemond’s curiosity simmered, and his tone was sharp when he finally spoke. “Who are these men gathered outside? What madness drives them to swarm like starving wolves?”
The servant’s face went pale, but she dared to glance up briefly, voice trembling. “They’re suitors, my prince…men from every corner of the realm. Many have traveled from the Reach and the Riverlands, even as far as Dorne and the North, all to seek my lady’s hand.”
Aemond’s eye narrowed, a dark satisfaction curling at the edge of his lips. While the Dance Of Dragons had gone on, you had become something of a legend—a prize for fools and hopeful knights. But you were not for them.
“Let them scream themselves hoarse,” he murmured coldly, mostly to himself, as they reached the final stretch of the climb. His voice softened, though the weight of his words was fierce. “By nightfall, they will know she belongs to me alone.”
The servant kept her gaze down, fearful of the silent promises in his tone. They finally reached the door to the high chamber, and with a deep breath, she pushed it open, bowing as he strode past her.
As Aemond stepped inside, the air was thick with expectation, and he knew: he would let none of those suitors have you—not while he still breathed.
A figure stood near the narrow window, framed by the dim light filtering through the high stone walls. Draped in a gown as pale as starlight, a delicate veil fell over your hair and face, obscuring your features with an ethereal softness.
You looked less like a woman of flesh and blood, more like some forgotten goddess cast down from the heavens, your beauty hidden behind gauze and shadow. Almost nervously, the servant girl who had led Aemond withdrew, sparing one last, uncertain glance before closing the heavy door, leaving him alone with the lady in white.
The room was silent but for the faint rustle of fabric as the veiled woman turned, your movements graceful yet guarded. You saw him—a tall, imposing figure shrouded in the black and crimson of House Targaryen, his silver hair gleaming like the steel at his hip.
Though your vision was blurred by the veil, there was no mistaking him. Even in the isolated walls of your tower, you had heard tales of him, whispered rumors that crept into your dreams. Aemond Targaryen—the One-Eyed Kinslayer, the dragonrider who had torn through his own blood, leaving most of House Targaryen ashes in his wake.
A shiver coursed through you as you lowered your head, barely daring to meet his single, penetrating gaze. You bent your head respectfully and murmured, “Your grace.”
At the sound of your voice—soft and lilting, as if it had drifted down from the heavens—Aemond’s breath hitched, and he paused, his gaze never wavering. You sounded like the very embodiment of the myths that had reached him, a voice so pure it defied the violence that had carved his path to you.
He took slow, deliberate steps toward you, each one bringing him closer to the veiled creature he had come to claim. “I am not only your Prince Regent,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “I am your kin as well.”
You nodded, your lashes fluttering beneath the veil. “Of course…cousin,” you replied shyly, your voice no more than a murmur, though it reached him clearly in the silence of the chamber.
Aemond’s lips curved, a hint of satisfaction flickering across his face as he closed the distance between you. “You must know,” he continued, his tone possessive yet calm, “that I have not come all this way merely out of kinship. You are spoken of as if you were a queen in waiting…your beauty, your grace. Men would kill for a single look upon your face.”
Your cheeks warmed beneath the veil, though you dared not lift your head. The idea of such fierce, consuming attention unsettled you, yet you could not deny the pull he exerted on your senses—a dark, magnetic power that seemed to draw you closer, even as your instinct told you to step back.
“And now,” Aemond murmured, lifting a hand toward you, fingers ghosting over the edge of your veil, “it is I who have come to see if these tales hold truth. To decide if you are worthy…to stand beside me as my queen.” He let the words hang in the air, laden with meaning, with possession.
Beneath the veil, your lips parted, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The One-Eyed Prince had not come to court or woo you like the other men clamoring below; he had come to claim you, with a certainty that brooked no refusal.
“Tell me, cousin,” he whispered, his tone heavy with dark intent, a veiled promise lying beneath each word. “Would you defy me if I named you mine?”
He drew closer, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a shiver through you as your heart hammered against your ribs. The weight of his claim felt as tangible as the stone walls around you, and in that instant, you knew defiance was a luxury that held no place here.
Before you could gather the breath to respond, Aemond’s hand rose toward your veil, his fingertips hovering just above its delicate fabric. A sense of desperation seized you, and your voice broke through the silence, raw and pleading. “Don’t! Please… I only wish to spare you.”
Aemond’s lips curved in a faint, humorless chuckle, his eye gleaming with something far more dangerous than mere amusement. “Spare me?” he murmured, as though the very idea amused him.
“You misunderstand, cousin. I do not seek to be saved.” His voice softened, yet the iron in his tone was unmistakable. “I seek only to behold my future wife.”
Your heart raced, every instinct urging you to step back, but your body seemed to betray you, rooted to the spot as Aemond reached out, his fingers grazing the edge of your veil. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it, casting the thin fabric away and laying bare the face that had haunted his imagination.
The moment the veil fell, silence claimed the room, broken only by Aemond’s sharp intake of breath. His gaze devoured each feature of your face, sweeping over you with an intensity that bordered on reverence, as if he were drinking in the sight of a rare and coveted treasure.
He exhaled slowly, a low growl rumbling in his chest as his fingers traced a line along your cheek, his touch both possessive and tender. “Beautiful…” he breathed, his voice thick with awe and something deeper, something darker. “Far more than any tale could capture. You are… a vision.”
A flicker of fear mingled with the warmth on your cheeks, and you dared to lift your gaze to his, the intensity of his stare almost unbearable. He studied you, and you sensed it was not mere admiration that darkened his eye, but hunger—a need so consuming it seemed to radiate from him.
“From this day forward,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw, “you are mine. And I… I will allow no one, not even the gods, to take you from me.”
Your breath caught as Aemond’s fingers ghosted over your skin, sparking a fire that seemed to radiate through every inch of you. For a fleeting moment, your eyelids fluttered closed, helplessly savoring the sensation. But reality, sharp and undeniable, tore them open again, reminding you where you stood—and with whom.
“C-Cousin, please…” you murmured, your voice trembling as your hands pressed against the hard plane of his chest, a fragile attempt to create space. “This… this cannot be. You should not…”
The words stumbled from your lips, half-hearted at best, even as your body betrayed you, arching subtly toward him, drawn like steel to a magnet. A flush of warmth rose beneath your skin, pooling in your cheeks, and beneath the thin fabric of your gown, your nipples peaked, aching under his gaze. The rush of sensations nearly overwhelmed you, each one more intoxicating than the last.
Aemond’s lips curved in a knowing, wicked smile, his eye gleaming as he took in your struggle, your futile attempts at resistance. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, so close that his breath mingled with yours, warm and heady.
“Wrong?” he murmured, his voice a dark, velvet caress, each syllable dripping with unrestrained desire. “There is no wrong between us, cousin. Only what was always meant to be…only fate and desire.”
Your heart raced, pounding against his chest, each beat echoing the dangerous thrill of his words. His hand slipped to the nape of your neck, his touch firm and possessive, as though he could bind you to him with that single gesture. He tilted your head ever so slightly, his mouth hovering just above yours, his gaze burning with intent.
“We are bound by blood,” he whispered, his words low and fervent, “by something far stronger than any foolish notion of right or wrong.” His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, a featherlight touch that set your skin alight. “Do you not feel it, the way I do?”
You barely managed a nod, your mind clouded by the closeness, by the undeniable pull of him. With a fluid, almost predatory grace, Aemond’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, so close you could feel every contour of his lean frame pressing into yours.
His chest was a wall of heat, solid beneath your touch, and your breath hitched as you became all too aware of the hardness pressing insistently against your belly.
“Let me guide you,” he whispered, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm and laced with promise, “to pleasures beyond the realm of mortal imagination.” His voice was low, dark, each word dripping with seduction as he continued, “Yield to me, and I shall make you mine in ways the world could scarcely comprehend.”
Every syllable curled around you, dissolving your remaining resistance like morning mist. Against all sense, your body softened, your resolve unraveling beneath his spell. Aemond’s words, woven with desire and power, coaxed you toward surrender. You melted against him, instinctively seeking the warmth he offered, your heart racing as his grip on you tightened possessively.
“Cousin…” you whispered, barely a breath, a mingling of plea and prayer.
Aemond’s lips curved, and he let out a soft, almost condescending click of his tongue, a smirk flickering in his eye. “I ask for so little,” he said, his tone deceptively light before his voice softened, becoming tender, almost reverent.
“Simply allow me to reign over you, to be the master of your heart and soul. Give me your loyalty, your love, your fear… let me own you in spirit and in flesh. Do that,” he murmured, his mouth grazing your jawline, “and I will serve you, worship you, slave to your every desire.”
A tremor ran through you as his hand drifted lower, fingers grazing the swell of your breast. Your nipple pebbled instantly, a jolt of pleasure-pain shooting straight to your core. You gasped, your hips involuntarily rolling against his straining erection.
“Please... ” you whimpered, your resistance breaking in the face of such carnal temptation. ”I-I am a maiden, a child of the Seven.”
A low chuckle rumbled in Aemond's chest as he felt your delicate form yield to his touch, your body betraying its innate desire despite your protests. His fingers curled around the plump mound of your breast, kneading the soft flesh through the thin fabric of your gown.
“Child no longer,” he rasped, his thumb circling your aching nipple, coaxing it to an even harder peak. ”Maidenhood ends today, and a woman shall be born.”
With a swift tug, he ripped the laces of the front of your gown, exposing the swells of your breasts to his hungry gaze. He palmed them roughly, thumbs teasing the stiff peaks as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, plundering the sweetness within with his tongue.
"Mine," he growled against your lips, his hands roaming your body possessively
Your cry of shock morphed into a moan of ecstasy as Aemond's mouth ravaged yours, his dominant presence swallowing your very essence. The rough handling of your breasts sent sparks of delight coursing through your veins, your nipples throbbing in time with the pounding of your heart.
"No...no," you breathed against his lips, the words tumbling out unbidden. "This is wrong... this is sinful."
Ignoring your feeble protests, Aemond continued to explore your body with unrestrained lust. His hands roamed freely over your curves, tracing the contours of your body with a reverence usually reserved for sacred texts.
“Sinful indeed,” his voice was a husky purr against your lips. “Yet how sweetly addictive it tastes.”
His hands trailed lower, bunching your skirts to your waist to find the damp curls at the apex of your thighs. He groaned at the wetness he found there, a testament to your body's readiness for him.
“Such a delectable little cunt...” he whispered, his fingers slipping between your folds to test your readiness.
Your head fell back, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat as Aemond's skilled fingers delved deeper, stroking your slickened flesh with a confident touch. A shudder rippled through you, your hips canting upwards in desperate pursuit of more.
“P-please...” you gasped, your voice trembling with devastation. “I...I've never...”
Aemond's knowing smirk only heightened your mortification, yet it couldn't quell the inferno building inside you. Your body was aflame, craving the release only he could provide.
“I'm afraid...” you murmured though your eyes were glazed with desire.
Aemond's eye gleamed with triumph as he watched you squirm under his touch, your innocence and inexperience only fueling his desire. He pressed a finger inside you, feeling your tight walls clench around the invading digit.
“Fear not, sweet cousin,” he cooed, his voice dripping with false reassurance. “I will be gentle... at first.”
He pumped his finger slowly, savoring the exquisite sensation of your virgin passage yielding to his touch. His thumb circled your pearl, applying just enough pressure to send jolts of pleasure racing through your nerves.
“You're doing wonderfully,” he praised, his free hand sliding up your thigh to grip your hip firmly. “Now, let's see if we can't coax out that pretty little scream, hmm?”
Your mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the onslaught of sensations assaulting your senses. Aemond's fingers moved within you with a practiced ease, each thrust and twist sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.
“N-no...stop!” you managed to choke out, even as your body betrayed you, arching into his touch. “It's too much!”
Aemond's grin widened, his eye flashing with dark amusement at your futile attempts to resist. He withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching for more.
“Foolish girl,” he chided, his tone dripping with condescension. ”You crave this, every bit of it. Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind doesn't.”
He seized your wrists, pinning them above your head against the window as he loomed over you, his face inches from yours. His hot breath fanned across your cheeks, carrying the scent of smoke and masculine musk.
“Now, be a good little maiden and spread your legs for me,” he commanded, his voice low and commanding. “Let me taste you.”
Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, your body thrumming with a mix of fear and exhilaration as Aemond's dominance asserted itself. Despite your reservations, a traitorous part of you yearned for the promised pleasure, your core clenching in anticipation.
"N-no...I won't...” you stammered, even as your thighs trembled, betraying your resolve. Aemond's grip on your wrists tightened, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he forced you to submit.
“Please...” the word escaped your lips before you could stop it, a plea for mercy that sounded suspiciously like a plea for more, though confusion filled you, ”Why would you wish to taste me?”
Aemond's gaze raked over your trembling form, drinking in every quiver and gasp with sadistic delight. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke, his words dripping with dark promise.
"Because, my dear cousin," he purred, "I want to devour every inch of you until you forget your own name. Until all you know is my touch, my taste, my possession."
With a wicked grin, he released your wrists, only to grab your waist and throw you down upon your bed. You had no time to react before he settled between your legs, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart as he lowered his head, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh.
Your heart raced, pounding in your ears as Aemond's words painted a vivid picture of degradation and desire. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly at his mercy as he positioned himself between your spread thighs.
“And then, once I've had my fill,” he continued, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your slit, “I'll make you beg for more.”
“No...please...” your protests dissolved into a whimper as his tongue made contact with your aching sex, the wet heat of it sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.
Aemond chuckled darkly at your feeble attempts to resist, the vibrations of his laughter sending shivers through your core. He increased the pressure of his tongue, lapping at your slick folds with relish, savoring the taste of your arousal.
“It's too much...I c-can't take it...” even as you spoke, your hips bucked upward, seeking more of that intoxicating sensation. Your hands flew to his head, tangling in his hair as you tried to pull him closer, to grind yourself against his questing mouth.
“You lie, sweet cousin,” he murmured against your flesh, his voice muffled but unmistakable. “You crave this, crave me. Your body sings for me, begs for my touch.”
He sucked gently on your pearl, the suction pulling a sharp cry from your lips. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he feasted on your cunt, his skillful tongue driving you closer to the edge with each passing moment.
“Release for me,” he commanded, his eye locking onto yours, burning with an intense, possessive hunger. “Let go and give me everything.”
Your entire being was consumed by the inferno of pleasure that Aemond ignited within you. His words, his touch, his very presence overwhelmed your senses until nothing existed beyond the coil of ecstasy winding tighter and tighter in your core.
“Ahh...oh gods...Aemond!” your cries echoed off the stone walls as you said his name for the first time and he pushed you relentlessly towards your peak. Your back arched off the bed, your nails raking down his scalp as you held him close, grinding shamelessly against his face.
“Yes...yes! Don't stop...please don't stop...” you babbled incoherently, lost to the maelstrom of sensation. And then, with a final flick of his tongue, you shattered, your release ripping through you with the force of a tidal wave.
As your climax crashed over you, Aemond drank in your essence, reveling in the taste of your release. He lapped at your spasming cunt, prolonging your pleasure until you finally went limp beneath him, panting and dazed.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction as he gazed up at your flushed face. He crawled up your body, claiming your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to plunder the sweetness of your mouth.
“Now, let us see how well you respond to other pleasures,” he murmured against your lips, his hand sliding down to cup your breast, thumbing your nipple into a stiff peak. “We have only just begun to explore the depths of your devotion.”
Your mind reeled, struggling to process the intensity of what had just transpired. Aemond's control over your body was absolute, leaving you weak and pliant in his grasp. Yet even as you trembled with aftershocks of pleasure, a thrill of anticipation coursed through you at his words.
“Other pleasure?” you managed to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. Despite the fear that lingered, a spark of curiosity ignited within you, drawing you deeper into the unknown realm Aemond promised to show you.
“What do you mean?” you asked, your breasts heaving with each ragged breath as he fondled them. The sensation of his calloused palm against your tender flesh sent jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core, making you ache for more.
Aemond's smile was a wicked curve of his lips as he watched your reaction, delighting in the way your body responded to his touch.
He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “I speak of the exquisite agonies of pleasure, cousin. The kind that make you scream and beg for mercy even as you crave more. The sort that leave you trembling and spent, yet yearning for the next touch, the next thrust...”
His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the juncture of your thighs before dipping into your drenched folds. He circled your sensitive pearl, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.
“Shall I show you these delights, Beloved? Shall I push you to the very brink of madness and back again, all for my own entertainment?”
A shiver ran down your spine at Aemond's words, a delicious chill that mixed with the heat building inside you. His touch was both gentle and ruthless, coaxing out responses you didn't know you possessed. Your hips bucked involuntarily as he stroked your most intimate places, seeking more friction and relief.
“Y-yes please...” you breathed, the word torn from you on a moan. Your hands came up to tangle in his long silver hair, holding him close as if to anchor yourself against the storm of sensations he unleashed.
Aemond's fingers danced across your sensitive flesh, pushing you higher and higher until you teetered on the edge of another release. Your vision blurred, your lungs burned for air, and still he teased, denying you the release you craved.
“Please...I need more,” you whined.
Aemond chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending vibrations through your quivering form. He released your pearl, his fingers trailing up your inner thigh before gripping your hip possessively.
“More, hmm?”
He leaned back, his piercing gaze drinking in every flush of color on your skin, every hitch of your breath. “Very well, cousin. Let us see how you fare against my cock.”
With a swift motion, he shed his trousers, freeing his rigid length. It stood proud and unyielding, the tip already glistening with pearly wetness. Aemond grasped your ankles, spreading your legs wide as he positioned himself between them.
Your eyes widened as Aemond revealed his manhood, the sight of it making your mouth go dry. The size and shape were intimidating, but a part of you thrilled at the prospect of being stretched so completely. You nodded, unable to find your voice as he spread your legs wider, exposing you fully to his hungry gaze.
“Are you ready to be filled, to be claimed in the most primal way possible?” He asked, his voice a husky growl.
"Yes...” you managed to whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.
Aemond's grip on your ankles tightened as he aligned himself with your entrance. The head of his cock pressed against your slick folds, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. You bit your lip, bracing yourself for the intrusion.
“Please don't hurt me,” you whispered, your voice tinged with desperation.
Aemond's expression softened slightly at your plea, though the intent in his eye remained unchanged - a fierce, almost feral hunger. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “I would never harm you, sweetling," he paused, "at least not unless you begged me to."
With that, he surged forward, his thick cock driving into your welcoming heat in one powerful stroke. Your cry echoed through the chamber as you were split open around him, your body stretching to accommodate his impressive girth.
“Fuck, you're tight,” he groaned, pausing for a moment to let her adjust. His hips flexed, pulling nearly all the way out before plunging back in, setting a relentless pace. So fucking perfect...
A sharp cry tore from your throat as Aemond's massive cock impaled you, the sudden invasion sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through your core. You arched your back, nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move within you, each thrust driving deeper and harder than the last.
"Gods...it's too much..." you panted, struggling to breathe through the intensity of the sensation. “You're so big...”
Despite the discomfort, your body seemed to mold itself to his, craving the stretch and fullness he provided. Your inner walls clenched around him, trying to draw him in even further.
“More...give me more...” you whimpered, your hips rising to meet his punishing rhythm.
Aemond grunted in satisfaction at your wanton pleas, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. The obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, punctuated by your keening cries.
“That's it, take it all,” he growled, his hand fisting in your hair as he angled your head back. “Scream for me, let everyone hear how thoroughly I'm claiming you.”
His free hand slid between your joined bodies, finding your swollen pearl and rubbing mercilessly. The dual stimulation had you writhing beneath him, your body wound tighter than a bowstring.
"Come for me, Beloved,” Aemond demanded, his voice rough with lust. “Come on my cock like the desperate little maiden you are.”
The words fell from Aemond's lips like honeyed poison, stoking the flames of your desire until they consumed you whole. Your release crashed over you like a tidal wave, your vision blurring at the edges as ecstasy coursed through your veins.
“Yes! Oh gods, yes!” you screamed, your voice echoing off the stone walls.
Your inner muscles spasmed wildly around Aemond's pistoning cock, milking him for all he was worth. The pressure building at the base of your spine reached a fever pitch before exploding outward in a burst of pure bliss.
“Aemond!” your name was a ragged gasp as you convulsed beneath him, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you.
Aemond threw his head back with a triumphant roar as your orgasm triggered his own. His cock pulsed inside you, spilling his hot seed deep into your clencing cunt. Each jet seemed to last an eternity, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.
“Take it all,” he snarled, grinding his pelvis against yours to ensure every drop was absorbed by your eager flesh. “You're mine now, forever and always.”
As the final spurts subsided, Aemond collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily as he savored the aftermath of their coupling.
When Aemond's release flooded your womb, you felt a sense of profound completion wash over you. Your body went limp beneath him, utterly spent yet deeply satisfied.
“Yours...” you echoed softly, the word falling from your kiss-swollen lips in a daze. “Forever and always...”
As exhaustion tugged at you, your limbs grew heavy, and the events of the day settled over you like a warm, thick blanket. Nestled in Aemond’s arms, you felt a strange comfort, a warmth you’d scarcely known, drawing you closer into his embrace as sleep beckoned. The solid strength of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it was all that held you tethered as your eyes drifted shut.
“Rest now, my love,” he murmured, his voice a low, satisfied rasp, laced with a possessiveness that left no doubt of his intentions. “We have much to discuss when you’ve recovered.”
Even as you slipped into the gentle embrace of sleep, Aemond remained vigilant, his gaze never leaving you. His mind churned with plans and possibilities, already anticipating the obstacles that lay ahead. He knew that securing his claim upon you—upon both of you—would not come easily.
His arm tightened around you, a silent vow to protect, to possess, to keep you from any force that might try to tear you from him. Whatever it took, no matter the cost, you would remain his. He would allow no other fate.
A faint, triumphant smile touched his lips as he studied your sleeping face, taking in the softness of your features, the way your hair curled against your cheek. Tonight, he would let himself bask in the satisfaction of knowing you were his, that he had claimed your body and heart as surely as he had marked it.
“Sleep well, my queen,” he whispered, reaching out to brush a stray curl from your brow with uncharacteristic gentleness. His thumb lingered a moment, tracing the curve of your cheek, committing every detail to memory.
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pairing | aemond x aunt!reader
word count | 4.7k words
summary | aemond becomes instantly captivated by his alluring and enigmatic aunt upon her arrival in King’s Landing, his fascination growing into a consuming obsession. one night, he sneaks into her chambers intending to claim her, only to find himself ensnared and wholly claimed by her instead.
tags | 18+ MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, obsession, incest, oral (f), aemond being a simp, aemond being obsessed, older woman/younger man, reader is in her early 30s
a/n | haven't written smut in a while, so here's my smut piece before I continue with my normal angst and fluff
likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
“I have summoned your sister to King’s Landing.”
Aemond’s attention sharpened, his gaze lingering on his mother’s face as Otto spoke. He watched as the blood seemed to drain from her cheeks, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the edge of the table.
“For what purpose?” Alicent’s voice held a strained note, attempting to maintain a composure that clearly wavered.
Aegon, lounging at the head of the table, raised his head, intrigued. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, eyes flicking between his mother and grandsire.
“Marq Ambrose commands one of the most powerful armies in the Reach,” Otto stated with an offhand shrug, his eyes giving nothing away.
“And he would serve us best by keeping that power in the Reach, where it may be summoned at need,” Alicent interjected, her tone unyielding, her eyes locked on Otto’s. There was no mistaking the tension in her voice, a chill that crept through the words.
Aemond’s brow furrowed slightly as he observed his mother. His aunt had always been something of a mystery—whispered about in brief conversations that faded when he entered the room. A few years after his birth, she had been wedded to Lord Ambrose of the Reach, her presence a vague shadow on his life, a name he had heard only in passing. And now, with her impending arrival, he sensed a thread of something forbidden—a story that remained carefully locked away, just out of reach.
Aegon chuckled, breaking the taut silence. “Let Lord Ambrose come, then, if he so wishes to make merry in our halls. He is but my uncle by marriage; surely, we ought to welcome such kin to the capital.” His gaze gleamed as he spoke, and his smile widened. “And I would be most pleased to meet my aunt, at last.”
But Aemond’s mind lingered elsewhere. His mother’s discomfort stirred his curiosity, yes—but something deeper, a whisper of anticipation he could scarcely name, took root.
A week had passed since that conversation, and now the family gathered in the throne room, awaiting Lord Ambrose’s arrival. Aegon sat with careless authority upon the Iron Throne, his gaze sharp with the amusement of expectation, while the rest of them stood beneath the shadow of the dais.
The heavy oak doors creaked open, and a knight’s voice rang out through the hall. “May I present Lord Marq Ambrose and his Lady Wife.”
A stocky figure stepped forward, his hair streaked with white and black, his girth almost comical in its fullness. Aemond cast but a cursory glance at the man, unimpressed by this swollen lord from the Reach, before his gaze shifted past him.
And then, Aemond stilled. His eye widened, his brows lifting as he fought to contain his reaction. His heart gave an unbidden jolt, nearly betraying him. If he had chanced a glance at Aegon, he would have seen his brother’s mouth agape, struck silent.
Beside Lord Ambrose stood his lady—a woman of such beauty that she seemed almost ethereal in her presence, like some creature of starlight veiled in fine silks. You could have been Lord Ambrose’s granddaughter, and yet here you were, his lawful wife. Aemond’s mind spun.
From what he understood, this aunt of his was five summers younger than his mother, yet you bore not a trace of age. Your beauty held a captivating allure, tempered with a regal composure that only added to your mystique. You appeared no older than five-and-twenty, though your presence held the calm authority of a queen.
"Lord and Lady Ambrose," Aegon declared with a broad grin as he rose from the Iron Throne and descended the dais, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Welcome."
Lord Ambrose, with a thick and lumbering step, inclined his head and spoke in a voice as stout as his frame. “We thank you for your welcome, Your Grace, and pledge our loyalty to the one true king.”
Aegon waved a dismissive hand, barely seeming to heed the man’s words. “Yes, yes, the crown is grateful for your loyalty and your… soldiers,” he said, his tone absent, as though the promise of men-at-arms meant little to him in the face of his aunt.
Then Aegon turned his attention to you, his expression shifting to one of eager charm. He stepped closer and took your hand, lifting it to his lips. "My aunt," he said, his voice thick with pleasure, “it is an honor to finally make your acquaintance.” He kissed your hand, his gaze lingering on you as he released it.
Your lips curled into a slight, knowing smile, your sharp eyes gleaming with a trace of amusement as though you found the entire display mildly amusing. “The honor is mine, my king,” you replied, your voice soft but rich, laced with an elegance and confidence that defied your role as the wife of a lesser lord.
Aemond, standing nearby, felt his pulse quicken at the sound of your voice. It was smooth, sultry, and held an unspoken promise, a warmth that washed over him and stirred something deep within. His gaze lingered on her, captivated, as if drawn to some unnameable force.
Otto cleared his throat, a subtle warning in his gaze as he stepped forward, sensing the direction of Aegon’s attentions. He inclined his head politely. “Lord Ambrose,” he greeted, then turned to the lady beside him, his tone softening. “Daughter.”
Aemond watched with surprise as she stepped away from Lord Ambrose without hesitation, her face alight with joy. “Father!” she exclaimed, her voice warm and bright. She crossed the floor with graceful steps, her skirts sweeping behind her as she embraced her father.
Otto’s usually stoic expression softened, his arms enveloping her with an affection rare to see from the Hand of the King. “How I’ve missed you,” he murmured.
Aemond, along with Aegon and Helaena, exchanged startled glances, astonished by the depth of feeling Otto revealed.
She broke away, casting a radiant smile at Otto before her gaze shifted, and she found Alicent. Aemond watched as his mother’s expression flickered, caught between awkwardness and reluctance, her shoulders tense. But his aunt moved toward her with the same confident warmth. “Sister,” she greeted, wrapping her arms around Alicent in a sincere embrace.
Alicent seemed to steel herself, managing a strained smile as she endured the hug. When they pulled apart, her expression remained stiff as she forced a cordial tone. “Sister,” she said carefully, “you look… as though no time has passed at all.”
The amusement in your eyes deepened, a subtle spark of mischief that curled your lips into a nearly smug smile. “And yet,” you replied, voice gentle but pointed, “it seems that time has left its mark on you."
The words were soft, yet they carried an edge that struck the air between them. Alicent’s face faltered, her polite mask slipping for an instant. Aemond watched the exchange, captivated by the intricate web of tensions and histories unfolding before him. He had thought his mother impervious, yet here she was, visibly discomforted under the gaze of her younger sister.
“Well,” Aegon’s voice broke in, strangely lively, “this calls for a celebration.” He clapped his hands, grinning widely. “A family supper, to welcome Lord… and Lady Ambrose to King’s Landing.” He glanced between his aunt and mother with a glint in his eye, as if relishing the simmering tension.
Aemond glanced toward his aunt, your eyes alight with a confidence that drew him in, entangled with memories he could only guess at. You seemed utterly unperturbed by the uneasy reception, holding yourself with an assurance that only deepened the fascination you stirred within him.
The supper was, in truth, a strained affair. Lord Ambrose quickly drank himself into a state of merriment, his voice growing louder with each goblet of wine he downed. He boasted endlessly of Ambrosia, their ancestral castle in the Reach, extolling the grandeur of its halls, the strength of its walls, and the might of his armies.
It was painfully clear that neither Aegon nor Otto paid him much heed; Aegon’s eyes glazed over with feigned interest, while Otto offered only the occasional nod, his mind elsewhere.
Aegon, however, deftly steered the conversation back to you at every opportunity. “But tell us, Aunt,” he said with a sly smile, “what tales do you bring from the Reach? Surely there are more interesting things than castle stones and soldiers.”
Across the table, Aemond found his brother’s persistent attempts at flirtation grating, yet he could not fault Aegon for giving you the attention. Your voice, like a song in his ear, drew him in each time you spoke, its smooth cadence addictive.
You spoke easily, your words painting scenes of courtly life in the Reach, of feasts and tournaments, your radiant smile outshining your husband’s drunken ramblings. Every eye at the table seemed drawn to you, but none with the quiet intensity of Aemond’s single, focused gaze.
He was captivated by the way you commanded the room, with a poise that cast Lord Ambrose’s bluster into the shadows. And when you looked his way, even for a fleeting moment, he felt as though the world quieted around him.
“And what of you and my mother in your younger days?” Aegon asked, a mischievous, drunken grin on his lips, his words slurring slightly as he leaned forward in his chair.
Alicent shot him a pointed look, her expression tightening as she cleared her throat. “Aegon,” she murmured, her voice gently chastising, “perhaps my sister would appreciate a moment to enjoy her meal.”
But you merely laughed, dismissing her concern with a wave of your hand. “Oh, it’s quite all right, Alicent,” you said warmly. Turning to Aegon, your eyes sparkled with a hint of nostalgia. “You see, in our younger years, your mother could barely stand to be near me.”
Alicent’s discomfort grew visible as she shifted in her seat, her voice soft but strained. “That is not true, sister.”
“Oh, but it is,” you replied with a soft, almost wistful laugh. “Not that I hold it against you, Alicent. I was terribly fond of her then; I looked up to her as one might look to a mother. But every time I tried to spend time with her, she would run off with Princess Rhaenyra, laughing at my expense.”
“Those were mere childish games,” Alicent interjected, her voice taut as she worked to maintain her composure.
“Indeed, they were,” you agreed with an unbothered smile. “Children can be so prone to envy and jealousy. You see,” your tone lightened, yet held a playful undertone as your eyes drifted back to Aegon, “I was often called the ‘Diamond of Oldtown,’ and perhaps such adoration left its mark on dear Alicent.”
The words were spoken with an air of casual jest, yet there was no mistaking the edge beneath them. Aemond watched as Alicent’s mask slipped, her cheeks flushing as she struggled to keep her voice steady. It was clear you were savoring Alicent’s discomfort, a faint glimmer of amusement lighting your eyes as they traveled slowly down the length of the table.
And then, your gaze found him.
“And what of you, dear nephew?” you inquired, your voice as smooth as wine poured in darkened halls. “I’ve heard many tales of you in the Reach.”
Aemond felt his heart thud within his chest, a warmth rising unbidden to his face as he fought to maintain his poise. “Tales of what, Aunt?” he asked, his voice low, striving for calm.
A smile curved upon your lips, one that was as inviting as it was knowing. “A great warrior, fierce and unmatched across the Seven Kingdoms. The rider of Vhagar, queen of all dragons,” you murmured, your words laced with a hint of admiration.
“That’s all, my lady,” Aemond replied softly, his gaze never wavering from yours.
And in return, you tilted your head ever so slightly, an amused glint in your eyes as though you were looking beyond the surface, into the very marrow of him. It was a gaze both alluring and unsettling, one that sent a shiver down his spine.
Before you could speak again, however, your husband’s voice cut through the charged silence. His tone was slurred and irritated, clearly displeased by the lack of attention on him as he clumsily launched into yet another tale of his supposed valor. Aemond noted how you sighed softly, a look of resignation crossing your features as you turned your gaze away from him.
But then, as though unable to resist, your eyes drifted back to Aemond. You held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than propriety allowed and, with a barely concealed smirk, you winked.
Aemond’s heart skipped a beat, his lone eye widening ever so slightly as he blinked, wondering if he had imagined it. He looked back, only to find you now watching your husband with a look of faint distaste, a grimace twisting your otherwise perfect features. It was a small, subtle gesture, but one that spoke volumes, and Aemond felt a surge of something dark and possessive stirring within him.
In that moment, he realized that this supper was not simply an introduction; it was an invitation, a challenge, and a temptation all at once.
These thoughts lingered long after, spiraling in his mind with an intensity he couldn’t quiet. Later, as he passed through the halls, he overheard a quiet murmur from a maid: Lord and Lady Ambrose had chosen to sleep in separate chambers. Aemond’s pulse quickened.
The knowledge seemed a silent invitation, a doorway left just ajar. He recalled the way you had spoken to him, your voice holding layers meant only for him. The look in your eyes—hungry, as though you sought to devour his very soul—left him craving to be consumed by that gaze again. No, this was not his imagination. He was certain of it.
And it was this certainty that drove him through the darkened halls of the Red Keep, slipping past drowsy guards, cloaked in shadow, his steps muffled by the silence of the sleeping castle.
When he reached your door, he eased it open, careful to make no sound, and stepped inside with the stealth of a shadow. Yet he halted at once, caught off guard by the sight that greeted him.
There you sat, reclining on a velvet chaise, a goblet of deep red wine in hand, eyes cast down at a leather-bound book resting in your lap. The faint candlelight painted your skin in warm gold, and your attire—a red nightgown, translucent and clinging to every curve—left little hidden, casting a spell of allure around you.
Aemond’s throat tightened as he took in the sight, the image searing itself into his mind. But the quiet gulp betrayed him, and your gaze lifted, pinning him where he stood.
“Your Highness,” you murmured, your voice laced with a seductive warmth. “What a surprise.” The knowing smile on your lips told him this was no surprise at all.
Feeling the weight of your gaze, he steeled himself, adopting the guise of confidence. “I could not find sleep, my lady,” he replied, his voice steady. “And it would appear you are in the same predicament.”
You set down your goblet and closed the book in your lap, your every movement deliberate. Rising from your seat, you let the robe slide from your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet. “You know,” you murmured, teasingly, “it is most improper for a man to visit a married woman at such an hour.”
Aemond took a step closer, his gaze never leaving you. “But you are my aunt—my family.”
A small, knowing laugh escaped your lips as you slipped past him, your arm brushing his, a soft touch that sent a jolt through him. He closed his eye briefly, savoring the warmth, and when he opened it again, you had moved toward the bed, your smile one of invitation.
“The Targaryens are known for their peculiar customs when it comes to family.” You glanced back at him with an amused, daring gleam in your eye. “Tell me, what is it that you desire?”
He took another step forward, drawn like a moth to flame. “I think you know what I desire.”
“And if I were to say yes,” you purred, sitting upon the edge of the bed, “what would you do?”
He moved closer, his voice low with reverence. “I would do whatever you asked of me.”
Your lips curled, eyes glinting with a barely concealed command. “Then kneel for me,” you whispered.
For a brief moment, his brow furrowed, but any hesitation vanished. He lowered himself to his knees before you, his head tilted upward, gaze reverent. “As you wish, my lady.”
You studied him, a look of satisfaction crossing your face as you gathered your skirts, parting your legs with a languid grace. Tilting your chin, you gave a single, soft nod. “Then go on, my sweet prince,” you murmured, your voice a quiet command, heavy with promise.
He hesitated for a moment, then slowly leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to your inner thigh. His hands came to rest on your hips as he began to place soft kisses along your skin, working his way higher.
When he finally reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, looking up at you, his eye hooded.
"Are you certain about this, Aunt?" Despite his words, his body language betrayed his eagerness - his breathing quickened and his fingers tightened their grip on your hips ever so slightly.
You let out a soft moan as he kissed your thighs, your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on, "Yes I am certain, now continue before I change my mind."
With a low growl, he surged forward, burying his face between your thighs. He wasted no time in finding your sensitive bud with his tongue, flicking and circling it expertly.
One hand slid up to cup your breast through your thin nightgown, kneading the soft flesh as he continued his ministrations below. He alternated between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue, gauging your reactions to find what felt best.
The other hand gripped your hip more firmly, holding you in place as he devoured you like a starving man at a feast. Wet sounds filled the room as he worked tirelessly to bring you pleasure, lost in the taste and scent of your arousal. Your back arched as he licked your cunt, a loud moan escaped your lips, "Oh gods, yes."
Your fingers tightened in his hair, as you bucked your hips against his face, seeking more of his skilled touch, "Yes, feast on me."
Spurred on by your moans and the encouragement in your voice, Aemond redoubled his efforts. He sealed his lips around your bud and sucked hard, his tongue lashing over the sensitive nub in rapid circles.
Two fingers slid deep inside your slick heat, curling to stroke along your inner walls as they thrusted in and out. The obscene wet sounds of his fingers pumping into your dripping core mingled with your increasingly desperate cries of pleasure.
Aemond could feel you tensing and shuddering beneath his touch, teetering on the brink of release. He doubled down, sucking harder and fucking you faster with his fingers, determined to push you over the edge into blissful oblivion.
Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, screaming out in ecstasy as your body shook violently, juices gushing out and soaking his face, "Oh fuck! Aemond!"
You clutched at his head, grinding your cunt against his mouth as you rode out the waves of pleasure, your skin glistening with sweat, "Don't you dare stop until I tell you to!"
Feeling your body quake and spasm around his invading fingers, Aemond drank in every drop of your sweet release, lapping at your pulsing sex greedily. He prolonged your climax with relentless strokes of his tongue, coaxing out every last tremor of pleasure.
Only when your spasms subsided does he finally pull back, his chin dripping with your essence. He gazed up at you with a triumphant, almost feral glint in his eye, his own arousal straining against the confines of his breeches, "Have I pleased you, Aunt?"
"Yes, yes you have," you said breathlessly.
Without a word, he rose to his feet and began to strip off his clothes, revealing a lean, muscular physique honed by years of training. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed with blood, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.
"You have such a pretty cock, nephew," you said, taking in the sight of him, as your hand reached out for his cock.
Aemond's breath hitched as your hand wrapped around his throbbing length, his hips instinctively bucking into the touch. He watched, transfixed, as your fingers traced the ridged veins and delicate skin, marveling at how small yet firm your hand looked compared to his engorged member.
"It's yours," he rasped, his voice strained with need. "Do whatever you want with it."
He stepped closer, pressing the heavy weight of his erection against your palm, the heat of his skin seeping into your touch. Leaning down, he captured your lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue delving deep to tangle with yours as he grinded against you.
You broke the kiss, panting heavily, as you pulled him onto the bed. Then you straddled him, rubbing your dripping cunt along his cock, coating it with your juices, "I've never ridden a dragon before. Tell me, do you want me to claim you?"
Aemond's single eye blazed with lust and something deeper, darker, as he gazed up at you poised above him. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, the muscles flexing beneath his pale skin.
"Yes, Aunt," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Claim me. Make me yours."
His hands came up to grasp your hips, guiding you to position yourself over his straining cock. His head nudged at your entrance, smearing your slickness across it.
"Do it," he urged, his gaze intense and unblinking. "Take me deep."
So slowly you sank down onto his cock, letting out a loud moan as you stretched around his girth. You took him inch by delicious inch until you were fully seated on him, "Fuck, your cock was made for my cunt."
Aemond threw his head back with a guttural groan as you sheathed him completely, your tight heat enveloping his throbbing length. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin as he reveled in the feeling of being utterly filled in you.
"So tight," he panted against your throat.
His hands squeezed your hips, holding you steady as he began to thrust up into you, meeting each downward plunge of your own hips. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your mingled moans of pleasure. And feeling a tinge of frustration, his hands met the top of your nightgown as he pulled hard, ripping it in half completely, making you gasp.
You rode him hard and fast, your breasts bouncing with each powerful thrust. the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mixed with your high pitched moans, "Yes, yes, fuck me harder Aemond!"
Aemond leaned forward, sucking on your breast as if he was a babe desperately seeking milk. He suckled greedily at your breast, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak as he drew the sensitive flesh into his mouth. His hands roamed your curves possessively, one sliding down to grip your ass while the other tweaked and tugged at your neglected nipple.
He met your wild riding with equal fervor, pistoning his hips up to meet your downward thrusts. The force of his movements drove you upward, impaling you again and again on his thick cock. Your cries of ecstasy spurred him on, his own groans of pleasure growing louder and more desperate.
Suddenly, he flipped you over onto your back, looming over you with a predatory gleam in his eye. He pinned your wrists above your head, holding you captive as he pounded into you with renewed vigor, the new angle allowing him to penetrate even deeper.
You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, locking him in place as you grinded your hips upwards to match his frenzied pace. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you clung to him, urging him on, "Fuck! Right there!"
Aemond let go of your wrists, leaning down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss as he continued to ravage your cunt. He swallowed all your screams and moans, relishing in the taste and feel of you.
"Cum in me aemond! Fill me with your seed!" You screamed into his mouth as another orgasm ripped through you.
The sensation of your inner walls clenching and rippling around him sent Aemond careening over the edge. With a hoarse shout, he buried himself to the hilt and erupted, his hot seed flooding your womb in powerful jets.
"Ahh, gods," he gasped, his body shuddering with the intensity of his climax. He continued to pulse and twitch within you, ensuring every drop is deposited deep inside your welcoming heat.
As the aftershocks subsided, Aemond collapsed onto you, his weight a comforting press against your satiated form. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath coming in ragged pants as he struggled to regain his composure.
"That was...incredible," he murmured, his voice low and husky with satisfaction. “You are truly remarkable.”
You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, reveling in the warmth of his body against yours as you both sought to catch your breath. A delicate shiver coursed through you, remnants of your shared ecstasy still fluttering within.
“There, there,” you purred softly, running your fingers through his silken hair, enjoying the feel of his softness against your skin. Aemond lay on your chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck, the intoxicating scent of you mingling with the fading heat of your shared intimacy.
Once Aemond had calmed his breathing, he lifted his head to meet your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue dancing with yours in a fervent exploration, igniting a spark that flickered between you. His hand traveled down your body, the warmth of his touch setting your skin alight.
When his hand paused on your stomach, he broke the kiss, a frown creasing his brow as curiosity flickered in his violet eye. It was well known that you had been wed to Lord Ambrose for fifteen years without bearing a child. Whispers of your barrenness had circulated through the halls of the Red Keep, and Aemond could not suppress the question that hung in the air between you.
"Is it true you are barren?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.
You regarded him with a playful smirk, the corners of your lips lifting. “No,” you murmured softly, your fingers gently caressing his long silver hair.
There was amusement in your voice, and as you laughed lightly, the sound was like music in the dimly lit chamber. “Do you truly think I had ever wished to be filled with a child by that fat cunt?”
Aemond’s single violet eye widened in surprise at your boldness. You continued, your tone shifting to one of quiet confidence. “Each time I’ve lain with him, I’ve taken moon tea the morning after.”
You leaned closer, your hand reaching out to caress his cheek with a gentle, deliberate stroke. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, igniting a spark that sent a wave of absolute pleasure down Aemond's spine. “Yet I don’t think I’d mind bearing your child.”
The very thought of your bearing his child sent shivers of exhilaration coursing through him. The idea that at this very moment, his seed might have taken root within you filled him with a sense of possessiveness that was both intoxicating and primal. In that instant, it became clear: you were his, and he was yours, bound together by an unspoken promise.
Aemond’s mind raced with possibilities. He would need to find a way to rid you of Lord Ambrose, but that task seemed deceptively simple in the face of what awaited him. Once the obstacle was removed, he would claim you as his wife, securing a future that felt destined.
You were made for him, and in his heart, he knew you had been waiting all this time—patiently, silently—for him to come to you.
Our boy Aemond is he gonna turn for our baby Mikaelson? ❤️✨
girrlllll chileeee, you're getting too ahead of the story😝
His Lady Love (11)
pairing | aemond x vampire!mikaelson!reader
taglist | to be added to the tag list just add your username to this DOC
word count | 5.5k words
summary | you finally reveal the truth of your existence to Aemond and Helaena, sharing the painful memories of your immortal life as the youngest mikaelson sibling and original vampire. Through tears and anguish, you expose your family's curse—eternal life without hope—and the deep scars it has left on your soul, as you recount memories of betrayal, loss, and survival..
tags | ANGST, ANGST, oh and more ANGST. klaus mikaelson??? violent death, blood and gore, lowkey mental and emotional abuse, subtle depression.
note | actually kind of love this chapter, I just love writing klaus in general. he's just so interesting, but I do think he's too overrated and done some really horrific things but people overlook that because of his charismatic and charming personality
likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨
𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫
Aemond’s patience was a testament to the gravity of the moment, granting you the decency of privacy as you prepared to bare your soul. He remained in your solar, yet, even in the solace of solitude, you found yourself stalling, prolonging the inevitable.
You sank into the warmth of the bath, the fragrant water enveloping you like a gentle embrace. Each splash seemed to wash away not just the grime of the day before but the weight of your secrets, if only for a fleeting moment.
Emerging from the bath, you took your time, each gesture deliberate, each action a shield to stave off what awaited. You braided your hair intricately, each twist and weave a quiet reflection of the centuries that had passed, and you chose a gown—simple, yet elegant.
You stood before the mirror, your fingers trembling as they traced the delicate embroidery of the white gown that fell gracefully over your form. It was simple yet beautiful, much like the veneer you had worn for centuries. The gown’s gold embroidery caught the flickering sunlight, glimmering like the sun.
With a deep breath, you clasped the necklace around your neck, the Mikaelson emblem resting between your breasts like a lingering reminder of your lineage and the power that came with it.
Finally, with resolve steadying your heart, you pushed open the door to your solar. The scent of Aemond lingered in the air—earthy, faintly reminiscent of the dragonrider’s presence, grounding and yet intoxicating.
There he stood, framed by the soft, dappled sunlight that filtered through the window, his silhouette carved sharply against the room’s shadows. His one eye, always so piercing, was fixed on you—curiosity flickering within the cool violet depths, but also something darker, apprehension, perhaps even doubt.
“Are you ready?” His voice was low, steady, though an undercurrent of urgency rippled through it, enough to set your heart racing.
You swallowed, nodded, and then hesitated, your gaze shifting away from his for a brief moment before returning to him. "Helaena... she needs to be present as well."
Aemond’s brow furrowed, confusion lining his features as he studied your expression. “Why?” he asked, his voice measured but edged with impatience.
You let out a soft sigh, pursing your lips as you answered, “She’s already seen... *what* I am. Or at least, part of it.” You took a steadying breath. "When I killed those men to save Jaehaerys. She saw me—saw what I can become. She just doesn’t know the whole truth yet."
Aemond’s gaze darkened with understanding, though there was a glint of surprise in his eye. “And she just reacted to that without fear?” he asked, voice tinged with disbelief, though he kept it soft.
You shrugged, feeling the weight of the awkwardness that had settled between the two of you ever since you revealed your true nature. Every interaction since then seemed unnatural, almost fragile.
"I suppose it was the shock of almost losing Jaehaerys," you admitted. "She was too focused on him to question anything else. But now... I owe her the truth as well."
Aemond let out another sigh, his gaze distant as if struggling with words left unspoken. You turned your face away, uncertainty swirling in your chest. But then, to your absolute surprise, his hand reached out to you, a gesture that felt both unexpected and intimate.
Without hesitation, you accepted it, your fingers intertwining with his, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His grip was firm, steady, grounding you in the moment as he began to lead you out of your chambers.
You followed without question, walking silently beside him, the gravity of what was to come weighing heavy between you.
He led you through the winding halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, his steps purposeful as the weight of the upcoming confrontation hung in the air. Finally, you reached the Queen's chambers.
Inside, you immediately caught sight of Alicent and Helaena seated together, quietly conversing on a chaise. The soft murmur of their conversation died the moment you and Aemond crossed the threshold.
Alicent’s sharp, perceptive gaze shifted to Aemond first, a flicker of suspicion and curiosity passing across her features. You could see the unease in her eyes, sensing that something important was amiss.
Aemond, however, made no effort to meet his mother's gaze, deliberately avoiding her presence as though she weren’t there. His silence spoke volumes, but Alicent’s focus quickly shifted to you.
Her brown eyes softened, and with a graceful rise from her seat, she approached you. Aemond's hand slipped from yours as you stepped forward to greet her.
"Queen Mother," you greeted, bowing your head slightly, unsure of how this moment would unfold.
To your surprise, Alicent did not remain distant or reserved. Instead, she moved swiftly toward you, wrapping you in a tight, unexpected embrace.
Her arms felt warm, maternal, and for a brief moment, the weight of your secrets and the danger surrounding you seemed to dissipate in the warmth of her embrace. She leaned in, her voice a soft whisper in your ear.
"I am so glad you are safe, sweet girl," she murmured, her tone filled with genuine relief. "The crown offers its deepest gratitude for returning Jaehaerys to us, alive and unharmed."
Her words stirred something deep within you—gratitude, perhaps, or the unfamiliar comfort of being seen as more than just what you were. You stiffened slightly in her embrace, though part of you longed to melt into it.
"Thank you, Your Grace," you whispered, your voice faltering as the emotions of the moment swirled around you. Alicent’s embrace felt almost too warm, too human, for someone like you—a creature cursed with an eternity of isolation.
But the sound of a throat clearing broke the brief moment of tenderness. You and Alicent quickly parted, your attention drawn to Aemond, whose eye was fixed on you with a simmering impatience. He stood tall, his presence commanding and unyielding, barely sparing his mother a glance.
"Mother," Aemond said, his voice cutting through the air like the blade of Dark Sister itself, "I need to speak with the Queen in private."
Alicent’s brow furrowed at his words, the slight tension between mother and son palpable. She opened her mouth, perhaps to question or protest, but something in Aemond’s gaze silenced her.
He was resolved, and Alicent, wise enough not to provoke him further, merely pressed her lips into a thin line. Her gaze shifted between you, Helaena, and Aemond, weighing the gravity of the situation, before she nodded, albeit reluctantly.
"Of course, Aemond," Alicent finally said, her voice gentle but tinged with concern. She gave you one final look—filled with questions she would not yet ask—before turning to leave.
She paused only briefly by Helaena’s side, offering her daughter a reassuring touch, then swept from the room, her presence lingering even after the door had closed behind her.
The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with unspoken words. Aemond, still standing with that unyielding presence, took a step closer, the intensity in his gaze impossible to ignore.
Helaena’s gaze, usually serene and distant, was now clouded with confusion. She glanced between you and Aemond, sensing that the weight of what you were about to reveal was far greater than she’d anticipated. Yet, she remained silent, waiting, her hands folded neatly in her lap, as if bracing herself for the truth.
Aemond’s presence, on the other hand, was far more commanding. He stood tall, casting a sharp glance at the maids and ladies in waiting, who quickly scurried out of the room under the silent weight of his glare.
It was only when the door closed behind them, leaving just the three of you in the chamber, that the tension in the room thickened.
You swallowed, steadying yourself before speaking. "Helaena," you began, your voice calm but edged with the gravity of the moment, "do you remember the night I left with Jaehaerys?"
Her delicate features twisted slightly as she recalled the night in question, a memory clearly etched into her heart. Her voice, usually soft and melodic, was now laced with sorrow. "You saved my children… from the rats."
Rats. That was how she had chosen to remember Blood and Cheese—the two men who had threatened her family’s life. A kinder word for the monsters they truly were.
"Do you remember how?" you asked carefully, watching her reaction, feeling the weight of Aemond's unwavering gaze on you.
Helaena frowned as she spoke again, her words as innocent as they were brutal. "You tore the first man’s throat with your teeth… and you commanded the other to stab himself."
The room grew colder with the silence that followed. Aemond’s eye had darkened, his expression a mix of astonishment and curiosity. You could feel him piecing together what had happened, what you had kept from him for so long.
You nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth of Helaena's words. "Yes," you confirmed, your voice barely above a whisper. "That was me. What you saw… was only a glimpse of what I truly am."
Helaena blinked, her gaze softening with understanding, though confusion still lingered in her eyes. "But how?" she whispered, her voice shaking slightly.
You turned your attention to Aemond then, meeting his gaze directly, feeling the intensity of his scrutiny. His silence was louder than words, and his curiosity sharper than any blade.
"In the beginning, our family was human, five centuries ago now," you began, your voice steady despite the tremor running through your heart.
"Though our mother dabbled in the dark arts, we were mostly a family like any other, trying to survive in a time when survival was far from guaranteed." A faint smile ghosted your lips, though it did not reach your eyes. "And for a time, we were happy."
A heavy silence fell over the room as you turned away from Helaena and Aemond, your gaze drifting to the shadows cast by the flickering sunlight. Helaena rested on her chaise, her eyes wide with curiosity, while Aemond remained at the center of the room, his stance rigid, every muscle poised in anticipation.
"But that happiness," you continued, your tone darkening, "was shattered one night. My younger brother, Hendrik, was killed. Slain by the very creatures who ruled our village’s nights—men who could transform into wolves under the full moon."
Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly, his attention sharp, but he did not speak. Helaena, sitting quietly, clutched her hands together, her gaze never leaving you as you spoke.
"Our family was devastated," you said, your voice cracking as you recalled the memory of your brother’s death. "You see, before I was even born, my parents had already known such pain. They had lost their first daughter, Freya, to a fever one harsh winter. My mother, shattered by grief, vowed she would never lose another child. So, when Hendrik was taken from us, our father forced her to act. He demanded she call upon the darkest of magics to protect us from ever falling prey again."
You paused, letting the weight of those words sink in. "Thus, the first vampires were born," you whispered. "But with this strength, this speed, this immortality, came a curse. A hunger."
"A hunger for what?" Helaena’s voice was soft, laced with the innocent curiosity she often carried, though now tinged with something darker—fear.
You met her gaze, your own eyes hard with the truth you could no longer conceal. "For blood," you answered, the word hanging in the air like a blade waiting to fall.
"We do not require food or water, those are indulgences. Pleasures we once took for granted, now rendered meaningless. What we need to sustain ourselves… is blood. Without it, we wither. We decay, like corpses left to rot in the ground."
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Helaena’s face paled, her fingers trembling slightly as she absorbed your words. Aemond’s expression remained unreadable, though the flicker in his eye betrayed the internal storm he was wrestling with.
You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to continue, knowing that this truth was just the beginning. "The blood lust consumes us if we let it. My family, we learned how to control it, how to live among humans without succumbing to the beast within. But it is always there, lurking beneath the surface."
The silence in the room felt suffocating, pressing down on you like a weight too heavy to bear. Desperate to break the tension, you spoke before your thoughts could catch up to your words. "I could show you," you blurted out, your voice barely above a whisper.
Aemond blinked, his singular eye narrowing in intrigue as he stepped closer, his presence commanding. "Show us? How?" His tone was measured, but you could hear the underlying curiosity—perhaps even a touch of suspicion.
"Through my memories," you replied softly. "One of my many gifts." You could feel the energy pulsing in your fingertips as you spoke, the ancient magic within you stirring. "It’s the only way for you to truly understand." You gestured for him to take a seat beside Helaena, who looked between the two of you with wide, expectant eyes.
Aemond hesitated for only a moment before following your instruction, settling beside his sister. His sharp gaze never left you, as if he was weighing every move you made, every word you spoke.
You stood before them, inhaling deeply as you focused your mind, your fingers lightly brushing their temples. The magic flowed, ancient and powerful, as you called upon the memory you intended to share.
The scene that unfolded was vivid, like stepping into a dream. The air was filled with laughter and song, the night lit by the glow of bonfires and candles as your village celebrated one of its strange but joyous holidays.
You had been so naïve then, your heart unburdened, the grief of Hendrik's death momentarily forgotten. You could feel the warmth of the night, the joy in the air as you twirled around the fire, Finn’s laughter ringing out as he spun you in a carefree dance.
The memory shifted—your joy dimming as you realized how late it had grown. You had stayed out far past your curfew, long after your family had returned home.
Panic clawed at your chest as you hurried through the darkened streets, the vibrant festival fading behind you as you made your way toward your family’s hut. The village that had felt so alive only moments before now seemed eerily quiet, shadows stretching long across the ground.
You moved without caution, without thought, only the mounting dread driving you forward as you rushed into the hut. What you saw froze your blood in your veins—a massacre.
You guided Aemond and Helaena deeper into the memory, forcing them to see, to feel what you had felt. The dread, the growing realization that something was terribly wrong.
You could feel Aemond stiffen beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away, his curiosity holding him still. Helaena’s breath quickened, her hand instinctively reaching for your wrist as the memory unfolded.
Everywhere you looked, blood painted the walls and floors, the very scent of it thick and suffocating. The bodies of your siblings lay strewn about, lifeless, their blood seeping into the ground. A scream tore from your throat, raw and filled with the kind of anguish only centuries could numb.
Your eyes immediately found Niklaus, lying in a pool of his own blood. His eyes were closed, and a deep wound marred his chest. You dropped to your knees beside him, shaking his shoulders, your hands slipping against his blood-soaked skin. "Niklaus, wake up!" you sobbed, desperate, unwilling to accept what your eyes were telling you.
But Niklaus didn’t stir. None of them did. Elijah, Rebekah, Finn, Kol—they all lay broken and still.
More cries racked your body, your voice hoarse from screaming as you knelt among the fallen, each heartbeat filling you with an unbearable grief. Then, a sound from behind—a voice, cold and venomous, cutting through the chaos like a blade.
"You know not how long I've waited for this moment."
Your blood ran colder than before. Slowly, you turned, your heart pounding as your gaze fell upon the figure in the doorway. Your father, Mikael, stood bathed in the blood of his children, his face twisted in cruel satisfaction. His sword dripped with the very essence of your kin, your family.
Before you could even draw breath, his sword flashed, and a sharp, searing pain pierced your chest. You gasped, a choked sound escaping your lips as you stumbled back, the life draining from you.
Your knees buckled beneath you as you collapsed beside Niklaus, your body growing cold. The strength seeped from your limbs as darkness edged in from the corners of your vision.
Mikael’s cold gaze remained fixed on you, watching as your life slipped away. Your final breath left your lips in a shudder, your hand still reaching for Niklaus, but he remained still.
The memory surged forth, a vivid nightmare that felt all too close, even after all the years that had passed. It was a dark night, mere weeks since your transformation, and chaos reigned in the village.
The villagers, fueled by fear and anger, sought to rid themselves of you and your siblings after the bloodshed that had followed your awakening—a bloodlust you had barely begun to comprehend.
Finn and Kol had already made their escape. Finn’s voice had been urgent, his grip firm on your arm as he implored you to join him.
But you had begged him to stay, to help your family escape together. Yet his resolve had faltered, and he had slipped away into the night, leaving you behind in a whirlwind of dread and desperation.
Elijah and Rebekah were frantically packing the remnants of their lives, their expressions strained with urgency. You could feel the weight of fear suffocating the air around you, a heavy tension that made your heart race.
The deep-seated hatred your father held for you and Niklaus loomed over you like a storm cloud, threatening to break at any moment. It was a hatred that could ignite into violence without warning, and you knew it.
Your heart raced as you realized it was up to Niklaus to persuade your mother to flee with you. You paced, the flickering fire casting shadows that danced on the ground, mirroring the turmoil within you.
Then, at last, Niklaus entered your line of sight. He stepped through the trees, and the world around you came to a halt. There was something unsettling about him; his usual bravado was replaced by an unsettling vulnerability. His hands trembled slightly, fingers clenched at his sides as though they held the weight of the world.
"Niklaus," you asked, worry knotting in your stomach as you approached him, gently cupping his hands in yours. "What’s happened? Where’s Mother?"
His terrified blue eyes met yours, glistening with unshed tears. He shook his head, and dread filled the air between you. "She’s dead."
Time seemed to freeze, the world around you fading into a blur. You blinked, disbelief clouding your mind. "What?"
"I—" He swallowed hard, anguish etched on his features. "Father—he—he killed her."
The words crashed over you like a wave, cold and suffocating. Tears welled in your eyes as the harsh reality settled into your bones. "No. No! This can’t be!"
You turned away, desperation flooding your veins as you intended to return home, to your mother. But before you could move, Niklaus’s arms encircled your waist, holding you tightly against his chest. "You cannot go back!"
"Let me go, Niklaus!" you yelled, anguish spilling forth in choked sobs. "Mama! Mama!"
The name echoed in the forest, each cry a plea, each scream an invocation. You expected her to appear, to sweep you up into her embrace and assure you that everything would be alright. But the silence that followed was deafening, a stark reminder of the void she left behind.
You broke down in Niklaus's arms, the weight of your grief crashing over you like a tide. He held you tight, rocking you gently as if you were still a child. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the ache in your heart and the overwhelming emptiness that threatened to swallow you whole.
"A glooming peace this morning brings; the sun, for sorrow, will not show his head," you recited softly, your voice echoing in the dim light of the crypt. The words from the latest play felt heavier in the air, reflecting the turmoil that had once engulfed England.
"Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; some shall be pardoned, and some punished. For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo."
Your gaze drifted down to Finn, lying in that same accursed casket, the familiar silver dagger lodged deep in his chest. Time had moved on, and yet here you were, five hundred years later, still shackled by the past.
Your family had relocated to Denmark, leaving the ruins of England behind, but the pain of loss clung to you like a shroud. Finn remained as he was, forever caught in that moment, forever untouched by the passing centuries.
Elijah had gifted you the latest work from an emerging playwright, a man named William Shakespeare, with the hope that it would bring you some joy.
You had thought it fitting to share the story with Finn while he lay in eternal slumber, believing that perhaps the beauty of words might bridge the chasm between the living and the dead.
As you reached the poignant conclusion, tears brimmed in your eyes, the heart-wrenching tale resonating within your very soul.
You closed the book gently, feeling the weight of both grief and longing. Your heart ached not just for the characters but for the brother you had lost to a fate more cruel than death.
“That was quite sad, was it not?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked at Finn's serene face, still and undisturbed. "Even in the depths of darkness, love remains, yet it always seems to come at a terrible cost."
You ran your fingers gently over the spine of the book, as if the words could somehow transcend the veil of death and reach him. “I wish you were awake to truly enjoy this story with me,” you murmured, your voice barely breaking the silence of the mausoleum.
A sudden idea ignited in your mind, flickering like a candle in the dark. When you and your family had moved to a sprawling mansion in the lush countryside of Denmark, you had insisted on a grand mausoleum to be built for Finn.
It was a sanctuary for you and a place where Finn could rest peacefully, far removed from the grim dungeons of England that Niklaus had left him in.
Your gaze wandered to the entrance of the crypt, the heavy stone door that concealed the world outside. Then your eyes fell on the dagger lodged in Finn’s heart, its silver glinting in the dim light.
Perhaps? If only for a fleeting moment? The thought pulsed through you like a heartbeat, urging you onward.
As your hands glided over the hard wood of his coffin, they trailed down to Finn’s body, gently caressing his dark hair. You could almost feel the warmth of him again, a reminder of the brother you had lost.
Your heart raced, anticipation mingled with trepidation, as you finally wrapped your fingers around the silver dagger.
In that heartbeat, you paused, caught in the gravity of your decision. Then, with a deep breath, you began to pull it from his chest, the air heavy with unspoken consequences.
“What are you doing!”
The sharp voice sliced through the quiet, causing your hand to jerk away from the dagger and fly to your heart. You turned to find Niklaus standing in the doorway, a gift box clutched in his hands, yet his expression was thunderous, dark clouds gathering in his stormy blue eyes.
You shook your head rapidly, feeling your hands tremble with uncertainty. “Nothing, Nik, I promise.”
In the blink of an eye, Niklaus was in front of you, his speed making him appear like a shadow, silent and swift. The gift he had been holding now lay discarded on the cold stone floor.
His grip tightened around your arms, painfully firm, causing a pained whisper to escape your lips. His gaze bore into yours, filled with a tempest of betrayal and fury as he hissed, “Do not lie to me, sister.”
The weight of his anger made your heart race, and you winced as tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the sight of his hardened expression.
“I-I just thought Finn had been asleep long enough,” you stammered, your voice trembling, trying to explain while knowing there was no real justification that would soothe him.
His grip only tightened, his eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity. “So you betray me like this?” The raw accusation in his tone stung worse than his hold on you.
“No, Nik, never,” you whimpered, your voice fragile as you shook your head again. “Please, you're hurting me.”
But Niklaus seemed deaf to your plea, his rage drowning out your words. His grip tightened even more, and his voice rose with a venomous edge. “You forget he is daggered because of you! I did this for you!"
“I know, Nik,” you murmured softly, wincing as the pain in your arms deepened, both from his hold and the weight of his words.
“After everything I’ve done for you,” Niklaus bellowed, his frustration clear as his voice echoed through the room, “Why can you not see that Finn would never do the same? He would never go to such lengths to keep you safe!”
Tears spilled freely from your eyes as you turned your gaze away from him, the overwhelming guilt pressing down on your chest. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking under the strain of his fury.
His words pierced through you like a dagger, each one sharp with betrayal and hurt. “I’ve protected you,” he continued, his voice cracking with emotion, “I’ve killed for you, sacrificed everything, and still, you go behind my back!”
Sobs overtook you, your entire body trembling as the weight of his anger and your guilt suffocated you. “Niklaus, please,” you begged, your voice barely a whisper, your heart aching with the knowledge of how deeply you had wounded him.
At that moment, his rage faltered, and his piercing gaze locked onto yours. The room seemed to still as his next words fell like a chilling curse, low and filled with a cruel finality. “I should put a dagger in your heart.”
A sob tore from your throat as you shook your head, pleading with silent desperation. Just as you thought his fury would turn violent, the tension snapped.
Niklaus was suddenly knocked aside, and you found yourself enveloped in warm, protective arms. Elijah. His presence was steadying, his voice calm but commanding as he faced his volatile brother. “Niklaus! You are scaring her.”
“She should be scared!" Niklaus roared, pointing an accusing finger toward you, his fury still burning brightly. You buried your face deeper into Elijah's chest, seeking refuge from the storm that was your brother’s wrath. “Does she not understand? If Finn were awake, we’d have been put down by Mikael long ago!”
Tears streamed down your face as you clung to Elijah, your voice breaking under the weight of your guilt. "I'm sorry, Nik. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t—”
Niklaus’ breathing was ragged, his rage simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to explode. But Elijah remained calm, his hold on you firm.
“Niklaus, leave,” Elijah said, his voice quiet yet authoritative, leaving no room for argument.
Niklaus inhaled sharply, his gaze flickering between you and Elijah, his anger barely contained. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous murmur. “You forget yourself, sister.”
His words cut deep, filled with cold warning. “Finn remains daggered for a reason. Do not mistake my love for you as permission to defy me.”
With that, he stormed out, his presence leaving a void as heavy as the tension still lingering in the air. The silence that followed was suffocating, and in its wake, your emotions broke free.
You collapsed into Elijah’s arms, your sobs shaking your body, the words tumbling from your lips in a fevered rush. “I didn’t mean to, Elijah. I swear, I didn’t mean to. Please, don't let him dagger me.”
Elijah held you close, his touch gentle as he caressed your head, whispering soothingly into your ear. “I won't, sweet sister,” he murmured, his voice a balm to your frightened heart. “I give you my word.”
The next morning, you woke with a dull ache in your chest, the familiar weight of sadness pressing down on you like an old wound that never healed.
The grand four-poster bed, with its silk curtains and velvet drapes, felt like a prison—beautiful, but suffocating. You turned over, pulling the heavy covers tighter around yourself, but the pain lingered, gnawing at your heart.
It always ached. That deep, unshakable sorrow had taken root long ago, twisting itself around your soul. You wondered, in those quiet, lonely moments, if you were going mad.
The only thing tethering you to sanity, to something real, was Elijah—his steady presence, his unwavering devotion. Without him, you feared you might fall apart completely.
As you shifted, your gaze caught something on the edge of the bed that made your breath catch in your throat. There, resting on the quilt, was the same gift box Niklaus had held the night before. Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, bringing it onto your lap as if it might break or vanish in your hands.
The lid opened with a soft creak, revealing a small, velvet jewelry case. Your heart stuttered as you lifted the lid, and tears welled in your eyes. Inside was a simple silver pendant, its surface gleaming faintly in the morning light. Encrusted in the center was an ornate "M" for Mikaelson.
Niklaus always did this. After the rage, after the terrifying outbursts, after he screamed at you and made you feel small—he would leave an apology gift, never speaking a word of the pain he caused.
It was his way. He never asked for forgiveness. He just assumed you would give it, time and time again.
And you did.
Every single time.
Your fingers trembled as you lifted the pendant from the case, letting the cool metal slide through your hands. With a resigned sigh, you fastened it around your neck, the chain resting against your skin like a silent promise. It was beautiful, yes, but it was also a reminder of the cycle you could never escape.
As the pendant settled against your chest, you wiped away the tears that threatened to spill over, whispering to yourself, “He did not mean it.” You had said it so many times before, hoping that if you repeated it enough, you might actually believe it.
But deep down, you knew the truth.
Niklaus loved you. In his own broken, twisted way, he loved you and your siblings more than anything. But his love was a storm—wild, uncontrollable, and dangerous. And every time you forgave him, you found yourself standing in the eye of that storm, waiting for it to rage again.
Slowly, you pulled yourself back to the present, forcing Helaena and Aemond from the depths of your memories as you stepped away. Your breath came in ragged gasps, and your trembling hands wiped the dampness from your cheeks. You had lived lifetimes hiding this pain, but tonight it had clawed its way out.
Helaena’s face was pale, her own tears mirroring yours. She trembled, wide-eyed, as if the weight of your confession threatened to break her. And Aemond... Aemond’s single eye bore into you with a mix of disbelief and something deeper, something far more devastating.
He stared at you as if you were a ghost, a shadow of the person he thought he knew. For the first time, it seemed, he truly saw you—broken and damaged in ways that not even centuries could mend.
You forced a tight, bitter smile, the words catching in your throat as you truly introduced yourself, "I am the youngest child of the original witch, Esther Mikaelson. My siblings and I are the first of our kind—vampires born from blood and magic. We are the strongest creatures in this world, and yet..." Your voice wavered, betraying the sorrow that clung to every word, "we are damaged beyond repair."
You looked between them, your eyes hollow, carrying the weight of endless centuries of pain. "We live without hope, but we will never die. We are the definition of 'cursed'."
The room fell silent, a heavy, oppressive stillness that mirrored the truth of your existence. You swallowed hard, repeating the words that had once been a promise but had long since turned to chains, the mantra that bound you and your siblings to each other.
asgshdhfjjfjfjdjdh holy shit it's just too good. it's delicious. it's perfect. the way i was actually tearing up. the emotions. the angst. how am i even supposed to go on with my day after this
Our boy Aemond is he gonna turn for our baby Mikaelson? ❤️✨
girrlllll chileeee, you're getting too ahead of the story😝
His Lady Love (11)
pairing | aemond x vampire!mikaelson!reader
taglist | to be added to the tag list just add your username to this DOC
word count | 5.5k words
summary | you finally reveal the truth of your existence to Aemond and Helaena, sharing the painful memories of your immortal life as the youngest mikaelson sibling and original vampire. Through tears and anguish, you expose your family's curse—eternal life without hope—and the deep scars it has left on your soul, as you recount memories of betrayal, loss, and survival..
tags | ANGST, ANGST, oh and more ANGST. klaus mikaelson??? violent death, blood and gore, lowkey mental and emotional abuse, subtle depression.
note | actually kind of love this chapter, I just love writing klaus in general. he's just so interesting, but I do think he's too overrated and done some really horrific things but people overlook that because of his charismatic and charming personality
likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨
𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫
Aemond’s patience was a testament to the gravity of the moment, granting you the decency of privacy as you prepared to bare your soul. He remained in your solar, yet, even in the solace of solitude, you found yourself stalling, prolonging the inevitable.
You sank into the warmth of the bath, the fragrant water enveloping you like a gentle embrace. Each splash seemed to wash away not just the grime of the day before but the weight of your secrets, if only for a fleeting moment.
Emerging from the bath, you took your time, each gesture deliberate, each action a shield to stave off what awaited. You braided your hair intricately, each twist and weave a quiet reflection of the centuries that had passed, and you chose a gown—simple, yet elegant.
You stood before the mirror, your fingers trembling as they traced the delicate embroidery of the white gown that fell gracefully over your form. It was simple yet beautiful, much like the veneer you had worn for centuries. The gown’s gold embroidery caught the flickering sunlight, glimmering like the sun.
With a deep breath, you clasped the necklace around your neck, the Mikaelson emblem resting between your breasts like a lingering reminder of your lineage and the power that came with it.
Finally, with resolve steadying your heart, you pushed open the door to your solar. The scent of Aemond lingered in the air—earthy, faintly reminiscent of the dragonrider’s presence, grounding and yet intoxicating.
There he stood, framed by the soft, dappled sunlight that filtered through the window, his silhouette carved sharply against the room’s shadows. His one eye, always so piercing, was fixed on you—curiosity flickering within the cool violet depths, but also something darker, apprehension, perhaps even doubt.
“Are you ready?” His voice was low, steady, though an undercurrent of urgency rippled through it, enough to set your heart racing.
You swallowed, nodded, and then hesitated, your gaze shifting away from his for a brief moment before returning to him. "Helaena... she needs to be present as well."
Aemond’s brow furrowed, confusion lining his features as he studied your expression. “Why?” he asked, his voice measured but edged with impatience.
You let out a soft sigh, pursing your lips as you answered, “She’s already seen... *what* I am. Or at least, part of it.” You took a steadying breath. "When I killed those men to save Jaehaerys. She saw me—saw what I can become. She just doesn’t know the whole truth yet."
Aemond’s gaze darkened with understanding, though there was a glint of surprise in his eye. “And she just reacted to that without fear?” he asked, voice tinged with disbelief, though he kept it soft.
You shrugged, feeling the weight of the awkwardness that had settled between the two of you ever since you revealed your true nature. Every interaction since then seemed unnatural, almost fragile.
"I suppose it was the shock of almost losing Jaehaerys," you admitted. "She was too focused on him to question anything else. But now... I owe her the truth as well."
Aemond let out another sigh, his gaze distant as if struggling with words left unspoken. You turned your face away, uncertainty swirling in your chest. But then, to your absolute surprise, his hand reached out to you, a gesture that felt both unexpected and intimate.
Without hesitation, you accepted it, your fingers intertwining with his, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His grip was firm, steady, grounding you in the moment as he began to lead you out of your chambers.
You followed without question, walking silently beside him, the gravity of what was to come weighing heavy between you.
He led you through the winding halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, his steps purposeful as the weight of the upcoming confrontation hung in the air. Finally, you reached the Queen's chambers.
Inside, you immediately caught sight of Alicent and Helaena seated together, quietly conversing on a chaise. The soft murmur of their conversation died the moment you and Aemond crossed the threshold.
Alicent’s sharp, perceptive gaze shifted to Aemond first, a flicker of suspicion and curiosity passing across her features. You could see the unease in her eyes, sensing that something important was amiss.
Aemond, however, made no effort to meet his mother's gaze, deliberately avoiding her presence as though she weren’t there. His silence spoke volumes, but Alicent’s focus quickly shifted to you.
Her brown eyes softened, and with a graceful rise from her seat, she approached you. Aemond's hand slipped from yours as you stepped forward to greet her.
"Queen Mother," you greeted, bowing your head slightly, unsure of how this moment would unfold.
To your surprise, Alicent did not remain distant or reserved. Instead, she moved swiftly toward you, wrapping you in a tight, unexpected embrace.
Her arms felt warm, maternal, and for a brief moment, the weight of your secrets and the danger surrounding you seemed to dissipate in the warmth of her embrace. She leaned in, her voice a soft whisper in your ear.
"I am so glad you are safe, sweet girl," she murmured, her tone filled with genuine relief. "The crown offers its deepest gratitude for returning Jaehaerys to us, alive and unharmed."
Her words stirred something deep within you—gratitude, perhaps, or the unfamiliar comfort of being seen as more than just what you were. You stiffened slightly in her embrace, though part of you longed to melt into it.
"Thank you, Your Grace," you whispered, your voice faltering as the emotions of the moment swirled around you. Alicent’s embrace felt almost too warm, too human, for someone like you—a creature cursed with an eternity of isolation.
But the sound of a throat clearing broke the brief moment of tenderness. You and Alicent quickly parted, your attention drawn to Aemond, whose eye was fixed on you with a simmering impatience. He stood tall, his presence commanding and unyielding, barely sparing his mother a glance.
"Mother," Aemond said, his voice cutting through the air like the blade of Dark Sister itself, "I need to speak with the Queen in private."
Alicent’s brow furrowed at his words, the slight tension between mother and son palpable. She opened her mouth, perhaps to question or protest, but something in Aemond’s gaze silenced her.
He was resolved, and Alicent, wise enough not to provoke him further, merely pressed her lips into a thin line. Her gaze shifted between you, Helaena, and Aemond, weighing the gravity of the situation, before she nodded, albeit reluctantly.
"Of course, Aemond," Alicent finally said, her voice gentle but tinged with concern. She gave you one final look—filled with questions she would not yet ask—before turning to leave.
She paused only briefly by Helaena’s side, offering her daughter a reassuring touch, then swept from the room, her presence lingering even after the door had closed behind her.
The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with unspoken words. Aemond, still standing with that unyielding presence, took a step closer, the intensity in his gaze impossible to ignore.
Helaena’s gaze, usually serene and distant, was now clouded with confusion. She glanced between you and Aemond, sensing that the weight of what you were about to reveal was far greater than she’d anticipated. Yet, she remained silent, waiting, her hands folded neatly in her lap, as if bracing herself for the truth.
Aemond’s presence, on the other hand, was far more commanding. He stood tall, casting a sharp glance at the maids and ladies in waiting, who quickly scurried out of the room under the silent weight of his glare.
It was only when the door closed behind them, leaving just the three of you in the chamber, that the tension in the room thickened.
You swallowed, steadying yourself before speaking. "Helaena," you began, your voice calm but edged with the gravity of the moment, "do you remember the night I left with Jaehaerys?"
Her delicate features twisted slightly as she recalled the night in question, a memory clearly etched into her heart. Her voice, usually soft and melodic, was now laced with sorrow. "You saved my children… from the rats."
Rats. That was how she had chosen to remember Blood and Cheese—the two men who had threatened her family’s life. A kinder word for the monsters they truly were.
"Do you remember how?" you asked carefully, watching her reaction, feeling the weight of Aemond's unwavering gaze on you.
Helaena frowned as she spoke again, her words as innocent as they were brutal. "You tore the first man’s throat with your teeth… and you commanded the other to stab himself."
The room grew colder with the silence that followed. Aemond’s eye had darkened, his expression a mix of astonishment and curiosity. You could feel him piecing together what had happened, what you had kept from him for so long.
You nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth of Helaena's words. "Yes," you confirmed, your voice barely above a whisper. "That was me. What you saw… was only a glimpse of what I truly am."
Helaena blinked, her gaze softening with understanding, though confusion still lingered in her eyes. "But how?" she whispered, her voice shaking slightly.
You turned your attention to Aemond then, meeting his gaze directly, feeling the intensity of his scrutiny. His silence was louder than words, and his curiosity sharper than any blade.
"In the beginning, our family was human, five centuries ago now," you began, your voice steady despite the tremor running through your heart.
"Though our mother dabbled in the dark arts, we were mostly a family like any other, trying to survive in a time when survival was far from guaranteed." A faint smile ghosted your lips, though it did not reach your eyes. "And for a time, we were happy."
A heavy silence fell over the room as you turned away from Helaena and Aemond, your gaze drifting to the shadows cast by the flickering sunlight. Helaena rested on her chaise, her eyes wide with curiosity, while Aemond remained at the center of the room, his stance rigid, every muscle poised in anticipation.
"But that happiness," you continued, your tone darkening, "was shattered one night. My younger brother, Hendrik, was killed. Slain by the very creatures who ruled our village’s nights—men who could transform into wolves under the full moon."
Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly, his attention sharp, but he did not speak. Helaena, sitting quietly, clutched her hands together, her gaze never leaving you as you spoke.
"Our family was devastated," you said, your voice cracking as you recalled the memory of your brother’s death. "You see, before I was even born, my parents had already known such pain. They had lost their first daughter, Freya, to a fever one harsh winter. My mother, shattered by grief, vowed she would never lose another child. So, when Hendrik was taken from us, our father forced her to act. He demanded she call upon the darkest of magics to protect us from ever falling prey again."
You paused, letting the weight of those words sink in. "Thus, the first vampires were born," you whispered. "But with this strength, this speed, this immortality, came a curse. A hunger."
"A hunger for what?" Helaena’s voice was soft, laced with the innocent curiosity she often carried, though now tinged with something darker—fear.
You met her gaze, your own eyes hard with the truth you could no longer conceal. "For blood," you answered, the word hanging in the air like a blade waiting to fall.
"We do not require food or water, those are indulgences. Pleasures we once took for granted, now rendered meaningless. What we need to sustain ourselves… is blood. Without it, we wither. We decay, like corpses left to rot in the ground."
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Helaena’s face paled, her fingers trembling slightly as she absorbed your words. Aemond’s expression remained unreadable, though the flicker in his eye betrayed the internal storm he was wrestling with.
You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to continue, knowing that this truth was just the beginning. "The blood lust consumes us if we let it. My family, we learned how to control it, how to live among humans without succumbing to the beast within. But it is always there, lurking beneath the surface."
The silence in the room felt suffocating, pressing down on you like a weight too heavy to bear. Desperate to break the tension, you spoke before your thoughts could catch up to your words. "I could show you," you blurted out, your voice barely above a whisper.
Aemond blinked, his singular eye narrowing in intrigue as he stepped closer, his presence commanding. "Show us? How?" His tone was measured, but you could hear the underlying curiosity—perhaps even a touch of suspicion.
"Through my memories," you replied softly. "One of my many gifts." You could feel the energy pulsing in your fingertips as you spoke, the ancient magic within you stirring. "It’s the only way for you to truly understand." You gestured for him to take a seat beside Helaena, who looked between the two of you with wide, expectant eyes.
Aemond hesitated for only a moment before following your instruction, settling beside his sister. His sharp gaze never left you, as if he was weighing every move you made, every word you spoke.
You stood before them, inhaling deeply as you focused your mind, your fingers lightly brushing their temples. The magic flowed, ancient and powerful, as you called upon the memory you intended to share.
The scene that unfolded was vivid, like stepping into a dream. The air was filled with laughter and song, the night lit by the glow of bonfires and candles as your village celebrated one of its strange but joyous holidays.
You had been so naïve then, your heart unburdened, the grief of Hendrik's death momentarily forgotten. You could feel the warmth of the night, the joy in the air as you twirled around the fire, Finn’s laughter ringing out as he spun you in a carefree dance.
The memory shifted—your joy dimming as you realized how late it had grown. You had stayed out far past your curfew, long after your family had returned home.
Panic clawed at your chest as you hurried through the darkened streets, the vibrant festival fading behind you as you made your way toward your family’s hut. The village that had felt so alive only moments before now seemed eerily quiet, shadows stretching long across the ground.
You moved without caution, without thought, only the mounting dread driving you forward as you rushed into the hut. What you saw froze your blood in your veins—a massacre.
You guided Aemond and Helaena deeper into the memory, forcing them to see, to feel what you had felt. The dread, the growing realization that something was terribly wrong.
You could feel Aemond stiffen beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away, his curiosity holding him still. Helaena’s breath quickened, her hand instinctively reaching for your wrist as the memory unfolded.
Everywhere you looked, blood painted the walls and floors, the very scent of it thick and suffocating. The bodies of your siblings lay strewn about, lifeless, their blood seeping into the ground. A scream tore from your throat, raw and filled with the kind of anguish only centuries could numb.
Your eyes immediately found Niklaus, lying in a pool of his own blood. His eyes were closed, and a deep wound marred his chest. You dropped to your knees beside him, shaking his shoulders, your hands slipping against his blood-soaked skin. "Niklaus, wake up!" you sobbed, desperate, unwilling to accept what your eyes were telling you.
But Niklaus didn’t stir. None of them did. Elijah, Rebekah, Finn, Kol—they all lay broken and still.
More cries racked your body, your voice hoarse from screaming as you knelt among the fallen, each heartbeat filling you with an unbearable grief. Then, a sound from behind—a voice, cold and venomous, cutting through the chaos like a blade.
"You know not how long I've waited for this moment."
Your blood ran colder than before. Slowly, you turned, your heart pounding as your gaze fell upon the figure in the doorway. Your father, Mikael, stood bathed in the blood of his children, his face twisted in cruel satisfaction. His sword dripped with the very essence of your kin, your family.
Before you could even draw breath, his sword flashed, and a sharp, searing pain pierced your chest. You gasped, a choked sound escaping your lips as you stumbled back, the life draining from you.
Your knees buckled beneath you as you collapsed beside Niklaus, your body growing cold. The strength seeped from your limbs as darkness edged in from the corners of your vision.
Mikael’s cold gaze remained fixed on you, watching as your life slipped away. Your final breath left your lips in a shudder, your hand still reaching for Niklaus, but he remained still.
The memory surged forth, a vivid nightmare that felt all too close, even after all the years that had passed. It was a dark night, mere weeks since your transformation, and chaos reigned in the village.
The villagers, fueled by fear and anger, sought to rid themselves of you and your siblings after the bloodshed that had followed your awakening—a bloodlust you had barely begun to comprehend.
Finn and Kol had already made their escape. Finn’s voice had been urgent, his grip firm on your arm as he implored you to join him.
But you had begged him to stay, to help your family escape together. Yet his resolve had faltered, and he had slipped away into the night, leaving you behind in a whirlwind of dread and desperation.
Elijah and Rebekah were frantically packing the remnants of their lives, their expressions strained with urgency. You could feel the weight of fear suffocating the air around you, a heavy tension that made your heart race.
The deep-seated hatred your father held for you and Niklaus loomed over you like a storm cloud, threatening to break at any moment. It was a hatred that could ignite into violence without warning, and you knew it.
Your heart raced as you realized it was up to Niklaus to persuade your mother to flee with you. You paced, the flickering fire casting shadows that danced on the ground, mirroring the turmoil within you.
Then, at last, Niklaus entered your line of sight. He stepped through the trees, and the world around you came to a halt. There was something unsettling about him; his usual bravado was replaced by an unsettling vulnerability. His hands trembled slightly, fingers clenched at his sides as though they held the weight of the world.
"Niklaus," you asked, worry knotting in your stomach as you approached him, gently cupping his hands in yours. "What’s happened? Where’s Mother?"
His terrified blue eyes met yours, glistening with unshed tears. He shook his head, and dread filled the air between you. "She’s dead."
Time seemed to freeze, the world around you fading into a blur. You blinked, disbelief clouding your mind. "What?"
"I—" He swallowed hard, anguish etched on his features. "Father—he—he killed her."
The words crashed over you like a wave, cold and suffocating. Tears welled in your eyes as the harsh reality settled into your bones. "No. No! This can’t be!"
You turned away, desperation flooding your veins as you intended to return home, to your mother. But before you could move, Niklaus’s arms encircled your waist, holding you tightly against his chest. "You cannot go back!"
"Let me go, Niklaus!" you yelled, anguish spilling forth in choked sobs. "Mama! Mama!"
The name echoed in the forest, each cry a plea, each scream an invocation. You expected her to appear, to sweep you up into her embrace and assure you that everything would be alright. But the silence that followed was deafening, a stark reminder of the void she left behind.
You broke down in Niklaus's arms, the weight of your grief crashing over you like a tide. He held you tight, rocking you gently as if you were still a child. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the ache in your heart and the overwhelming emptiness that threatened to swallow you whole.
"A glooming peace this morning brings; the sun, for sorrow, will not show his head," you recited softly, your voice echoing in the dim light of the crypt. The words from the latest play felt heavier in the air, reflecting the turmoil that had once engulfed England.
"Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; some shall be pardoned, and some punished. For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo."
Your gaze drifted down to Finn, lying in that same accursed casket, the familiar silver dagger lodged deep in his chest. Time had moved on, and yet here you were, five hundred years later, still shackled by the past.
Your family had relocated to Denmark, leaving the ruins of England behind, but the pain of loss clung to you like a shroud. Finn remained as he was, forever caught in that moment, forever untouched by the passing centuries.
Elijah had gifted you the latest work from an emerging playwright, a man named William Shakespeare, with the hope that it would bring you some joy.
You had thought it fitting to share the story with Finn while he lay in eternal slumber, believing that perhaps the beauty of words might bridge the chasm between the living and the dead.
As you reached the poignant conclusion, tears brimmed in your eyes, the heart-wrenching tale resonating within your very soul.
You closed the book gently, feeling the weight of both grief and longing. Your heart ached not just for the characters but for the brother you had lost to a fate more cruel than death.
“That was quite sad, was it not?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked at Finn's serene face, still and undisturbed. "Even in the depths of darkness, love remains, yet it always seems to come at a terrible cost."
You ran your fingers gently over the spine of the book, as if the words could somehow transcend the veil of death and reach him. “I wish you were awake to truly enjoy this story with me,” you murmured, your voice barely breaking the silence of the mausoleum.
A sudden idea ignited in your mind, flickering like a candle in the dark. When you and your family had moved to a sprawling mansion in the lush countryside of Denmark, you had insisted on a grand mausoleum to be built for Finn.
It was a sanctuary for you and a place where Finn could rest peacefully, far removed from the grim dungeons of England that Niklaus had left him in.
Your gaze wandered to the entrance of the crypt, the heavy stone door that concealed the world outside. Then your eyes fell on the dagger lodged in Finn’s heart, its silver glinting in the dim light.
Perhaps? If only for a fleeting moment? The thought pulsed through you like a heartbeat, urging you onward.
As your hands glided over the hard wood of his coffin, they trailed down to Finn’s body, gently caressing his dark hair. You could almost feel the warmth of him again, a reminder of the brother you had lost.
Your heart raced, anticipation mingled with trepidation, as you finally wrapped your fingers around the silver dagger.
In that heartbeat, you paused, caught in the gravity of your decision. Then, with a deep breath, you began to pull it from his chest, the air heavy with unspoken consequences.
“What are you doing!”
The sharp voice sliced through the quiet, causing your hand to jerk away from the dagger and fly to your heart. You turned to find Niklaus standing in the doorway, a gift box clutched in his hands, yet his expression was thunderous, dark clouds gathering in his stormy blue eyes.
You shook your head rapidly, feeling your hands tremble with uncertainty. “Nothing, Nik, I promise.”
In the blink of an eye, Niklaus was in front of you, his speed making him appear like a shadow, silent and swift. The gift he had been holding now lay discarded on the cold stone floor.
His grip tightened around your arms, painfully firm, causing a pained whisper to escape your lips. His gaze bore into yours, filled with a tempest of betrayal and fury as he hissed, “Do not lie to me, sister.”
The weight of his anger made your heart race, and you winced as tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the sight of his hardened expression.
“I-I just thought Finn had been asleep long enough,” you stammered, your voice trembling, trying to explain while knowing there was no real justification that would soothe him.
His grip only tightened, his eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity. “So you betray me like this?” The raw accusation in his tone stung worse than his hold on you.
“No, Nik, never,” you whimpered, your voice fragile as you shook your head again. “Please, you're hurting me.”
But Niklaus seemed deaf to your plea, his rage drowning out your words. His grip tightened even more, and his voice rose with a venomous edge. “You forget he is daggered because of you! I did this for you!"
“I know, Nik,” you murmured softly, wincing as the pain in your arms deepened, both from his hold and the weight of his words.
“After everything I’ve done for you,” Niklaus bellowed, his frustration clear as his voice echoed through the room, “Why can you not see that Finn would never do the same? He would never go to such lengths to keep you safe!”
Tears spilled freely from your eyes as you turned your gaze away from him, the overwhelming guilt pressing down on your chest. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking under the strain of his fury.
His words pierced through you like a dagger, each one sharp with betrayal and hurt. “I’ve protected you,” he continued, his voice cracking with emotion, “I’ve killed for you, sacrificed everything, and still, you go behind my back!”
Sobs overtook you, your entire body trembling as the weight of his anger and your guilt suffocated you. “Niklaus, please,” you begged, your voice barely a whisper, your heart aching with the knowledge of how deeply you had wounded him.
At that moment, his rage faltered, and his piercing gaze locked onto yours. The room seemed to still as his next words fell like a chilling curse, low and filled with a cruel finality. “I should put a dagger in your heart.”
A sob tore from your throat as you shook your head, pleading with silent desperation. Just as you thought his fury would turn violent, the tension snapped.
Niklaus was suddenly knocked aside, and you found yourself enveloped in warm, protective arms. Elijah. His presence was steadying, his voice calm but commanding as he faced his volatile brother. “Niklaus! You are scaring her.”
“She should be scared!" Niklaus roared, pointing an accusing finger toward you, his fury still burning brightly. You buried your face deeper into Elijah's chest, seeking refuge from the storm that was your brother’s wrath. “Does she not understand? If Finn were awake, we’d have been put down by Mikael long ago!”
Tears streamed down your face as you clung to Elijah, your voice breaking under the weight of your guilt. "I'm sorry, Nik. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t—”
Niklaus’ breathing was ragged, his rage simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to explode. But Elijah remained calm, his hold on you firm.
“Niklaus, leave,” Elijah said, his voice quiet yet authoritative, leaving no room for argument.
Niklaus inhaled sharply, his gaze flickering between you and Elijah, his anger barely contained. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous murmur. “You forget yourself, sister.”
His words cut deep, filled with cold warning. “Finn remains daggered for a reason. Do not mistake my love for you as permission to defy me.”
With that, he stormed out, his presence leaving a void as heavy as the tension still lingering in the air. The silence that followed was suffocating, and in its wake, your emotions broke free.
You collapsed into Elijah’s arms, your sobs shaking your body, the words tumbling from your lips in a fevered rush. “I didn’t mean to, Elijah. I swear, I didn’t mean to. Please, don't let him dagger me.”
Elijah held you close, his touch gentle as he caressed your head, whispering soothingly into your ear. “I won't, sweet sister,” he murmured, his voice a balm to your frightened heart. “I give you my word.”
The next morning, you woke with a dull ache in your chest, the familiar weight of sadness pressing down on you like an old wound that never healed.
The grand four-poster bed, with its silk curtains and velvet drapes, felt like a prison—beautiful, but suffocating. You turned over, pulling the heavy covers tighter around yourself, but the pain lingered, gnawing at your heart.
It always ached. That deep, unshakable sorrow had taken root long ago, twisting itself around your soul. You wondered, in those quiet, lonely moments, if you were going mad.
The only thing tethering you to sanity, to something real, was Elijah—his steady presence, his unwavering devotion. Without him, you feared you might fall apart completely.
As you shifted, your gaze caught something on the edge of the bed that made your breath catch in your throat. There, resting on the quilt, was the same gift box Niklaus had held the night before. Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, bringing it onto your lap as if it might break or vanish in your hands.
The lid opened with a soft creak, revealing a small, velvet jewelry case. Your heart stuttered as you lifted the lid, and tears welled in your eyes. Inside was a simple silver pendant, its surface gleaming faintly in the morning light. Encrusted in the center was an ornate "M" for Mikaelson.
Niklaus always did this. After the rage, after the terrifying outbursts, after he screamed at you and made you feel small—he would leave an apology gift, never speaking a word of the pain he caused.
It was his way. He never asked for forgiveness. He just assumed you would give it, time and time again.
And you did.
Every single time.
Your fingers trembled as you lifted the pendant from the case, letting the cool metal slide through your hands. With a resigned sigh, you fastened it around your neck, the chain resting against your skin like a silent promise. It was beautiful, yes, but it was also a reminder of the cycle you could never escape.
As the pendant settled against your chest, you wiped away the tears that threatened to spill over, whispering to yourself, “He did not mean it.” You had said it so many times before, hoping that if you repeated it enough, you might actually believe it.
But deep down, you knew the truth.
Niklaus loved you. In his own broken, twisted way, he loved you and your siblings more than anything. But his love was a storm—wild, uncontrollable, and dangerous. And every time you forgave him, you found yourself standing in the eye of that storm, waiting for it to rage again.
Slowly, you pulled yourself back to the present, forcing Helaena and Aemond from the depths of your memories as you stepped away. Your breath came in ragged gasps, and your trembling hands wiped the dampness from your cheeks. You had lived lifetimes hiding this pain, but tonight it had clawed its way out.
Helaena’s face was pale, her own tears mirroring yours. She trembled, wide-eyed, as if the weight of your confession threatened to break her. And Aemond... Aemond’s single eye bore into you with a mix of disbelief and something deeper, something far more devastating.
He stared at you as if you were a ghost, a shadow of the person he thought he knew. For the first time, it seemed, he truly saw you—broken and damaged in ways that not even centuries could mend.
You forced a tight, bitter smile, the words catching in your throat as you truly introduced yourself, "I am the youngest child of the original witch, Esther Mikaelson. My siblings and I are the first of our kind—vampires born from blood and magic. We are the strongest creatures in this world, and yet..." Your voice wavered, betraying the sorrow that clung to every word, "we are damaged beyond repair."
You looked between them, your eyes hollow, carrying the weight of endless centuries of pain. "We live without hope, but we will never die. We are the definition of 'cursed'."
The room fell silent, a heavy, oppressive stillness that mirrored the truth of your existence. You swallowed hard, repeating the words that had once been a promise but had long since turned to chains, the mantra that bound you and your siblings to each other.
Giiiirllllll I cannot wait for your next chaoter of his lady love 😘😚 I'm so glad I found this fic xoxoxoox
I'm so happy that you're enjoying this, babe 😚
His Lady Love (10)
pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson! reader
taglist | to be added to the tag list just add your username to this DOC
word count | 4.3k words
summary | guilt gnaws at your mind as your love for aemond grows, so you decide to finally tell him.
tags | 18+ (MDNI), SMUT, FLUFF, ANGST (in that order), p in v sex, heavy angst (aemond doesn't know how to communicate), vampire powers, heavy miscommunication
note | next chapter, we explore reader's backstory. I saw a post about inclusion, and it really stuck with me, that's why I always like to emphasize how reader could literally be any race (despite her whole family being white) and that's why I leave her father a mystery. and in my case I envision her as poc (that's why I emphasize mikaels hate for her; you cannot tell me he isn't racist), but if you envision her as white (mikael only really hates her cause he knows she's not his) that's my TED TALK, enjoy!!!
likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨
𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫
"Yes, my love," Aemond growled from underneath you. “Ride me.”
As you bounced atop him, Aemond's deep purple eye locked onto yours, filled with lust and a hint of possessiveness. He gripped your hips tightly, guiding your movements as you grinded down onto him. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mingling with your ragged breaths.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take what you need, my love."
Aemond's hands roamed your curves, tracing the dips and swells of your body as he kissed and nipped at your neck. Your moans spurred him on, making him harder inside you. He thrusted up to meet your downward strokes, driving deeper with each pass.
"Don't hold back," he urges, his voice low and husky. "Do you like me inside you?”
You nodded deliriously feeling him grip your waist, helping you set a faster pace on top of him. Meeting every thrust you made. "You make me feel so full,” you moaned out.
He grinned wickedly as you picked up the pace, reveling in the way your slick walls clenched around him with each powerful stroke. "That's it, ride me hard," he encouraged, his voice dripping with desire. "Take everything I have."
His fingers dug into your hips, using the leverage to drive up into you even harder. The headboard slammed against the wall with each brutal thrust, punctuating the primal sounds of your coupling. Aemond's gaze never left yours, drinking in the sight of you above him, lost in the throes of passion.
"You're so fucking perfect like this," he rasped, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I could fill you up all day, every day."
You nodded deliriously, feeling your climax building, Aemond focused his attention on your sensitive clit, circling and pressing just right to send you careening over the edge. As your body trembled and clenched around him, he captured your cry in a fierce kiss, muffling your moans against his mouth.
When your shudders subsided, he swiftly rolled you onto your back, pinning your legs around his waist. With a grunt of effort, he drove into you with renewed vigor, pounding into your warmth with relentless intensity.
"Fucking hell, look at you," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "So beautiful when you come undone for me." His thrusts became erratic as his own release approached, his balls drawing up tight. "Gonna fill you up, my love...mark you as mine..."
With a final, powerful thrust, Aemond buried himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsating as he spilled his seed deep within your quivering depths. His roar of completion mingled with your cries of ecstasy, the force of his climax causing your bodies to jerk and twitch together.
Aemond’s breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving against yours as he collapsed onto you, still sheathed inside you. His body, warm and solid, pressed against yours as he whispered possessively, "Mine."
The single word was filled with a raw intensity, the claim echoing between you as he laid his forehead against yours, still catching his breath.
"Yours," you replied softly, your voice barely more than a breath as your eyes locked with his. His violet eye, filled with something deeper than just desire, burned into you.
His hand brushed gently along the side of your face, calloused fingers tracing the curve of your jaw with a tenderness that contrasted the fire that had consumed you both moments before.
As the frenzy of the moment ebbed, Aemond lowered his lips to yours again, but this time, the kiss was slower—deliberate. His tongue moved languidly, savoring the taste of you as if committing you to memory.
This was no mere expression of lust; it was love wrapped in longing, each movement conveying what words alone could not. His hand cradled the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the embrace, as if afraid you might disappear.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his eye never leaving your face. His lips quirked into a small, rare smile—one that he saved only for you. "I love you," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, as though sharing a secret meant only for your ears. "More than anything in this world."
The depth of his feelings overwhelmed you, as if centuries of his unspoken emotions now hung in the air between you. Tears gathered in your eyes, shimmering like stars, but this was not weakness—it was the weight of eternity, of a love too powerful to be contained in mere words. You could feel the centuries you’d lived fall away, leaving only this moment with him, pure and timeless.
Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him into another kiss. His body, strong and unyielding, melted against the softness of yours. There was no need for words as his hands roamed your body, possessive yet gentle, as if grounding himself in the very feel of you.
The kiss deepened, his lips pressing into yours with a desperation that mirrored the hunger of the love he held for you. His tongue danced with yours, a slow, deliberate exploration, as if savoring every second of your closeness.
In that moment, time seemed to still. The world outside—the battles, the politics, the shifting allegiances—ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of passion and love, a bond that transcended the mortal concerns of kings and queens. Every touch, every breath you shared, felt eternal.
When the kiss finally broke, his breath mingling with yours, your gaze met his, and you saw everything you needed to know reflected in that single violet eye.
“Always and forever, Aemond,” you whispered the only words you knew, the vow carried across centuries. It was a promise of devotion, as unbreakable as the ancient blood coursing through your veins, and as enduring as the night sky above.
Aemond’s grip on you tightened, as though the mere thought of letting you go pained him. “Always and forever,” he repeated, his voice raw with emotion.
And as you laid there, wrapped in his embrace, you knew no force in this world—whether dragon or dagger—could ever sever the love that bound you to him.
The warmth of the afternoon sun bathed the Red Keep, casting a golden glow over the city below. Yet you felt no comfort from it, sitting alone atop Aemond’s private balcony, still dressed in the silken nightgown you had worn when he left.
His parting kiss still lingered on your lips, his words, whispered softly into your ear, echoed in your mind. It had been a goodbye that left you breathless, as if his presence alone had woven itself too deeply into your heart, too quickly for your own good.
The distant sound of peasants protesting in the streets of King's Landing reached your ears, their voices desperate and angry. You could hear them demanding food, blaming the crown for their misfortunes, but their cries felt like background noise to the turmoil inside you. The scent of Aemond clung to your skin, his possessive hold still fresh in your memory.
How had you let it get this far? How had you allowed yourself to become so entangled with him?
You sighed, staring down at the bustling city, your thoughts filled with the strange, dangerous path you had chosen. Aemond’s obsession with you had been evident from the start.
You had known what it was to be the object of desire before, but never like this—never with someone who looked at you as though you were his world, his salvation. And now you were falling into that same trap.
You were lovesick, you thought with a bitter laugh. As lovesick as Rebekah.
Rebekah, your elder sister, had always yearned for love and a mortal life. How many times had Klaus mocked her for it? For her desire to be something other than what they were—vampires, cursed to outlive those we loved.
And yet, here you were, entangled in your own dangerous romance, captivated by a man who knew nothing of your true nature. How could you have been so reckless?
You could almost hear Niklaus' voice in your head. If he saw you now, sitting here in your lover’s chambers, smitten and vulnerable, he would laugh at your foolishness. Then, with his usual fury, he would tear through King’s Landing to find Aemond, perhaps rip his heart from his chest, just to prove a point.
He would tell you this is what love leads to—weakness. Betrayal. And he would kill Aemond, not because Aemond was anything to him, but to teach you a lesson.
You clenched your fists, your strength leaving small cracks in the stone railing beneath your fingers. The idea of Niklaus finding out about this sent a shiver down your spine. He wouldn't understand. He couldn’t.
Aemond was nothing like the men you had known before—he was fierce, proud, and ruthless, much like your family, but there was a tenderness in him, a vulnerability he showed only to you.
Yet that same ruthlessness terrified you. You knew what Aemond was capable of, and it mirrored the darkness you knew too well. That was perhaps why you had fallen so hard for him.
But he did not know the depth of your own darkness—the centuries of blood and violence you carried, the truth of your immortality. Could he still love you, knowing the monster that lurked beneath your skin? Would he turn from you?
You exhaled, pushing down the rising anxiety. This love was dangerous, yes. Reckless. But despite everything, despite the centuries of heartache and loss, you couldn’t bring yourself to walk away from Aemond. Not yet.
Gods help me, you thought.
And yet, as you sat there, your heart ached for the prince who had already claimed too much of it.
And soon the weight of the evening hung heavily in the air as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the chambers. You paced restlessly, your mind racing with thoughts that coiled like smoke, thick and suffocating.
Tonight was the night. The moment had finally arrived for you to reveal the truth—your truth. You could no longer live in the shadows of deception, pretending to be someone you weren’t, especially not with Aemond, the one who had come to mean so much to you in such a short time.
As the distant sounds of the city settled into a haunting stillness, the protests of the hungry peasants faded into memory. You couldn’t shake the image of Aemond’s fierce violet eye, filled with adoration and fire, and it stung to think of how he might look at you once the truth was laid bare.
Would he still see you as the one he loved most? Would he still see you as the woman who had saved Jaehaerys? Or would you become nothing more than a monster in his eyes, a creature of the night, condemned to wander the shadows forever? The thought twisted your heart in knots.
You stopped in front of the ornate mirror, running your fingers over your hair as you scrutinized your reflection. The delicate fabric of your nightgown flowed around you, a stark contrast to the darkness that simmered within.
What if he wishes you gone after that? A chilling thought that clawed at your resolve. But no matter the consequences, you could no longer hide from the truth. He deserved to know, just as you had chosen to open your heart to him, to let him in despite the danger it posed.
Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself, the weight of centuries of existence pressing down upon you. I am stronger than this, you reminded yourself. The fear of rejection was a fleeting shadow compared to the eternal darkness you had faced in your life.
You had witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the agony of betrayal, and the sweet sorrow of love lost. You would face whatever came next with the same resolve.
The door creaked open, and your heart quickened at the sight of Aemond, framed by the flickering torchlight. And to which you noticed immediately the mixture of exhaustion and restrained fury etched into his features. You stepped forward, your worries dissolving as you reached out, cupping his face gently.
"What’s wrong?" you asked softly, your voice filled with concern.
Aemond sighed, leaning into your touch, his lone violet eye trailing over your form before meeting yours. "You’re still in your nightgown," he murmured, the tension in his voice lingering.
"I was tired from the journey," you replied, your own concern deepening. "What happened, Aemond?"
"The peasants," he spat the word with disdain, "They attacked Mother and Helaena as they returned from the Sept."
Your eyes widened in shock. You had been here, lounging in Aemond’s chambers while your dearest friend and the queen had been assaulted. "Are they alright?"
Aemond gave a small nod, his expression darkening. "Physically, yes. Helaena was shaken, though."
Anger and frustration weighed heavily in his sigh as his hand came up to cradle yours. "I can’t fathom why they direct their hatred toward us rather than Rhaenyra. She’s the one who ordered the blockade. And some of their fury stems from the hanged ratcatchers."
"Hanged?" you echoed in confusion.
"Aegon ordered the hanging of every ratcatcher in the Keep," Aemond replied, the exasperation clear in his voice.
"But I killed the one who was sent by Daemon," you reminded him.
Aemond rolled his eye, frustration palpable. "Aegon was a fool. Paranoid and desperate."
Aemond remained silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he tried to temper his anger, the warmth of your touch grounding him. His lone violet eye eventually found yours, and for the first time, he noticed the tension tightening your features.
"What’s wrong with you?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.
You pursed your lips, pulling your hands away from his face, taking a small step back. The frown on his face deepened as you wrung your fingers together, suddenly feeling more like the fragile sixteen-year-old girl you appeared to be, rather than the 500-year-old vampire you truly were.
The weight of centuries, of the secret you had carried, pressed down on you, and for the first time, you felt vulnerable in front of him.
"I need to tell you something," you said, your voice calm, though laced with an emotion that made Aemond's concern grow. "Something you deserve to know."
His brow furrowed, the exhaustion from the day's troubles falling away as his full attention shifted to you. "What is it?" he asked, his voice lowering, gentle yet urging.
Your heart raced, every instinct within you warring between the need to protect him from the truth and the desire to finally be honest with the man you loved. You swallowed hard, steeling yourself to strip away the facade you had maintained for so long. "I am not who you think I am."
His face hardened with confusion. "What is that supposed to mean?" His voice remained steady, though there was a coldness lurking beneath it, a shield against the unknown you were about to reveal.
You took a deep breath, summoning the strength you needed to face him. "I am not just some noblewoman from The Reach, Aemond. I am something... much older. Far older than you could ever imagine."
Aemond’s frown deepened, the flicker of frustration growing behind his eye. "Speak plainly," he commanded, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
You flinched at the harshness in his tone. You had seen him this way with others, but it had never been directed at you. "Do you not wonder why, after all these years, I still look the same? No signs of aging, no wear from time? You've known me for half a decade, yet I have not changed." You forced your hands to stop trembling as you met his gaze head-on.
He stared at you, confusion settling over his features. "What are you saying?" His voice was laced with skepticism.
With a deep, steadying breath, you took the plunge. "I am dead, Aemond. I have been for centuries. Cursed to walk this world forever."
Aemond’s eye searched yours, disbelief etched into his features. "I am in no mood for jests," he bit out, taking a step closer, towering over you as if trying to intimidate you into admitting a falsehood.
"This is not a jest!" you snapped, your frustration boiling over. Your eyes shut tightly as you summoned the ancient power within, letting the vampire in you rise to the surface.
When you opened them again, they burned a deep, blood-red, and the veins beneath pulsed with a dark hunger. You bared your fangs, your expression one of reluctant resignation. You hadn't wanted to reveal this part of yourself to him—your true nature—but there was no other way.
His breath caught in his throat, and for a brief moment, there was nothing but silence. He stood frozen, his usual confidence shaken by what he saw before him.
You watched as his eye flickered between disbelief and fascination. Aemond, the man who feared nothing, stared at you as though seeing a ghost. "How… how is this possible?" His voice, though quiet, was no longer cold.
"I’ve lived for centuries," you whispered, stepping closer to him again. "Long before you were born, I walked this earth, cursed by immortality, carrying the weight of endless time. And now, I have found you… and love you, despite all the years I’ve lived without it." Your words hung in the air, vulnerable, as you searched his face for understanding.
Aemond stood still, his silence stretching out like an eternity. His expression, usually carved from stone, revealed the whirlwind of emotions stirring within him. His eye, once sharp and calculating, seemed to flicker between disbelief and contemplation. He reached out, his hand almost grazing the soft skin of your cheek, but then, as if burned by the very thought, he withdrew, his fingers curling into a fist.
You blinked, taken aback. As your vampire features faded—your eyes returning to their original hue, your fangs retracting—the weight of the moment pressed upon your chest. The silence between you became suffocating, your heart thundering in your ears. You watched as Aemond slowly turned away from you, his body stiff with tension.
"Aemond, where are you going?" you asked, panic creeping into your voice, your hands trembling slightly at your sides.
He did not answer, his gaze fixed on the door as he strode toward it with purposeful steps. Desperation surged within you, and before he could disappear into the corridor, you reached out, your hand gently grasping his arm, trying to anchor him to you. "Aemond," you murmured, your voice soft but pleading.
He pulled his arm from your grasp, his back still turned to you, his voice low and strained. "I’m going for a ride. I need to clear my mind."
The weight of his words struck you like a blow, and your heart ached as you watched him walk away, his retreating form leaving you in a state of disbelief. You took a step forward, your voice rising in desperation, "Aemond, this is your room!"
But he didn’t stop. He didn’t turn back. The door closed behind him, the sound echoing through the chamber, leaving you standing alone in the dim light, the ache of rejection settling deep in your bones.
You retreated to your chambers, unable to bear the suffocating weight of Aemond’s presence lingering in every corner of his room. The faint scent of him—fire, steel, and something uniquely his—clung to your skin like an unforgiving ghost. It was too much. The emptiness within you, that hollow ache, grew deeper with every breath you took.
You sat on the edge of your bed, staring blankly at the wall, feeling the familiar suffocation of your existence. Who needed Niklaus and his wrath when you had the power to destroy everything you held dear all on your own? The truth had slipped from your lips, and now Aemond—someone you had dared to love—was gone, at least for now.
For a brief, fleeting moment, you entertained the thought of running. Disappearing into the shadows, as you had done countless times before. You could vanish into the night, leave King’s Landing behind, and become a ghost once more. But you knew all too well that the pain would follow you, as it always did.
In a century’s time, you thought bitterly, Aemond, Helaena, this entire bloody war would be nothing but dust. Ashes of a life long gone. You would still be there—eternal, unchanging, a cursed soul trapped in time. Immortality was a cruel gift, and even after centuries, you still carried the scars of your undying existence.
Your mind wandered to your family. You knew that if you truly ran, you would inevitably find your way back to them. To Niklaus, Rebekah, Elijah and Kol. But the thought of it twisted your gut.
Klaus would without a doubt punish you for abandoning him, for daring to escape his grasp. You could already imagine the cold sting of the dagger piercing your heart, the darkness swallowing you as he locked you away for centuries, just as he had done to Finn.
But perhaps, the treacherous voice echoed once more in the recesses of your mind, you deserve it.
Those words clung to you, heavy as lead, even as exhaustion finally took hold. Sleep found you, mercifully dreamless, offering a brief escape from the storm of thoughts and guilt that weighed on your immortal soul. Yet it was a fleeting reprieve.
When you stirred, the warmth of the sun bathed your face, coaxing you gently from your slumber. A faint frown formed as the comforting light was suddenly interrupted. You blinked, your eyes adjusting to the dimness, and when they fully opened, your heart stuttered at the sight before you.
Aemond stood silently by the window, his figure bathed in the half-light of morning, his expression unreadable. His single violet eye was locked on you, studying you with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. He was as still as a statue, watching over you as if you were some rare, dangerous creature he couldn't decide whether to approach or flee from.
You sat up slowly, your chest tightening as you met his gaze. The raw emotion lingering between you both was palpable, almost suffocating. He looked like a man on the edge, torn between the feelings that raged within him.
"Aemond..." you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure of what to say, unsure of where this conversation would lead.
He didn’t move, his eye still fixed on you. The cold, calculating prince you had come to know so well was gone, replaced by something far more vulnerable, far more dangerous. It was Aemond at his rawest—stripped of the layers of control he usually cloaked himself in.
“If you are dead, do you really sleep?" His question broke the silence, his voice quiet yet probing, as though trying to grasp the reality of what you had confessed.
You hesitated, then spoke softly, trying to keep the moment from shattering, "I can still sleep. I feel exhaustion and hunger like anyone else."
Aemond’s gaze was unwavering, even as he stepped closer. His presence seemed to fill the room, the silence between you growing heavier with the weight of everything unsaid.
"Where did you go?" you asked, uncertainty creeping into your voice.
"I flew atop Vhagar," he replied, his tone softer now, though his words were edged with the same confusion and hurt that mirrored your own. "When I returned back to my chambers, you were gone."
Your eyes fell to the bed, your voice barely a murmur. "I didn’t think you wished me to be there when you returned."
Aemond's expression tightened, and for the first time, his control wavered. "I thought you had left. Just as you did when I was a boy." His words were laced with hurt, and your heart ached at the memory of the boy he had once been.
"I wanted to run," you whispered, the admission tumbling from your lips before you could stop it. "But I couldn’t. Not this time."
His hand reached out, brushing some of your hair from your face, his touch hesitant but deliberate. His gaze softened, though his pain still lingered. "Why?" His voice, when it came, was a soft rasp, betraying none of the rage or hurt you had feared.
Instead, it was quiet, as though the weight of what he was asking was too much for him to bear aloud. "Why didn't you tell me?"
You could feel your heart breaking all over again. “I wanted to protect you,” you answered, your voice thick with the truth of your words. “I thought—if you knew what I am, you would look at me differently. Fear me, perhaps. Hate me."
He flinched, ever so slightly. "And now? What do you think I feel now?"
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "I don't know," you confessed, your voice trembling with the weight of centuries of fear and self-loathing.
Aemond’s gaze softened, as he stepped drifted down. His fingers grazed your cheek, warm and rough, grounding you in the present, as his thumb gently brushed the edge of your jaw. “For me to trust you again,” his voice was quiet but resolute, “you need to tell me everything.”
His words pierced through your guarded heart. There was no turning back now, no more hiding. The weight of your past—the centuries of blood and pain—pressed heavily upon you, but this time, you were willing to share that burden.
You looked up into his single violet eye, nodding as you whispered, “What do you wish to know?”
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Me writing English isn't my first language, knowing damn well it is the only language I even know. But since I'm from Africa, I'll allow people to think it's not my first language (it somehow makes my fics even better) 💜 (𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓)
hiii I was wondering if she will claim a dragon? And which ones do you have in mind?? Maybe grey ghost?? Or vermithor?? Or silver wing?
Lollllll, I'm sorry she didn't get to claim any dragon. I just felt it was better for her to have her own hatchling. Of which she'll def treat as her baby. 😁
