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flowerandblood · 7 months ago

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Daddy Daemon knows what is uuuuup

The Fall from the Heavens (4)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, smut, angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, humiliation, chauvinism ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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That evening she could not sleep; she felt anxious, felt that danger lurked all around her, the darkness in her chamber full of chill and tension. She pressed her lips together lying under the thick furs, recalling for the hundredth time the expression on her uncle's face when he recognised her.

Terror, disbelief, rage, disgust.

She knew that she would be facing him in the throne room the next day anyway, that they would be forced to remind each other of their existence.

She sighed quietly, wondering if her letters had reached him at all.

What if his grandfather or his mother simply did not deliver them to him?

What if his rage was because he thought she had abandoned him?

She felt a quick pounding of her heart, a naïve hope, anything she could grab onto in a situation that seemed to her to have no way out.

She thought she had to visit him, she had to see him, speak to him, end this once and for all, explain to him how she felt, how sorry she was that it had all happened this way.

Just like when she was a child, she slipped out of her chamber, walking ahead in the torchlight. She remembered what time the guards on watch at his quarters exchanged and took the opportunity, with her heart pounding fast, to knock on his door.

She swallowed loudly, horrified to hear the cold, sure, rough 'come in' and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She turned and saw his seated silhouette sitting by the fire, in his hand the dagger he was skilfully playing with between his fingers, his gaze fixed on her, his eye wide open as if he was anticipating this visit.

She didn't know what she should say, where to begin, she wasn't sure if she was trembling so much from the cold or from fear.

She tried to repeat to herself that even though he looked different, the same man was sitting in front of her, the one who had stroked her hair all night as a child, soothing her this way when she couldn't fall asleep.

Grasping at these memories she finally choked out what she had come for.

"Did you received my letters?" She asked in a slightly trembling voice, trying to sound soft and calm, to be the opposite of his aggressive attitude, to make him understand that she was coming in peace.

She shuddered when she saw the dangerous glint in his eye, the dagger in his hand spun around its own axis and curled between his fingers again, an involuntary grimace appeared on his face that resembled a smile but showed that he was furious.

"Yes." He answered finally, and she drew in a loud breath, analysing his answer quickly in her head.

He had received her letters, all of them.

She could see it in his face.

Did he despise them? Did he throw them away? Did he burn them?

"Have you read them?" She asked, wrinkling her eyebrows in helplessness, feeling that this was one of the most important moments of her life.

She saw him settle more comfortably in his chair, lifting his chin high as he stabbed the blade of his knife into the armrest, running it over it, making shivers run through her.

She had the feeling that he had just imagined himself ripping her flesh this way.

"Yes, my Lady Strong. I have read them all. Many times, here, in this chair." He muttered, and she felt a jolt of heat, of disbelief, of both humiliation and desire at the same time, because here he was, just admitting that he'd read her letters more than once, yet he'd never written her back.

She thought it was all a punishment he was inflicting on her, even though he wanted her words, his reply would have shown that he had forgiven her, that he was seeking reconciliation, that he was weak.

It all suddenly became so clear to her that she felt lighter, understanding that there was no moment in which she could do anything more to change his mind, that exactly what was supposed to happen had happened.

She looked around his chamber and moved ahead, noticing that where there had been a small cupboard of books now stood three large, tall, oak bookcases filled to the brim with thick tomes.

"Does your mother-whore know you're here?" She heard his cold, indifferent voice and pressed her lips together at the thought that he was doing it on purpose, that he was aware of what would hurt her, that he knew her too well.

She felt a squeeze in her throat when she spotted the familiar name of the philosopher among his collection and stepped closer, pulling out the book she had borrowed from him when she dared to kiss him for the first time.

"My, as you put it, mother-whore, never knew when I visited you, uncle. I was very determined not to be caught." She said lowly, in a way tired of the fact that she seemed to be speaking to stone, a cold marble to which nothing could reach.

She heard him snort, clearly displeased that his question did not elicit the effect he would have expected from her.

"Do you often visit men like this?" He asked perfunctorily, as if there was an answer in his question, as if it was obvious that she was not waiting for him.

Something in the way he said it, in the superiority in his voice made her feel rage; she moved towards his chair and stood in front of him, looking at him with furrowed brows.

Who was he to speak to her this way?

She saw that he lifted his gaze to her, surprised, apparently completely not expecting her to dare come so close to him, the hand with his dagger froze in mid-motion.

"Have you no shame?" She asked with regret and disapproval, saw that his nostrils quivered dangerously, his healthy eye turned black, his lips pressed into a thin line.

She knew he was about to say something, something that would make her hate him, make her unable to look at him, and she decided that she would be the first to express her opinion, her suffering.

"I don't know who you are, the man who sits now before me, but if there is even a fragment of the boy I was meant to marry in you, let that boy know that he was and will be the only one in my heart. He was my best friend and I failed him. It is hard to live with the thought that someone you loved so deeply has died in a way, but there is neither a grave to pray over nor any hope of peace for his soul. What I fear is that the boy I knew has disappeared among the darkness and is dying in it every day."

She muttered, and although she tried to hold them back, tears of helplessness and despair ran down her cheeks as the last sentence left her lips.

She had lost him, lost him forever, this boy who had soothed her fears, who she had looked up to with such pride and joy, who would never speak to her as this man did now.

It seemed to her that she had put him into a state of complete shock, as he looked at her with his mouth slightly parted, his healthy eye wide open; she saw that he was breathing faster, completely frozen, as if he didn't know what to make of her words.

She couldn't believe how much he had changed, his white hair long and beautiful, partly tied back, his scar pale, hidden partly under a black eye patch, his jaw even more sharply defined, his chin pointed, his healthy eye gleamed in the firelight, his leather tunic and breeches framing his well-built body.

He was a handsome man.

She thought about Daemon's words, about how it was better to rip her heart out than to humiliate herself, but she thought she was unable to do that.

That she needed to feel his closeness this one last time.

It seemed to her that her body threw itself towards him on its own, climbing into his lap, pressing her face and hands against his tunic, his familiar warmth, his scent filled her nostrils.

She heard his dagger slide out of his hand straight onto the stone floor with the loud clang of steel.

For some reason, her body relaxed completely and she burst into sobs, as if those years of suffering and separation had poured out of her like a river; she began to babble and apologise to this little boy who certainly felt alone, who couldn't cope with what had happened and with what he had lost.

She shuddered and hopped up, feeling something hard throb between her thighs, then again and again – she looked at him in disbelief, his gaze terrified, his breathing heavy.

She thought she was going to hear him say that she should leave, that she was humiliating herself, that he didn't want to know her, that she was pathetic, but he just stared at her, apparently unable to get a word out.

She looked at his lips – they seemed even fuller and softer to her than they were then and she wondered if they would be as pleasurable if she touched them.

Just this once.

"Can I kiss you?" She asked so quietly that she herself barely heard the words leave her lips, saw his pupil narrow, his nostrils move restlessly.

She felt a throbbing inside her, as well as in his breeches beneath her when he leaned in slightly, exactly as he had done then, wordlessly involuntarily betraying his will; she threw her hands over his shoulders, pressing her warm, thirsty lips to his in a sweet, loud kiss.

It seemed to her that their bodies were moving on their own, his hips rubbing against her from underneath making her feel something like warmth and tickling between her thighs, it was an unfamiliar but pleasurable sensation.

They panted into each other's mouths, one kiss turned into a second, a third and a fourth, his hands suddenly on her body, clamping down on her as if he wanted to make sure she didn't leave his side.

She shuddered, looking up at him with slightly parted lips, suppressing a moan when she felt his free hand slip shamelessly down her chemise and clamp down on her naked buttock, rubbing his hardness against her with slow, uncertain rocking of his hips.

No one had ever touched her like this before, and she wondered if this was his first time, or if perhaps he had already tasted another woman's body, sinking inside the ladies of the court or the servants.

She felt an overpowering jealousy and pain at the thought, at the thought that he might have desired and taken another, and she thought that this night he would desire only her, that she would drive him to the edge of despair.

That she would spend the night with him and then leave, surrendering her fate to destiny.

"− uncle −" She whispered, responding with movements of her hips to his treatments, feeling her insides begin to swell once she had decided what was going to happen.

He cupped his hand in her hair and kissed her, greedily, aggressively, quickly. It had nothing to do with what they had done as children – now their lips teased each other with a loud click of their saliva, his tongue trailing over her palate, licking her encouragingly, inviting her to let their tips touch.

They licked each other like this, panting and moaning into each other's mouths. She let him push her hips closer to him, rubbing against her with increasingly intrusive, shameless movements as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against his body, she heard his murmur of satisfaction between kisses when he felt it.

Gods, he wanted this.

She shuddered when she felt his hand pull at the ties of her nightgown, in slow, gentle movement slipping it off her shoulders. He pulled away, panting loudly, to look at the sight of her bare chest, her breasts; she gasped quietly and trembled when his fingers timidly squeezed one of them.

She felt something sticky run down her thighs onto the material of his breeches, felt the moisture between her legs and the increasing tickling, both of them started panting hard. Her hand ran over his cheek, over his scar, his healthy eye suddenly clouded, his full lips parted in a quickened, shuddering breath surrounding her face.

"− uh − I − I feel a tickling inside me, uncle −" She mumbled helplessly, stroking his cheek with her thumb, not knowing completely what she should do next, somehow asking him to spare her the humiliation and take the initiative. She shuddered as his fingers ran over her lust-swollen, puffy lips.

"− it's understandable − you missed your uncle − hm? −" He asked softly, tenderly, startling her completely. She felt the muscles inside her clench around nothing at his words, the tension in her lower abdomen was unbearable.

She didn't know when he took her in his arms and stood up with her, when he laid her down on his bed; she watched as he took off his tunic and his chemise, commanding her to lie on her back, and she obeyed him. She felt that wonderful twitching inside her again when she saw his bare, muscular chest and involuntarily ran her hand over his hot skin, drawing a sigh of delight from him.

She squirmed in horror as he suddenly grabbed her thighs and spread them in front of him, lifting the material of her nightgown up, leaning his face between them.

"− Aemond − s-stop, uncle, what are you −" She mumbled in a trembling voice, trying to push him away, to protect herself; she tilted her head back with a sweet, surprised moan when she felt his rough tongue run over her puffy folds, licking what was leaking out of her.

"− o-oh, gods −" She mewled losing immediately the urge to interrupt him, laying obediently on her back and clasping her hands in his wonderfully soft white hair, pushing against him with her hips, listening to the sounds of sucking and licking, whimpering in front of him like a common whore, understanding that it was obvious that he wanted to give her pleasure, that he wanted to satisfy her.

"− have you touched yourself here? −" He huffed with some kind of amusement and satisfaction, as if he had been dreaming of this moment all his life, of her at his mercy, with her thighs spread wide shamelessly in front of his face.

She swallowed loudly at the memory of the night she had sunk her hand into her heat seeking fulfilment, thinking of him, the way he looked now, the way he still desired her, and helplessly nodded her head.

She knew he would recognise immediately if she lied.

She heard him murmur with satisfaction at this information, as if he was perfectly aware, looking at what was happening to her now, who she was thinking of at the time.

She moaned in pleasure as his nose ran over her bud hidden between her soft folds; she clenched her hands in his hair trying to push him away as he tightened his lips around it, licking and sucking it, making it almost painful, her body was convulsing all over. His hand reached for her mouth to silence her, but she clamped her fingers on his wrist, stopping him.

"− please, uncle, too much − too much −" She cried out pleadingly, trying to pull away from him, and breathed a sigh of relief when he released her from between his lips, looking at her in shock, apparently writing down in his mind that this place was extremely sensitive and delicate.

He hummed under his breath, returning to his earlier caresses, tentatively sliding his tongue into her tight, hot interior. She threw her head back, surprised at how pleasurable it was, her walls throbbing and clenching like crazy around nothing.

"− uncle − mghmm −" She babbled desperately, feeling something approaching, the tension and tickling in her lower abdomen was unbearable, her hips moving in the motion of his mouth, she prayed shamelessly to the gods that he would just keep going.

"− it'll be wonderful to feel it clench around my cock one day − don't you think, sweet niece? −" He murmured between the flicks of his tongue, and she felt his words do something to her; she raised herself up on her elbow throwing her head back, feeling the wonderful, throbbing pleasure spill over her body in waves. She moaned some words, probably his name, feeling stunned and hot with fulfilment, her thighs trembling in his hands.

She fell on his cold bed, panting heavily, begging him to stop, but he made sure to lick her dry, as if he took unspeakable pleasure in her state and pleas.

He rose at last, breathing loudly, wiping his face, his eye wide open as if he couldn't believe what had just happened, with a quick, desperate movement he untied his breeches.

"Touch me." He muttered grabbing her hand; she squealed quietly when she saw for the first time what the erection of a man looked like. He tightened her fingers around his thick root, the tip of it pink and glistening, dripping from his own juices.

She breathed loudly, squeezing it with the kind of movements he was forcing on her with his palm, up and down, feeling him pulsing and twitching in her grasp, that he was swelling more and more, panting louder and louder with every stroke of hers, his breath erratic and raptured, full of desire.

"− fuck − fuck, come here −" He breathed out, grabbing her by her hair, pressing her lips to his in an aggressive, frantic, sticky kiss, tasting her own wetness on his palate; he groaned loudly into her throat, his hips rocking aggressively to the rhythm of her hand.

"− don't fucking stop − faster − oh fuck-fuck-fuck −" He howled and groaned helplessly with some kind of immense relief, clenching his eye, his lips parted in pleasure; she squealed when she felt something wet spill out of him onto her nightgown, startling her completely. He leaned in to kiss her, to reassure her.

"− easy, it's just me − shhh −" He whispered between one kiss of their lips and another, releasing her at last, her hand all sticky with his warm spend.

He ordered that nothing was to be wasted and that she was to lick it off, so she did so without a word of objection; his seed was slightly salty and smelled like nothing she had felt before.

Like sin.

He watched her every move with satisfaction.

"− you are going to spend the night with me −" He commanded, and she nodded, not having the strength to oppose him or think about the consequences.

She didn't care.

"Mmm." He hummed contentedly, sighing quietly, pulling her by her arm along with him, laying down on his back, letting her embrace him.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she hugged her face to his chest, to where his heart was, brushing the bare skin of his stomach with her hand, purring softly as his fingers began to stroke her hair, just as they had then, years ago.

He knew she loved it.

They lay in silence for a long time; their silhouettes surrounded only by the warm light of the fire burning in the distance.

"I missed you." She whispered at last and heard his hand freeze in stillness. She was frightened that she had frustrated him and felt relieved when, a moment later, he placed a kiss on the top of her head, stroking her further with his palm, the tips of their fingers trailing over their half-naked bodies, making them both shiver.

It took a long time before he said anything, as if he needed to think it all over, to put it all back together in his head.

"Do you still want to marry me?" He asked at last, apparently assuming that what the others were planning didn't matter and that he had to have a good understanding of what had happened between them, whether they wanted the same thing.

She lifted her head, looking at him already without fear; even though his gaze was cold and his face stern, she already knew what lurked underneath, that if he had built a wall around himself as a child, it was now a giant fortress separating him from everyone else that could not be taken by storm.

What they had done didn't change the fact that they still didn't know if they could trust each other.

"Yes." She whispered, tracing her fingers over the spot underneath where his heart was beating. He looked at her for a moment, as if he wanted to make sure she was telling the truth, and then he grabbed her hand and lifted it to his lips, placing a warm, lingering kiss on it.

"− you have such big hands −" She whispered, looking in awe at the clearly defined lines of his veins, playing with his fingers; the inside of his palm was rough, she thought it was the fault of his daily holding of the sword.

"− they're not as delicate as yours − your skin seems like it's made of silk −" He murmured with some kind of admiration, gazing at the innocent play of their fingers brushing against each other in the air.

She felt a squeeze in her throat at the sight, the elation and pain, thinking of all the years she had dreamed of him coming back for her, of telling her that he still loved her. She felt involuntarily tears under her eyelids and pressed her lips together, trying to hold them back, however to no avail.

They flowed down her cheeks one by one, and she felt her chest begin to vibrate as did her breathing. He glanced at her, hearing this and they looked at each other for a moment in silence. He lifted his free hand and with a slow, tender movement of his thumb rubbed the moisture from her warm skin.

"Don't cry. Come here." He said lowly, grabbing her waist and pulling her close, his hand slipped into her hair hiding her face in the hollow of his neck, her bare breasts pressed against the skin of his chest.

She breathed quietly, focusing on his wonderful, familiar scent and the embrace in which, even though she shouldn't, she felt safe.

It seemed so right.

"Tomorrow, Luke will lose his rights to Driftmark. Justice will be done, and I will announce that our betrothal was never officially called off. We will marry in the tradition of our ancestors, ending at last these years of misery." He said calmly, as if he thought it was the only sensible thing to do – his hand trailed involuntarily through her hair and down her bare shoulder, but his mind was far from her.

She swallowed loudly and tensed all over hearing his words, words concerning her younger brother's inheritance which, after all, Corlys had passed on to him, obviously aware that they bore his name but were not of his blood.

He felt her hesitation immediately and began to breathe louder, his fingers digging warningly into the soft skin of her arm.

"Say something." He muttered in an anxious, trembling voice, but she didn't know what she was supposed to answer, her heart pounding like mad, tears welling up again in the corners of her eyes.

She thought with horror that she had made the mistake of assuming that the fact that he could forgive her meant that he could also forgive Luke.

She had noticed it then, in the courtyard, seeing the way he looked at her brother, but she preferred to push it deep into her consciousness, to pretend that it would all be easily resolved, that they would live together in peace and prosperity.

"What will you do if he doesn't lose his rights to Driftmark?" She asked quietly, feeling her voice tremble with every word she spoke. This time it was his body that tensed all over; she heard him draw in air loudly, his heart pounding like mad under her hand.

"Is your mother-whore plotting something again? Hm?" He growled, gripping her cheeks painfully tight in his hand, forcing her to look at him in an aggressive motion.

She felt that familiar terror again, fear at the sight of madness, darkness and hatred lurking in his gaze.

"N-no, I swear." She whimpered with difficulty, saw him tighten his lips, his nostrils quivering restlessly in a quick, laboured breath.

"Is she the one who sent you to me? To soften me up, to fucking distract me, to divert my attention?" He hissed with growing anger and a note of desperation, a sense of betrayal that escaped his throat, she thought he had completely lost his mind.

"No, Aemond, she wants me to marry someone else, she has no clue I'm here." She cried helplessly, without strength, recognising that he could do whatever he wanted with her, beat her or kill her, nothing could change the fact that she was heartbroken.

Seeing her state, the way she said the words, his grip on her face softened, his thumb ran tenderly over her soft, tear-wet skin.

"No. No, don't cry. Don't cry, my love. Don't cry." He whispered drawing her to him again and she burst out into loud sobs, seeking comfort in his arms; he kissed the top of her head again and again repeating that he believed her, that he just had to be sure.

Whatever would happen, the boy she knew had never been violent towards her.

"I would never hurt you." He whispered, and her words burst out of her mouth before she had time to think them through, full of pain and disappointment.

"You have done it now and you will do it again." She muttered lifting herself up, putting the sleeves of her nightgown over her breasts, wanting to lift herself off his bed. His hand clamped on her arm stopped her – he raised himself up on his elbow with her, however this time he was careful with how much force he used, she could hear the terror in his breathing.

"No. I didn't mean to. Gods, I swear." He muttered, gripping her cheek in his palm, clearly wanting her to look at him, but she shook her head.

"You desire me, but you're not in love with me. You abhor me and whenever you forget that I can give you pleasure, you will hurt me." She choked out between sobs, getting up from his bed; he got up behind her, catching her waist, hugging her back – his face pressed against her neck, she felt his warm, shaky breath on her skin.

"I have waited for you for so many years. Don't leave, it won't happen again." He muttered in a trembling, pleading voice, but she knew it was a lie, that he was desperate now, that if only he could be sure she wouldn't escape him, he would do whatever he wanted with her.

How could she be so blind, to think that after all this time he would look upon her as an equal?

"You're right to think I was never worthy of you. Forgive me that you had to endure such humiliation because of me for so many years." She choked out in pain, pulling herself out of his embrace, walking out of his chamber, startling his guards, not caring if they told the Queen of her visit or not.

She returned to her quarters and threw herself on her bed, quivering and sobbing with despair breaking her heart, realising with pain that there was never any hope for them.

He did not love her.

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Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

#sweet reblog #kisses 😘#mutuals 💐

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