#modern!aemond targaryen x original female character

[flowerandblood]

The Last Drop (1/?)

[ modern • vampire • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: description of blood drinking and bleeding in general, sexual tension, angst, memories of murders of both humans and animals, descriptions of violence + a lot of sadness ]

[ description: Encouraged by the information that the town he has landed in is not known for having the most vigilant police in the world, he decides to go on a little hunting trip to finally quench his burning thirst. However, not everything goes according to plan. (A lot of sexual tension, grumpy, gloomy Aemond). ]

Yes, Ewan's recent photoshoot inspired me to return to the vampire theme, this time in a modern version. I liked my idea for the character and their dynamic so much that it won't be a oneshot, but a mini-series! The general idea is that vampires in my world no longer produce their own blood, so they must drink the blood of others: however, once it enters their veins, the blood they drink takes on their own taste and smell, which attracts victims like a lure.

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

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The night was cool and crisp, the sharp air pleasantly filled his lungs. Even though he didn't actually need to, he breathed: it allowed him to remember that he was alive.

The centuries he had spent in perpetual, primitive thirst, starving himself, only to finally succumb again, wove together in his mind into chaos. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since his body had gone cold and no blood flowed through his veins.

Nor was it flowing through his heart, although he needed it.

That was why he had to eat.

He made frequent use of the blood that was stored in hospitals, as did others of his kind; nevertheless, to his disappointment and dismay, this was not enough for him.

No matter how many litres of blood he would drink from a plastic bag, he still felt a hunger that only passed when he sank his fangs into someone's neck.

He didn't understand why he couldn't stop himself – why, despite doing what he was supposed to do, he couldn't fool his nature.

At some point he just stopped trying.

He didn't kill, or at least he tried not to, however, his victims didn't show gratitude for his generosity – for fear that someone would recognise him, he kept changing his location, having several flats across the country.

Alys had told him about this town – she assured him that the police did not act too quickly here, and that it was easy and pleasant to eat in peace in the large, badly lit park. Indeed, when he arrived he found, walking the quiet streets at night, that the place had enough inhabitants to remain anonymous.

This was his chance.

Although he usually watched and followed his prey for long days, that night, as she passed him, he felt a hot, strange shiver and his heart, half-living, half-dead thumped harder in his chest. He turned behind her immediately and stopped, feeling a drop of cold sweat run down his back.

She was young.

Too young for his taste.

If he overreacted and lost control, she might not survive.

But she smelled so incredibly good.

He felt his fangs lengthen involuntarily, his jaw tense as he took a slow, heavy step behind her, into the depths of the park lit dimly by only a few night lanterns.

She was probably coming back from work from a night shift at some club or bar, because she had a rucksack slung over her shoulder – even though it was the beginning of winter, she was wearing only a jumper, scarf and trousers, her hair loose, their scent reaching his nostrils even though she was far ahead of him.

Fuck, I'm not going to make it, he thought, desperate, feeling his desire intensify for some reason – his senses sharpened and his hands clenched into fists as she turned into a dark side street, between the trees.

Now.

He found himself there within moments and froze, ready to attack, seeing the void in front of him – her scent was clear, but somehow she had vanished into thin air. He swallowed hard, biting his lower lip with some kind of feeling of regret and disappointment, looking around.

"Are you thirsty?" He heard a soft, calm voice behind himself and turned suddenly, feeling his heart leap to his throat with fear.

How could she be standing far behind him when she had just been in front of him?

What was that question supposed to mean?

He wanted to lunge at her, but hesitated as he saw her cock her head, pointing her hand back at her rucksack.

"I have a few bags full of blood in my backpack. I can give them to you if you need them. I have more at home." She continued, undaunted.

He felt his lips part involuntarily in disbelief when he noticed that, indeed, her face was pale, her hair unnaturally shiny and thick, her eyes sparkling with some unnatural gleam.

He was so thirsty that he did not notice that she resembled him.

She lowered her hand and blinked, seeing that he was still silent, looking at him with some kind of worry, as if he were a stray, hungry dog.

"What do you need?" She asked at last, and his gaze fled to her neck, to the blood of others that her heart had just pumped.

Blood that would have her own unique taste.

"Not here." She said, moving suddenly ahead, as if she had changed her mind. "Come with me."

He didn't know why, but he did as she said.

Usually it was the others who obeyed his orders, but now he didn't have the strength to stand up.

Perhaps he didn't even want to.

He was so terrified, intrigued and excited that he was breathing through his mouth.

It had been a long time since he had felt his own heartbeat so clearly.

He didn't know where she had got so much courage to let a stranger, much less a man like him, into her flat. To his surprise, it was cosy and colourful, full of flowers and plants, prints and posters, soft blankets and cushions in fancy patterns.

He stood in the middle of the corridor, not knowing what to do with himself, unable and unwilling now to just throw himself at her.

She pulled off her shoes and backpack, entering the living room without turning on the light, just as he seeing clearly in the dark – she sat down on the couch and held out her hand to him, a warm smile on her face that had a hint of comfort in it.

"Come here. It's okay. You've been brave." She said softly, as if praising a small child, her tone of voice filled with serenity and melacholy, as if she had known him for years.

He didn't know why he pulled off his shoes and coat, looking straight into her eyes, why, drawn by some unknown, mystical force, some strange warmth that filled his chest, he approached her.

He watched, breathing heavier and louder, as she lay on her back, still holding her hand outstretched towards him – he grasped her fingers uncertainly in his, thinking with some kind of tenderness that they were as cold as his own.

And yet, for some strange reason, though he was dead, it seemed as if life was still pulsing within her.

He was ashamed to admit to himself that he felt not only desire at the thought, but arousal as he lay down beside her, smelling her scent more and more clearly with every movement.

There was something intimate about the way she looked straight into his eyes without fear, the way her fingers combed slowly through his short hair, the way they were both silent for a moment, just breathing.

"– it's okay –" She repeated in a whisper, running her knuckles over his cheek, making him feel a squeeze in his throat for some reason.

He was moved.

When was the last time he'd been close to someone in this way?

He moved closer to her, feeling a wonderful shiver of excitement and anticipation run along his back as he leaned over her neck – his lips, swollen with desire, ran tentatively over her soft skin.

He heard her quiet sigh, her hands clenched on his body as he slid his slick tongue out, trailing the tip of it over the crook of her neck. He felt his erection pulsate, pushing against her thigh as he opened his mouth wider and his fangs slowly sank into the delicate structure of her flesh.

The fact that she was a stranger to him, unlike Alys, whom he had known for years, made him, for some reason, not dare to be aggressive – even though he could certainly hurt her if he wanted to, he decided to show his gratitude for her understanding and be polite.

There was something pleasurable about being able to focus only on the taste of her blood as it spilled over his palate – because of the way it circulated inside her body, it was warm, though not like that of a normal human being. He didn't mind, because it was a strangely refreshing taste, while at the same time providing him with a feeling of comfort – he thought the last time he felt like this was probably when he was an infant, drinking his mother's milk.

Safety.

He took one sip, then a second, and a third, one hand holding under her back, the other trailing slowly over the skin of her neck and jaw, for some reason wanting to feel her this way – her flesh grew warmer from the gentle rubbing of his fingers.

There was something in her blood that gave him the conviction of her kindness, and he was surprised by this discovery – he felt his heart begin to beat more slowly again, and his muscles, all sore a moment before, relaxed.

He wondered if she felt that he was completely hard.

When he pulled away from her, he closed his eyes and just nestled his face against her chest, tucking his head under her chin. He swallowed hard as she placed a soft, warm kiss on his hair, stroking reassuringly his cheek and back with her hand – he knew their closeness was just an imitation of what they both desired and needed, but he was too desperate to deny himself that.

He would never have asked for it out loud, but for some reason he craved what she offered him.

He wanted to hide.

He didn't need to sleep to survive, but he liked to rest that way, even more so when he was tired and relaxed. That girl, whoever she was, didn't try to escape his embrace, which gave him the feeling that she wouldn't do anything they both might regret.

When he woke up, he could see through the thick, bright curtains that the sun was already high in the sky – he murmured, snuggled with his face into her cheek, not having the strength or desire to move.

Now, in the light, he could look at her clearly.

She had been transformed when she was no more than twenty years old – of that he was certain. Her behaviour and appearance, in his mind, indicated that this sudden, frightening change in her life was recent: fifteen years ago at most, maybe less.

He swallowed quietly and stood up, deciding there was no point in prolonging it – the girl turned towards him and rubbed her eyelids, sleepily.

"Are you leaving already? Wait until sunset." She muttered.

He froze and cursed in his spirit, glancing at the window.

If it had been cloudy he would have survived somehow, but in full sun the burns was the least he could hope for.

She stood up, apparently seeing what he was thinking about, and moved lazily towards the kitchen, massaging the back of her neck.

There were no more marks from his bite, but her neck was all dirty with blood.

She reached for a plastic cup with a straw that looked like an old Coca-Cola packet and began to drink from it, slurping loudly. She raised an eyebrow when she saw that he was staring at her without saying a word.

"What? You made me thirsty." She explained, however, without a hint of resentment or regret, looking into her fridge, filled from top to bottom with plastic bags filled with blood.

"If you want, I can make blood tart or jelly. Or soup. So you won't be hungry again." She said, still continuing the activity of drinking through a straw from a plastic cup.

"What?" It popped out of his mouth, probably because he didn't understand what he had just heard.

"You know, food. I miss it sometimes. Mixing it with blood makes it nourishing, tasty and more interesting than blood itself. It's good with ice as a drink. I once put it in a soda maker to make bubbles inside, but the experiment failed." She said with a sincere sadness that made him just hide his face in his hands.

Was she serious?

"Sit down. I'll make us some jellies. Blood and raspberry. Yummy." She decided on her own, apparently completely not needing his opinion on the matter.

Indeed, he decided that he couldn't leave as long as the sun was shining so hard, so he sat down, watching in disbelief as she pulled out the gelatine, bowl, blood, raspberries and a few other things she apparently needed to create whatever she had in mind.

Looking at her with pity, he stated with a kind of melancholy that it had been a long time since he had watched a woman cook – the last time was when he had seen his mother as she was baking a cake, his favourite one: yeast with plums.

He felt a sting in his heart at the thought that he could still recreate the taste of it in his head.

"Do you live here? In this town, I mean." Her curious voice snapped him out of his reverie.

He looked at her, or rather at her back, watching as she stirred the steaming liquid in a small saucepan.

His thumb began to pick at the cuticles around his fingernails as his whole body screamed for him to do what was better for him, which was to lie.

"Yes. Since recently." He replied.

"Oh, I see – I've been living here for four years now. I'll probably have to move out soon. For now, they think my unchanging appearance is due to good genes." She said softly, pouring the contents of the saucepan into two ice cream goblets.

God, she really does make fucking blood jelly.

He blinked and looked at her, hearing the silence around them, recognising that he should answer something after all.

"Thank you. For yesterday. For your understanding." He said finally, his thumb digging into his skin too hard, creating a small, red wound along his fingernail.

Blood.

He saw her flinch and look over her shoulder – her eyes were big, as if she was surprised by something, her lips parted slightly, as if she felt arousal.

"– oh – do you want a plaster? –" She muttered, turning back – he noticed that her hands were shaking as she set the cups down in the fridge.

He lifted his finger to his lips and licked the bright red, sticky liquid from it.

"– no need –"

He saw her reach for her plastic cup, her eyes closed as she drew a few deep, greedy sips from the straw.

His manhood twitched in his trousers with delight at the thought that she craved his blood.

He swallowed hard when she came to him close enough that he could smell her clearly again – the psychological advantage he thought he had gained over her dissolved into thin air when he realised he wasn't driven by desperation then.

She smelled so good.

She tasted so good.

Maybe he could stay with her longer?

"Maybe we could be friends?" She asked.

He looked at her, feeling that his eyes were wide open in disbelief. Seeing that he had opened his mouth to answer something, she continued quickly, as if she feared she knew what he would answer.

"I have no one here. I don't trust myself enough to spend time alone with other people. I'm afraid of hurting them. But with you, I don't have to be afraid. You're new here too, so... I want you to know that you can count on me in times of need." She said quickly, stammering a few times, as if she was ashamed of her own words.

Was that why she had brought him to her home?

Because she was lonely?

"I don't know." He muttered, this time answering honestly.

"Okay. I just wanted you to know that the door to my house would be open for you."

After all, you don't know me completely, he thought.

You don't know if I didn't kill someone yesterday, if I won't hurt you, rob you, destroy your life out of boredom, for fun.

"How can you be so naive?"

He wasn't sure if he'd really said the question or if he'd only heard it in his head, but her expression told him that the words had left his mouth after all.

"You think so?" She muttered, heartbroken, as if his opinion meant something to her.

Why?

"I was thirsty and you allowed me to satisfy my hunger. You invited a strange man into your home. I could have raped you, I could have killed you. I still can." He snorted with a wide grin, looking at her in disbelief.

He saw her swallow hard, something moist shining in the corners of her big eyes.

"Maybe that's what I wanted. Maybe that's what I hoped for."

He felt a twinge in his stomach at her words, serious and filled with regret.

What were they really talking about now?

Was she hoping he would kill her?

"What do you mean?" He asked, running his fingers over the soft material that covered the armchair he was sitting on.

I can end your torment if you want me to and drink your blood to the last drop.

"I am alone. I can't talk to my parents or the friends I had before I…" She mumbled and drew in air loudly, apparently trying not to cry.

He was wrong.

It probably hadn't even been ten years since she'd been transformed.

How was it possible that she was doing so well?

Young vampires were usually feral and hungry, seeking pleasure in orgies full of blood. She, meanwhile, lived in her small flat like some kind of hermitage and worked as if nothing had happened.

That's why she cooked food, that's why she dressed the way she did, that's why she decorated her flat according to contemporary fashion.

She didn't want to let go of her old life.

"I'm sorry." He said and once again, he was honest. "In truth, I admire your self-control."

"I killed my dog. My best friend. A labrador with big, brown eyes." She mumbled out, fiddling with her fingers, whooping with the tears that began to run down her face one by one.

She had no one to tell about this, so she treated meeting him like a confession.

"I see. Then you ran away from home?" He asked calmly, for some reason feeling towards her words nothing but understanding.

His father's numb body lying on the floor beneath him, his loud panting when he finally regained his composure – he could see perfectly his lifeless eyes open in horror, his mouth spread wide, his throat ripped apart as if it had been torn by an animal.

He loved him, but he never noticed him.

He showed him no support when his eye was taken away, instead comforting his daughter from his first marriage.

Why was it always her and never him?

"Yes." She muttered wearily, her breathing deep and laboured, full of suffering.

"Do they know what happened to you? Where are you now?" He asked further, and she shook her head.

"Good. You did the right thing." He stated.

He raised his hands slightly in the air, surprised, as she sat on his lap and snuggled into him, embracing him around the waist.

She was sobbing like a little child, and in a way she probably was one – torn away from her family and what was familiar to her, she was wandering around the world alone and aimless, filled only with longing and grief.

He struggled to accept the thought that he understood her all too well.

He shuddered when he felt her warm, heavy breath on his neck – his hand ran over her back reassuringly, giving her wordless permission to take what she needed.

Comfort.

He'd only let Alys drink his blood so far, but for some reason he couldn't and didn't want to refuse her – he closed his eyes and sighed, tilting his head back as he felt her fangs slowly dig into his skin with surprising gentleness.

He heard something that sounded to him like a grunt of pleasure when she swallowed a loud gulp of his blood – his lips parted as her hips rolled forward, brushing it against his half-hard erection.

His fingers clenched on her flesh as he involuntarily reciprocated the movement, reaching out to meet her – they both began to breathe louder, as if surprised that they were taking pleasure in two forms of intimacy at the same time.

Their bodies rubbed against each other in calm, gentle harmony, his nose sunk into her soft hair, which he combed with his fingers, the sound of her swallowing arousing him more and more with each passing second.

She needed him.

He wanted to be needed.

He always had.

When she finally pulled away from his neck she pressed her cheek against his chest, exactly as he did then, and took a deep breath, as if she had accomplished some great achievement by not drinking his blood to the last drop.

"…shall we eat our jellies?"

[theswordwrites]

PART ONE (the alchemy)

Juniper receives good news and has no choice but to celebrate with her closest friends, leading her right into the path of Aemond Targaryen (again.)

(TW: 18+ partying, drug use, nothing too crazy!)

word count: 4.3k

NEXT PART

By midnight, June’s feet ached in the heels required by her uniform. It was ridiculous, truly. The gala attendees barely looked at her for longer than a few seconds, so why was she squeezed into a cocktail dress that had probably been handed down a dozen times and shoes that made her calves tense and sore for days? As she ran drinks to and from tables, flashing her best million-dollar smile, she reminded herself the paycheck would be worth it. Her rent would be paid, her credit card debt knocked down, and she could finally buy the cat tree that had been sitting in her online shopping cart for weeks. Maybe she’d even splurge on a night out at The Velvet Throne with her roommate, Arianne, and their friends.

After a night working the Green Party’s latest altruistic-yet-off-putting kickoff gala, she would need at least four martinis and a cigarette. She had spotted Alicent Hightower, as beautiful as ever, gliding through the room in a deep sage silk gown. June wasn’t sure what the gala was raising money for, but they had raised a hell of a lot of it. She had to admit, Alicent was so stunning she might have emptied her own pockets for her, too. The Targaryen-Hightower children had made an appearance. The eldest—whose name escaped her—was drunk by the time the opening speeches began. Helaena had left early, trailed by three bodyguards. She’d seen the second son, Aemond, only from behind. Taller than his older brother, and surprisingly, not wearing green. Odd, considering the rumor was he was at odds with party advisors ahead of the election.

That morning, Arianne, Edith, and Seraphina had dissected the election over bagels and coffee. Edith claimed he seemed different from his father, with more progressive policies aimed at gaining the younger generation's vote. Arianne rolled her eyes and insisted he might put on a good show, but he was just as much a Targaryen as his father, with his scheming grandfather pulling the strings. “I’m sure he’ll say anything to get into office, and once he’s there, he’ll line his pockets like the rest of them.”

June had stayed quiet, editing her thesis on her laptop and mulling over her use of the word "delve." She had no faith in the system, nor those who upheld it. But she had heard a speech Aemond had given about student debt, arguing that education shouldn't have a price because knowledge was power, and everyday people deserved to hold it. It intrigued her—how young he was, and the impact that could have. She promised herself she would research more closer to the election and do her duty as a citizen of Westeros. Her brain was too full of edits and deadlines to give it much space now.

“June, we need more champagnes to the front table, like right now,” one of the other servers hissed at her, voice anything but subtle. She nodded and forced her aching legs to move.

At the table sat the Hightowers and their equally powerful, politically savvy friends. She spotted Larys Strong, who had served the late Prime Minister, looking as intense and off-putting as ever as he leaned on his cane. Jason Lannister's spray tan was a shade too deep, and June had to bite back a giggle. How could someone be so rich and yet so blind? Surely, he could hire someone to remind him that a few hours was more than enough.

She set the glasses down gently, adding a smile and a dragon-embossed napkin. June tried to ignore that Alicent Hightower was looking at her but managed a polite, “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“I think we’re okay for now, thank you,” Alicent replied, her voice as graceful as her movements.

June smiled again, hoping her lipstick hadn’t smudged, and glanced around the table. The eldest Targaryen son sat to Alicent’s left, and next to him was Aemond, the current parliamentary candidate. He was all sharp lines and elegance, with blue eyes that were now fixed on her. June paled, frozen in place. Her gaze traveled from his silver hair to the scar etched over his eye and then to the gold signet ring on his pinky.

He was a Targaryen in every sense of the word, elegantly leaned back in his chair, hands folded on the table, eyes like steel.

The seconds stretched into an eternity before her brain caught up with her body. With another awkward grin and a slight tilt of her head, she turned—no, scurried—away.

Nothing embarrassed June more than feeling out of place. And that had been mortifying.

Back in the kitchen, she sipped water and fanned her face, hoping she wasn’t too flushed. She quickly asked the manager—an older woman with a sharp determination to break in the new servers—if she could take her first break. The manager nodded, and June didn’t waste a second before slipping outside. The cool air of a late August evening felt refreshing against her skin, drawing out some of the heat as she leaned against the brick wall. Her phone dinged.

TO: JUNIPER GREYSONFROM: DR. ORWYLE

Miss Greyson,

I apologize for the late correspondence. I have just received confirmation that your dissertation has been approved by the committee. Please call my office tomorrow morning to set a date for your defense.

CongratulationsSent from my iPhone

She squealed—a high-pitched, elated sound that escaped before she could stop it. It didn’t matter who heard. She had spent three years on that thesis, hours upon hours of research and writing and scraping by, and now she’d done it. Her fingers found Arianne’s contact, and she didn't care if the brunette was with her “so-not-my-girlfriend” girlfriend.

After a single ring, Arianne answered, “Junie! Are you off work yet?”

“No, not yet. Another hour, maybe. Do you have a second?”

“For my beautiful, smart, strawberry blonde best friend? Of course!” June could picture her now, animated, hands moving as she spoke. Arianne always had a flair for the dramatic—and for flattery, which June usually appreciated.

“It got approved! My thesis, I mean. Dr. Orwyle just emailed. It’s going to committee as soon as I set a date.”

Through the phone came another excited, ear-piercing squeal.

“Oh, Seven! June, that’s incredible! I knew you could do it!”

“I—” June stuttered, adrenaline catching up to her, “I think I’m in shock. I expected another round of edits, you know? The conclusion didn’t feel right on the last read—”

Arianne cut her off before she could spiral into self-doubt. “Breathe, Junie. You got approved! That’s the only thing that matters right now. Any chance you can leave early so we can celebrate?”

June glanced from her phone to the open kitchen door. “Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll be home.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Arianne, Edith, and Seraphina were waiting for her with wide grins and a drink in hand when she finally stumbled through the front door. In the mere twenty minutes it had taken June to get home, they had somehow managed to drape a glittering “Congratulations!” banner across the mantle, fill the room with balloons, and crack open a bottle of champagne. The faint scent of perfume and laughter filled the air.

Her heart swelled as they swarmed her, squealing and hugging her like they hadn't seen her in years. "Junie, we are so, so proud of you!" Edith sang, throwing her long arms around June in a hug that rocked them back and forth. The others echoed their congratulations, their voices bright and cheerful, brimming with the kind of excitement only best friends can muster.

They didn’t give her a chance to catch her breath, herded her straight to the bathroom, insisting she shower and change. She let them fuss over her, laughing as they debated outfits, finally settling on something so skimpy it would’ve made her mother clutch her pearls in horror.

For a moment, June thought of her mother, a sharp pang tugging at her chest. She should call her, share the news— but just as quickly, she shoved the thought away, burying it deep. Her mother had been so distant since the accident, so different from the bubbly, over-involved PTA mom who used to cheer too loudly at every recital, every bake sale. It broke June’s heart, but it had been three years, and she had learned to lock those feelings away in a box that she only opened on rare, quiet nights. She was different now too—tougher, more self-reliant. Or at least that’s what she told herself as she swiped concealer under her eyes and dabbed on a thick layer of blush.

"Come on, Junie, let’s go!" Arianne urged, grabbing her arm with a grin. "The Velvet Throne is gonna have a line out the door!"

She barely had time to grab her purse before they were out the door, tumbling into the warm night air. The city buzzed around them—cars honked, street lights flickered, and the distant thrum of music seemed to pulse from every corner. They giggled like schoolgirls as they raced down the street in their high heels, their excitement infectious. After a few glasses of champagne, the ache in her feet had disappeared and she was ready to dance.

When they reached the Velvet Throne, the line was indeed snaking around the block, a mass of people dressed to impress, chattering with anticipation. But Edith, ever the charmer, knew the bouncer. With a coy smile and a flutter of her eyelashes, they were whisked inside and escorted up to the VIP level.

The music hit her like a wave, a deep, pounding bass that vibrated in her chests. One drink turned into two, two into three. The bartender, hearing their redheaded friend was on her way to becoming a doctor, poured them free shots. June held her breath, pinched her nose, and downed it, wincing at the bitter taste but reveling in the warm, numbing sensation that spread through her limbs. The music was so loud it seemed to drown out her thoughts, and for the first time in a long time, she let go.

She danced like she was weightless, the beat coursing through her veins, her friends spinning around her, hair flying, eyes sparkling under the neon lights. They were all in their own little world, a blur of laughter, movement, and joy. At one point, she caught sight of Edith slipping a small baggie from a man in a dark jacket, his expression unreadable.

Edith grabbed her hand, pulling her into a corner and shouting over the music, "Cregan’s at a party at the Keep! He said we’re invited." She opened her palm, revealing the little baggie with a sly grin. "I say we take our new little friend here," she gestured to the baggie, "and head over! Lots of sexy, rich men and free drinks!"

The girls cheered, their excitement infectious, and June felt a surge of adrenaline. This night was far from over.

The Keep was the heart of King’s Landing, home to the city’s wealthiest and most influential residents. The girls had been to a few parties there before, the most memorable being the one where Seraphina ended up spending the night with a Prince from Dorne. They hadn’t let her live it down for months, teasing her with “Your Majesty” until they were breathless with laughter. The prince had texted her the next day, practically begging her to hop on the flight back with him. Sera had only shrugged, saying that while he was amazing in bed and seemed like a nice guy, living in the public eye wasn't for her.

Arianne and Edith had disagreed, dreaming up all the scandalous headlines they’d make if they were ever involved with someone so high-profile. "We’d be the perfect all-Westerosi girls," Arianne had insisted, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

June, as usual, had just nodded and giggled along, content to listen. But now, with the buzz of champagne and a little powder still fresh in her system, she was feeling more chatty. “How did Cregan manage to get into a party at the Keep?” she asked, her voice louder than she intended, her words slightly slurred.

Edith shrugged, adjusting the hem of her skirt. “Old money, babe. His parents have a house there. I’m sure he’s got connections.”

June leaned in closer, her eyebrows raised, chin tipped playfully. “So, are you two ever going to date? Or finally address all that crazy sexual tension?”

Edith laughed, tossing her hair back, her eyes gleaming under the streetlights. “Ask me that tomorrow,” she replied with a wink, just as a car pulled up to the curb. She quickly touched up everyone’s lipstick and hair with a practiced hand. “That’s us!” she shouted.

The Uber ride was a blur, the city lights whizzing by in streaks of neon and gold. It took only fifteen minutes, thanks to the late-night traffic, but it felt like a heartbeat. By now, it was past three in the morning, and though June wouldn’t admit it, she could feel the exhaustion creeping in, the night beginning to weigh heavy on her bones. Still, she was committed to the bit, the thrill of the night pushing her forward.

Cregan was waiting for them outside, leaning casually against the wall in his usual outfit: an open button-up shirt and jeans that clung just right. They exchanged quick hellos, June’s eyes flicking to Edith, who was already batting her lashes and nodding eagerly at everything Cregan said. She nudged Sera with her elbow, tilting her head toward the two of them.

“He’s definitely ending up at your place tonight, I hope you can sleep through it.” June whispered, twisting the silver ring around her middle finger. Sera managed a quick eye roll before they were whisked inside.

The drunk crowd sprawled across the plush living room seemed almost out of place, like they’d stumbled into the wrong kind of party. The room felt like it belonged to someone who read classic novels by the fireplace or debated politics over brandy. June noticed a distinct lack of personal photos; instead, the walls were adorned with stunning artwork, pieces that seemed to glow under the soft lighting and made her mouth water with envy.

She glanced up, her eyes following the endless ceilings that stretched toward a glittering chandelier, so ornate it looked like it belonged in a palace. Above it, a second level.

“Who’s place is this anyway?” she asked, turning to Cregan.

He tore his gaze away from Edith, though his hand remained comfortably on her lower back. “One of the Targaryens,” he replied with a casual grin. “I play ball with Aegon on the weekends. He’s around here somewhere.”

June raised an eyebrow, amused by the casualness of his tone, as if dropping the name of one of the city’s most influential families was no big deal, “He’s the oldest, right?” Cregan nodded, “I worked their gala event tonight. Rumor has it he left early because he was smashed.”

An arm slid around her shoulder, the weight of it startling her. She could see blonde curls from the corner of her eye. A voice, smooth and amused, spoke close to her ear. “Smashed would be correct, little red. But I have sobered up enough to throw one hell of a party.”

“June, meet Aegon. Aegon, meet Juniper Greyson.” Cregan interjected, gesturing between them. The blonde took his arm away from her shoulders and offered his hand to shake.

June took it, taking him in. While he and his brother shared the same icy hair and serene blue eyes, there was a softness to Aegon’s features that set him apart. His nose had a gentle slope, and his eyes, though strikingly similar in color, lacked the hard edge she’d seen in his brother— but were identical to their mother’s set and shape.

Aegon turned his attention to her friends, his grin widening as he introduced himself. His blue eyes stuck to Seraphina as they walked to the kitchen. June withheld her giggle, watching Sera blush under his gaze.

The girls chatted and the boys eventually drifted away to find more of their friends, not before finding the girls cans of seltzers and bottles of water. June watched as her friends chatted, feeling that odd sensation of being inside the conversation, but also outside of it. She figured the drinking, dancing and coke had caught up to her.

“I’m gonna find the bathroom— be right back.” She gave her friends a tightlipped smile.

“Want me to come?” Edith offered, but June shook her head.

“No, I’m alright. Go talk to Cregan again, he’s been staring at you this whole time.” She nodded her head at him across the room, and he quickly looked away, almost embarrassed that he’d been caught.

The first bathroom had been occupied but what she could only assume to be the raunchiest couple in King’s Landing with the sounds that they were making. She scoffed, sure she hadn’t really ever had mind-blowing sex, but that level of noise was just so obviously unnecessary. The second had just been locked with no answer to her knock. She sighed as she made her way up the stairs, finding not a single bathroom, but a bedroom with one connected. 

After taking care of her business and washing her hands, drying them off on the fluffiest hand towel she had ever touched, she wandered around the bedroom. It felt wrong to snoop, but with the lack of trinkets or personal belongings she assumed it must have been a guest room. The bookshelf was full of classics and history books, a few well-loved first editions she could guess by the aged and worn spines. Now, in the silence, her head began to pound as the music faded away. She counted the drinks in her head. 

One at home. Three at the bar. Add two shots at the bar. One downstairs. Two lines in between. 

She realized she had definitely overdone it. While June enjoyed nights like these with her friends—welcomed them even—it wasn’t something she wanted to make a habit of every weekend. The way her vision blurred told her it would take weeks to muster the courage to drink again. Sitting on the bed, she ran her fingers over the dark green quilt and giggled.

Green. Of course it was green. Like the hand towel and the bathroom rug. She wondered if that’s what the owner of the room had told the interior designer, “Well, you see I like green. And I’m so, disgustingly rich.” She said aloud in the poshest accent she could manage, making herself laugh even harder.

The door swinging open seemed to sober her up quickly, pulling any laughter out of her chest.

She looked up, horrified to find Aemond Targaryen in the doorframe. He was wearing the same dark suit from earlier in the evening, but his jacket had been shrugged off and tossed over his arm and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone. “You.” He said, something like recognition washing over his face.

“Me,” June stammered, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks. “I, uh, just needed to use the bathroom and get away from the crowd for a moment. The one downstairs was occupied by a couple making the most disgusting noises, and the other one was locked—someone probably doing coke or something. I thought this was a guest room. I’m sorry. I should go. My friends might be looking for me.” She rambled on, the alcohol making her spill a play-by-play of how she ended up in his bedroom.

Aemond remained in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Despite leaning against the frame, he was still a head and a half taller than her. “You were at the event tonight, and now you’re in my bedroom. Stalking me?”

“You’re a very tough guy to stalk, Mr. Targaryen. I spent all night knocking on doors until Aegon let me in here,” June found herself looking down at her feet, the carpet much easier to maintain eye contact with. 

“So, you’re friends with Aegon then?”

“No, not really. One of my friends is kind of seeing Cregan Stark, and he’s friends with Aegon. We were out celebrating and he invited us. I didn’t realize whose house it was—or that you must live here with Aegon.”

“I don’t live here with Aegon. The place is mine, but Aegon thought it’d be a good joke to throw a party here.” He crossed his long arms over his chest, and June tried to ignore the enticing hint of skin peeking from his undone shirt.

“Oh, that’s kind of shitty.”

“Kind of shitty should be Aegon’s middle name. I’ve already kicked everyone out. Your friends might be gone, but if my driver is still out front, I can have him take you home.” He gestured to the hallway and began to walk. June followed, too tired to argue.

“You don’t have to. I can call an Uber.” She said, not wanting to be a bother. But she did think, in the back of her mind, that Edith would have a fit if she knew Aemond Targaryen’s personal driver had taken her home. Arianne would pretend to be less impressed, but would hound her later on the make and model; asking if there was a privacy shade and free champagne.

“Ride-share crime has gone up 10% last quarter, I can’t in good conscience—especially not to a constituent.” 

“Trying to win my vote, Mr. Targaryen?” She asked, grinning.

“I was hoping I already had it.”

“You probably do. I saw your student debt speech and liked it, but I’ve been putting off thinking about the election until school settles down. So I can make a well-informed decision of course.”

They descended the stairs. Indeed, Aemond had kicked everyone out, and only Aegon lay sprawled on the leather sofa. “Little red! I see you met my brother, charmer isn’t he?”

Aemond’s gaze was cold as he replied, “Go back to sleep, you oaf. I’m going to have Criston take her home.”

“Oh, I sent Criston back home. Oops.” Aegon giggled, clearly drunker than the last time she saw him. Aemond only sighed as they reached the door.

“I can take you home. I don’t drink, so I’m as sober as can be.”

June nodded, again too tired to argue. The liquor made her pliant, and she was eager to get home. Aemond led her to a sleek black Mercedes, opening the door for her with a practiced ease. She found the gesture oddly chivalrous.

As he turned on the engine, the hum of the car snapped her out of her daze. She glanced around at the luxurious, leather interior. “You’re a PhD student at KLU, right?”

“Stalking me, Mr. Targaryen?” She peered at him.

“Aemond,” he corrected, his tone softer but still firm, glancing over at her as he handed her his phone, maps open and ready for her to enter her address. “Call me Aemond, please. ‘Mr.’ makes me feel old. I stepped out for a smoke this evening and overheard you on the phone. Congratulations, by the way. Dr. Orwyle is not an easy man to impress.”

“Oh.” June’s lips curled into a smile at the praise as she handed his phone back to him. She watched as the map popped up on the car’s screen, showing it was only a ten-minute drive home. “Thank you. I’m excited for it to be over, I think. You studied under Dr. Orwyle?”

She found herself looking at him again, her gaze lingering on his muscular hand gripping the steering wheel. “For my first PhD. He was a hard-ass, but pressure makes diamonds, and I couldn’t have done it without him.”

“Were you nervous for your defense? I know you do speeches all the time now, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to be the hardest part.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” He asked, his voice dropping close to a whisper, as if anyone else could hear him. “I still get nervous. Every time. Whether it's a crowd of twenty or two thousand. But I remind myself that it’s not about me; it’s about the content, about getting people to listen. All the other stuff—the cadence of your voice or your posture—will come naturally.”

She hummed in response, her head resting against the cold window. The city lights blurred past, and she wondered if Edith had gone home with Cregan. “That’s good advice, thank you.”

“If politics doesn’t work out, my mother thinks I should go into consulting. Perhaps I have a knack for it.” He glanced over at her, his gaze intense. June tried to imagine the setting of that conversation. Was he worried about losing, or was the confidence from his team (or his family) faltering?

“You might, but I think politics might suit you better. The whole country seems to be buzzing about you.”

He shrugged, a flicker of something—appreciation, relief?—in his eyes. “We’ll have to see if that's the case in a few months.”

“Oh, this is me, with the red door.” She pointed out, and he brought the car to a slow stop. Before she could unbuckle her seat belt, he was out of the driver’s side and rounding the car to open the door for her. She found his chivalry oddly compelling, a sharp contrast to his earlier indifference to seemingly everything and everyone.

“Thank you for giving me a ride home, Aemond,” she said again, her voice tinged with genuine gratitude and something more. He just nodded, watching her unlock the door and step inside.

Juniper and Aemond failed to notice the blacked out SUV across the street, a long camera lens poking out of the passenger side, snapping away.

okay part one is out! I see this being 7-12 parts, depending on how much i daydream about it in class tomorrow. please leave comments questions etc! so excited to share this <3

[councilofcastamere]

DRAGONS AND THE CITY | MODERN!AEMOND TARGARYEN X READER

a b r i d g e m e n t : you’re an assistant to a Baratheon magazine editor in the lonely city of New York. but why, whenever she makes you run errands, do you bump into the second son of King Viserys Targaryen of England?

TW: not as far as I know

A/N: based on sex and the city!

You stalked along the streets of New York, your J’adior slingback pumps clacking across the stony pavement. Your curly hair was thrown back in your face as you hurriedly reached into your pocket.

In all seriousness, your boss, Cassandra Baratheon, had instructed you to be at her office at 8 am and had told you to fetch her a latte macchiato from the new Brazilian coffee shop opening up around the corner of the apartment you lived in.

Well, as luck could have it, it was 7:50 and you weren’t inside the damn doors of the conglomerate doors, which is why you were trotting for your life, every step you take a risk of spilling the coffee on your silk-viscose Armani jumper.

You’d been running for 2 minutes, not paying any attention to the angry passer-by’s you managed to bump into. You thought a simple “sorry!” or “contact me, I’ll pay you back” would suffice as you ignored the angry mutters behind you.

You panted as you finally made it to the bold doors of the largest building you had ever worked at, the door man being courteous as ever.

“As jolly as always.” you chuckled, playfully hurrying into the building. as soon as you stepped inside you hurried into the elevator.

Inside were three other woman. Other assistants with the same agenda and the same troubles, you assume. You flashed a quick smile but of course only one of the women bothered to return the smile.

God, you almost wanted to die of embarrassment. Your feet instinctively tapped against the carpet as you prayed the elevator wouldn’t get stuck.

You almost did trip over the white elevator carpet as you hurried out of the lift, frantically scanning the names on the bold golden doors until you finally read “C. BARATHEON, EDITOR OF WESTEROS GLAMOUR.”

The clock on your wrist compelled you to check, seeing if you had absolutely screwed your heels and stamina for nothing.

Andddd… great. It’s 8:04.

You sighed, pushing the doors forward as you came face to face with the light of the big windows.

“Mrs. Baratheon?” you asked in a polite tone, trying to keep your nervousness from prevailing into your tone. “I apolog-"

“Put the coffee on my desk, dear." the Baratheon replied bluntly, slowly swinging her chair from left to right whilst tapping her nails against the desk. “I do not the time to listen to your excuses, nor do I care, to be frank.”

Rude much? But obviously, you couldn’t tell her that. You’d be out of here quicker than that one time you went on a date with that man that suggested you’d be a knock-out if you just got a little botox.

“Is there anything else you require of me, Mrs?” you asked, hurriedly settling the coffee down on the marble furniture.

“Yes.” she replied, eyeing you up and down with a mean streak on her face. “As you know, the prince is visiting this weekend.”

“May I ask which one?” you ask, quickly taking out your lighter as she took out her cigarette. “There are 6 of them, you know?”

“What’s the name again?” Cassandra asked, although not to you. Her fingers flicked as she tried to come up with a name. “His name escapes me at the moment, but it’s the eye-less one.”

“He still has one eye. Not exactly eyeless.” you chuckle.

“Watch it.” she warns, rolling an eye. “Anyhow, you’re in charge of driving him to the Baratheon manor. Said he had urgent business with my family. I can swear the fucker is there for an arranged marriage. Probably to Floris. It’s always Floris.”

“When might that be?” you ask, raising a brow. “Gotta have a good dress for it. Not everyday I meet a prince of the oh-so-holy Targaryen dynasty.”

“Glad you asked, cause it’s right about fucking now.” Cassandra cocked a smile, blowing the smoke out into open air.

That bitch? The audacity? You weren’t even dressed for the occasion? She’s a fucking menace?

“Alright.” you sigh. you didn’t wanna get fired, you just wanted to keep your job! “Where do I meet him?”

“He’s waiting in the limousine right now, so you’d better hurry your little Dior heels down the stairs.” the Baratheon dismisses you, waving her hand.

“Shit!” you sigh, quickly tucking your stuff into your Khaite the Remi hobo bag. you quickly ran down the hallway, using the stairs this time. you did not even register there was a silhouette in-front of you, until you inevitably bumped into it.

“Sorry!” you instinctively blurt out, as the stranger held you tight, his fingers digging into your arms.

You looked up at the stranger, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t surprised to see His Majesty on the regular stairs of a New York building.

“Your Highness,” you address him, quickly composing yourself. “My apologies, I just…”

“Ran a marathon, perhaps?” The silver-haired prince mused, cocking a brow as you could only let out an unexpected chuckle.

“Uh, yeah.” You smiled, composing your body to stand straight. “Yeah. I’m Y/N.”

-

part 2 coming soon, I wanna see where this goes in terms of popularity which happens to affect my motivation 📸

[humanpurposes]

My Heart Belongs to Daddy, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // It's bad enough we get along so well

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+ smut, daddy kink, language, infidelity

Words: 1170

A/n: I just had this idea and couldn't get it out of my head so enjoy :) Also available to read on AO3.

“Say it.” His voice is rough and demanding, and a little breathless as he fucks into her from behind at a punishing pace.

She writhes in the bed beneath him, raking her nails over the mattress, burying her face into the pillows, desperate to take the edge off. “Please,” she half whimpers, “don’t make me say it.”

“You want to cum don’t you, pretty girl?”

Her body flutters at the thought. She decided some time ago his voice is her favourite part of all this, how he teases her, how he talks her through her pleasure and makes his demands.

“It doesn’t even make sense,” she mumbles, “you’re only two years older than me.”

He lets out a low hum, one she knows well by now, an indication of amusement and irritation at her stubbornness. His thrusts slow down but they become harder and more determined. The slapping sound of skin against skin becomes clearer and he leans down, brushing his lips against her ear as he harshly whispers. “I mean it, I’ll keep using you all night, and no matter how much you beg, how hard you cry, you’re not gonna fucking cum. Now-”

Her cunt is clamping over nothing and she’s on her back, gazing up into blue eyes blown with lust. He leans over her again, resting his forehead against hers. His voice is smooth and scathing. “I’ll ask one more time.”

She sighs, instinctively wrapping her legs around him to pull him closer. “I need you, daddy.”

She feels his cock prodding at her entrance, hard and eager, but as much as he loves the feeling of fucking her, he also loves to tease her. “Tell me what you need.”

Her back arches as he drags the tip through her folds and over her clit. The pleasure is mind numbing but she needs more. “I need your cock, daddy, to fill me up and make me feel good.”

Aemond presses a peck to her cheek. He loves her like this, body squirming, pussy dripping and eyes glazed, so desperate and needy, just for him. “Say please,” he whispers softly.

She lets out a little whine, but she could never be bad for him. “Please, daddy.”

He pushes in again, slowly, letting her feel the stretch and every inch of his cock dragging against her sensitive walls. “Does it feel good, baby?” He coos.

“Fuck… yes,” she gasps, sliding her arms along his shoulders and around his neck. She breathes in the smell of him, expensive aftershave, cigarette smoke and sweat. “It feels so fucking good.”

She feels him smiling into her neck. “Was that so hard, baby?”

They hold each other tight as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, she with her arms around his neck and him gripping at the flesh of her waist like she might disappear if he lets go.

And when those little whimpers of “ please , please, ” start to fall from her lips and her cunt flutters around him, he knows she’s close. 

“Come on, baby,” he grunts, “soak daddy’s cock.”

She falls apart under him and he fucks her through it. “Such a good girl for me, such a needy little slut.”

That night he has her cumming over and over again, pinning her to the bed, bouncing her on top of him, taking her from behind like animals in heat, until her eyes are teary and they’re both too tired to think.

When they’re both spent he pulls her into his chest so he can feel her breaths and her heartbeat against his skin. 

For now they get to exist in this bubble, in this fantasy of one another where they’re untouchable, the only two people in existence. But Alys will be back from her business trip in a few days, and they’ll have to return to their ‘normal lives’. Stolen glances across the dinner table, a hand on her waist as he passes her in the kitchen, nights when Alys is working upstairs and his fingers will slip along her thigh and tease her through her pyjama shorts.

Sometimes, if he’s not busy with work, Aemond offers to drive her to uni. It saves her having to get the train, and it gives them half an hour to tease each other, to test each other’s limits. She likes to palm his cock through his jeans and, despite her effortlessly sweet demeanour, whisper the filthiest confessions in his ear as he drives. He wants to pin her against a wall and fuck some sense into her, but by the time they reach a secluded car park on the campus, he has to settle with grabbing her hair and fucking her pretty mouth.

She had a lecture this morning and Alys offered to pick her up later in the evening (saying something about catching up after she had been away) so she figured she might as well use her time wisely and study with one of her friends.

“Does it not bother you?”

She looks up from the article that was already boring her to death.

Suddenly there’s a phone being waved in her face. Her friend has been looking at a LinkedIn post, an action shot of her mum from one of her conferences. Alys looks as glamorous as ever, black hair falling over an emerald satin suit, red painted lips pouted as she speaks to a faceless acquaintance.

But she imagines the friend is referring to the man standing over her shoulder. Aemond has a habit of wearing all black, and business is no exception, but even amongst professionals he wears his usual array of silver hoops and sapphire studs in his ears, while his silver hair is pulled neatly into a long braid. Her eyes linger on the jaw she’s made him tense, the lips she’s kissed, the eyes she so often catches raking over her body.

“Doesn’t it bother you that your mum’s dating a guy the same age as us?"

She feels her cheeks flush and looks back down at her laptop, pretending to look busy. “That’s not strictly true, he’s only two years older than me.”

Alys never told her anything about her father, and she never bothered to ask. Why would she? The Rivers girls had everything they needed. That was until, Alys came home with Aemond Targaryen on her arm. 

The moment she saw him she knew she was fucked. She tried to hide it, that gnawing, restless feeling she felt whenever he looked at her, smiled at her, muttered in her ear.

It’s wrong, she knows it, but then why does it feel so good when he runs his hands over every inch of her skin? Why does it feel so right when his cock is nestled deep inside of her, pushing her closer and closer to the high she craves?

She loves this little game of theirs, taking what they can from each other with the brief moments they have.

It’s never enough, they’re both insatiable, and every time she gets to feel him she needs him more.

[ficsbyuzi]

All the ways lead to you - part 3

Read Part 2

Characters - Aemond Targaryen and Inara Maegyr (OFC) in a modern AU.

Warnings - Slow burn. Mentions of alcohol and smoking. 

Summary - Inara tries to figure out how she feels about everything that happened on her first day at work.

Note - Flashback and internal monologues are in Italics.

Word count - 1593

"He is a man of few words. You'll get used to his personality once you start working with him," Margaery's voice cut through the hustle and bustle of the coffee house.

"He seems hard to impress," Inara shrugged, adding sweetener to her coffee.

"Well, he is a celebrity, a superstar here in Westeros. He meets and works with so many people every day. In his situation, anyone would act stoically while dealing with their staff."

Of course. He looks every bit of a superstar.

"His family descends from the ancient Targaryen royal line and still kind of owns this city."

Oh. Wow. Targaryens of Old Valyria.

Margaery chuckled, noticing Inara's eyebrows shoot up in astonishment and awe.

“Red Keep Production house and studios are half owned by them, so this show is his home production. Have you seen any of his work before?"

So he is The Boss.

“I should have done some homework before coming here." Smiling sheepishly, Inara made a mental note to watch some of Aemond's acting projects over the weekend.

They finished their coffee and she took her leave to attend her second orientation meeting with the on-set medical team. However, she had a hard time focusing on the presentations, her thoughts constantly drifting back to him. 

To the enigmatic Aemond Targaryen. 

Back home, she tried to immerse herself in her chores and her books, but thoughts of him clung to her like a shadow she couldn't shake off.

Although she was left feeling a bit intimidated by his presence, she couldn't help but replay her brief encounter with him in her mind.

His voice still thrummed through each fiber of her being, drowning her in a tantalizing warmth.

He was not around her anymore, yet she could still feel his gaze lingering on her, like an invisible caress.

There was something about him - both unnerving and exhilarating. Intimidating yet inviting. 

An inexplicable pull was drawing her to him. 

Maybe he has the same effect on everyone around him.

Maybe I am merely in awe of a celebrity. 

Yeah that's all it is. 

But since when have I started fangirling over movie or TV stars?

She rolled her eyes at her chattering mind and tried to clear her head by writing in her journal.

I had a good day today. The world of glamor and showbiz is a realm far beyond anything I've ever known. But I need to learn more about how to maintain a professional decorum. It is unlikely that I will ever have the chance to know someone like Aemond Targaryen on a deeper level.

Smiling, she stared at his name on the paper for a moment. Of all the words she had ever written, those were two she never thought she would find in her personal journal. Ignoring the flock of butterflies taking flight in her chest, she continued - 

I'm just an employee. A small cog in the grand machinery of his professional life. Why would he pay any attention to me?

She frowned at her own musings, closing her journal with a sigh. Glancing at her phone one last time, she noticed the emails from both teams in her inbox. Emails that were a reminder of her role as a professional. She was there to work and forge a path to a career she aspired for.

The sky thundered outside, the sound interrupting the chain of her thoughts and bringing her back to her reality once again. 

My first rain in King's Landing. 

As the clouds began to pour, sleep gently flickered her eyes closed. Her mind, hanging between wakefulness and the subliminal, recalled a cherished memory from the past - her father telling her favorite bedtime story about a valiant Valyrian prince and his dragon, the largest in the world.

-

Two months ago.

"You need a drink," Criston Cole, Aemond’s best friend and his personal assistant, remarked pointing a finger at him as he entered his office. He dropped a file onto his cluttered desk, taking the chair across the table.

"It's ten in the morning," Aemond replied, sifting through the pile of documents scattered around, his frustration palpable.

"Your face says it's ten at night."

Aemond sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. Criston chuckled, pulling out a cigarette and offering it to him, who accepted reluctantly. Criston placed one between his teeth too, lighting the cigarettes for both. Taking a long drag, both men leaned back in their chairs.

"This project is vital. It has to work. We have it to get renewed for two more seasons," Aemond said, exhaling a thick plume of smoke through his nose.

"Everything will be alright."

"As long as my uncle sits on the board, nothing will be alright," Aemond muttered, his gaze drifting back to the mess on his desk.

"Why do you worry so much? Your mother and I are doing the best we can."

"That's not enough!” Aemond's voice rose as he slapped the table, causing a few papers to flutter. "Where's Aegon? Why isn't he in the office? I have rehearsals; I shouldn't be doing his work." He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and stood up abruptly. "Call him right now!"

"Aemond, calm down," Criston said, his concern evident in his voice. 

"And this..this pile of papers - why is it on my desk?" Aemond swiped the files off his desk in a fit of rage. "Where are my scripts? Where is the report on the CGI budget?"

One of the folders slid to the edge of the table, its contents spilling out. A document with a photograph of a young woman caught Aemond's eye. Instinctively, he picked it up.

"Do I have to do the hiring too now?” His tone softened a notch as he examined the document - a resume, “Be an HR consultant too?" 

The name on the document read - Inara Maegyr. Bachelor of Medicine. Diploma in Makeup and Prosthetic arts.

"I brought that file. It's a list of shortlisted medicos," Criston explained, stretching out a hand to take it from Aemond, who was still engrossed in the document. "And it wasn't for you to check, anyway."

"Hire her." Aemond handed over the resume he was holding and tossed the rest of the folder aside.

"What? Hire who?" Criston asked, his face contorted in confusion as he took the document from Aemond, who was already lighting another cigarette. "There are interviews and proper processes to follow before the project goes on the floor. I can't just hire anyone..” He paused to check the name on the resume.

 “Inara Maegyr, what's with her?"

Aemond only exhaled curls of smoke in response.

"She seems... interesting," Criston said, raising an eyebrow at the document.

“Hire her, she looks..” Aemond fumbled, but quickly corrected the course, “I mean, she seems suitable for the job.” He flicked his cigarette into the ashtray, watching the embers fade.

“We don't want to lose a talented candidate, do we?” 

“Who's acting like an HR consultant now?” Criston teased him. 

-

Aemond was reclining on a couch in his opulent bedroom, an unbuttoned shirt draping over his frame, a cigarette poised between his fingers. Wisps of smoke swirled around him, as he gazed up the ceiling, lost in his thoughts. 

Thoughts of her.

Her innocent smile. 

A smile that felt like a refreshing mist in the putridness of his life. A simple, unassuming gesture from her, yet it pierced through the shadows that often clouded his days. 

The way her stunning, fire-colored eyes lit up when she approached him with her sweet demeanor, stayed with him. 

Taking a deep drag from his cigarette, he ran a hand through his hair, as he recalled their brief interaction. A smile played on his lips, resurfacing the dimple on his cheek. 

Ever since he had read her resume, he had been curious about the woman behind those impressive credentials. He had been eagerly anticipating meeting her in person.

But upon finding her so close, his words scrambled out of nervousness, and he couldn't even make eye contact with her - an unusual experience for him. Typically, people went speechless in front of him, not the other way around. He couldn't afford to shatter his composed exterior. He couldn't allow her to expose a vulnerability that he rarely acknowledged. 

But now, he was certain that he had driven away the unstained, unadulterated warmth she emanated. Unintentionally, he had intimidated her. 

He wasn't accustomed to being caught off guard by such intense emotions for someone he had just met.

It had been years since anyone had stirred any feelings within him. 

Despite being surrounded by a bevy of attractive business women, actresses, and models at work, he had never felt this way about anyone else, the way he felt about - 

“Inara,” surprised by the unfamiliar sensation of her name on his lips, he realised he had never voiced her name before.

Curiously, he picked up his phone to google the meaning of her name.

A ray of light.

An image of a ray of light piercing through the window of a darkened room closed for too long, surfaced in his mind. 

Sky roared outside, pulling him back into his dimly lit room. The sound of heavy raindrops splattering and clattering against the sophisticated French windows lulled him to sleep.

As he closed his eyes, a soothing petrichor filled his retiring senses, wrapping him in a blanket of tranquility.

The sweet, mellow scent brought back the memory of the moment when their eyes first met.

-x-

Taglist - @zenka69

Part 4

[dulcewrites]

Masterlist

Welcome! You can call me Flower. I am a relatively new writer (fanfic wise). This is my side blog so replies/follows will come from dulcelibra. I write basically anything. Fluff, angst etc. So far the fandoms I’ve written for are: Top Gun Maverick, Outer Range, and House of the Dragon. I am open writing for other fandoms so just let me know if you have any request. My inbox is always open. I try to upload or post regularly, even if it is just posting ideas for feedback. That being said, I would appreciate patience. Also I do have works that are ambiguous readers but as a black woman is important for me to represent that in my writing. Please like, reblog, and follow if you see anything you like 🫶🏽🫶🏽

Ao3

Top Gun Maverick

Good Wife: As their marriage goes through a rough patch, Nia finds her reevaluating her relationship with Bradley, and what she signed up for when she said ‘I Do’. Slight character study based on some lyrics from good wife by Kacey Musgraves (Bradley x oc)

Crush Preview

Outer Range

Despite My Better Judgement: Your eccentric but kind hearted best friend tasks you with the duty of throwing “the best bachelorette party ever” in Wyoming of all places. An unexpected night with a brooding cowboy happens.

New Traditions: As the first holiday season in your new home approaches, Rhett and you start new traditions and make promises

Moodboard*

House of the Dragon

Fool Me Once (multi part - finished): Learning about Aemond’s indiscretions hurts more than you thought it would, and leads you to accepting help from an unlikely source (Aemond x reader)

Finding Common Cause (multi part- on going): A little white lie on Helaena’s part lands both Aemond and Myrah in situation they can’t get out of (Aemond x oc)

Blood in the Water (multi part - on going): Some will say that the deaths of Lady Laena Velaryon and Ser Laenor Velaryon, daughter and son of the Sea Snake and Queen That Never Was, were the first cracks in the long standing alliance between House Velaryon and House Targaryen. But most claim it was sudden union between Ser Vaemond Velaryon's daughter and the King's first born son. (Aegon x oc)

Intrinsically Linked: Love and Pain are two sides of the same coin. Fluid and never ending. Laena and Alicent both know that all too well.

Drowned in Love (multi part - paused): Love in painful and all consuming, and the three of them would not have it any other way. (Aemond x alys x oc)

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back (paused): Sometimes Aegon is sure that the Gods like playing tricks on him. Your reintroduction into his life only proves that further (modern hotd au, Aegon centric).

Acquired Taste (paused): Sometimes the hungry grows too strong. Edith and Aegon know that all too well. (Modern au Aegon x oc)

Unnerved: Being at court is a game is a game, and your favorite player is a certain long haired prince (Aemond x reader)

Fire & Desire: Many sacrifices have been made to get Aegon on the throne. Including ones made by you (Aegon x reader x aemond)

Paparazzi: Loving Aemond is cherry pie (modern au Aemond centric)

Gone… But Not Forgotten (request): Aemond and you always had a great relationship. But as the Dance of the Dragons begins and tensions rise, you find yourself on the outside looking in (Aemond x reader)

Promises and Premonitions (request): Since finding out you’re with child, you’ve been having the strangest nights (Aemond x reader)

For You Always: you always knew Aemond had a soft spot for you, but you always just assumed it was him wanting to look out for his brother’s wife. Soon you find out that his devotion knows no bounds (Aemond x reader)

Oc list

[zenka69]

Chapters: 4/5 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, House of the Dragon (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen/You Characters: Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen, Helaena Targaryen, Aegon II Targaryen, Alicent Hightower, Daeron Targaryen (Son of Viserys I) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, No Dance of the Dragons | War For Succession Between Aegon II and Rhaenyra Targaryen Never Happens, Pregnancy, Soft Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen, Possessive Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen, No Targcest | Targaryen Incest (A Song of Ice and Fire), Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff Summary:

Aemond Targaryen and you have been married for seventeen years. You’ve built a beautiful life together. You have three amazing children and a wonderful home. He’s a lieutenant leading a company of firefighters and you own a cafe.

It’s perfect. Until an unexpected change occurs, and you are unsure how this change will effect your carefully laid out future…

[mypearlsareclutched]

High By The Beach (Ongoing)

Modern!Aemond x Original Female Character, Modern!Aegon II x Original Female Character

Stoic and serious Aemond Targaryen and ex-party girl Mila Stark, a match made in heaven. Until Aemond breaks her heart and sends her back to the needle. Forced back to rehab, Mila never expected to find help in the form of Aemond's delinquent older brother, Aegon...

Hi all, first fanfic on this account! There will be multiple chapters. Let me know what you think, this is a work in progress.

CW+TW// Descriptions of addictions (alcoholism, drugs, sex addictions), sexual content (MDNI, 18+), angst, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Viserys Targaryen being a deadbeat dad, grooming, brushes with death, infidelity, Larys Strong warning, found family trope, rehab, OC is a Stark, will update as the series progresses <3

Song inspiration | High By The Beach, Lana Del Rey

Prologue | Look at You, Looking at Me

Chapter One | Loving You is Hard

Chapter Two | Being Here is Harder

Chapter Three | You Take the Wheel

Chapter Four | I Don't Wanna Do This Anymore

Chapter Five | It's So Surreal

Chapter Six | I Can't Survive

Chapter Seven | If This is All That's Real

Chapter Eight | I Know You Don't Understand

Chapter Nine | You're Just Another One of My Problems

Chapter Ten | Because You Got Out Of Hand

Chapter Eleven | We're Sinking into the Sand

Chapter Twelve | I'll Do It On My Own

Chapter Thirteen | Anyone Can Start Again

Chapter Fourteen | Not Through Love, But Through Revenge

Chapter Fifteen | Through The Fire, We're Born Again

Chapter Sixteen | Peace by Vengeance, Brings the End

Epilogue | All I Want To Do Is Get...

[flowerandblood]

Congrats on the milestone! For the celebration:

The Gate of Salvation

😇🍁🌞🦄🙀🌺🌼

The Salvation

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ prompts: church, autumn, day, wedding, surprise, tender gestures, soft lovemaking ]

A short written as a celebration of my 4000 followers milestone as part of this ask game, which is part of The Gate of Salvation story.

Word Count: 1.700

_____

She had never before seen him as terrified as he was on their wedding day: he had been crying for days, convinced that something would happen to ruin this beautiful moment for them, only to panic a second later that he was condemning her to damnation and hell. She herself did not believe that love, on top of being bound by marriage before God, could be a sin, moreover worthy of such punishment.

Her words reassured him.

For a while.

His abdication as Pope was a turning point for them – immediately after he resigned from the priestly state he proposed to her the same day, demanding that they marry as soon as possible.

Her uncle, Cardinal Reene, had been elected by the conclave as the new Pope.

She thought he was the right man in the right place, able to play this dark, dangerous game.

The positive side of her uncle's new position was that he was deciding what was a sin and what was not, and benefiting most from her future husband's abdication, he gave them absolution and dispensation, announcing that he himself would marry them in a church in a small village near Rome.

This was to ensure that no one would find out about their past or seek information about them in the Vatican archives – it was most important to them that his identity – or at least his appearance – remained unknown to the public.

No one but Sister Alicent knew about her fiancé's past – she had lied to her family that they had met at the University where he was studying theology – which was not a lie, as indeed, he had graduated with honours in that subject.

She had the impression that he was going to faint when he squeezed her father's hand, hearing from him that he was surprised by such a sudden turn of events.

Her mother asked her if she had been too hasty with her decision, but she replied that it had been just the opposite.

Since they had obtained absolution, even though they lived in the same flat, her fiancé had insisted that they sleep in separate rooms – he knew that if he felt her warm body next to his he would not hold back, and he wanted everything to be as it should be.

They both suffered from this, full of tension and desire – she could feel in his short, light kisses when they met in the kitchen in the morning how frustrated he was, struggling to hide his swollen erection from her.

Trying to divert their thoughts from how much they missed each other physically, they focused on finding a new purpose in his life – for obvious reasons, her husband-to-be was lost.

He had spent most of his life in a monastery, then in a seminary, and then as a priest and cardinal in the Vatican – isolated from the outside world, he was terrified of the behaviour and appearance of people on the street, and a simple train ride from one village to another was something he found complicated, requiring effort and willpower.

He was afraid of strangers – afraid that they would recognise him, see him for who he was, although it was not possible – among crowds he would sometimes panic and lock himself in, simply freezing in the middle of the street, unable to move.

He asked her a lot of questions, as if he were a small child.

"Why do young girls dress in such a defiant way? Why do they let others see their bare bodies? Why does someone listen to music loudly on public transport and disturb others? Why does someone crumple books in a shop? Why did someone throw a paper on the ground instead of putting it in the bin?"

Seeing evil at every turn aroused his anger, but also his horror, and she realised that he would not be able to stand the hustle and bustle of a big city like Rome.

She decided that they would move out to the countryside.

As it turned out, this was the right solution – they rented a small house with a garden, overlooking the vineyards and pastures stretching all around, and her fiancé found peace. The isolation from the world had a soothing effect on him – they walked in the evenings and talked about faith, about art, about life, about their marriage, about their future.

Her future husband revealed to her that he wanted to help others.

To create some kind of foundation.

Finances were not a problem for them – her uncle had set their monthly income covered by the Vatican's coffers so high that they didn't know what to do with the money: that's why they used it as best they could, living modestly, the rest dedicating to helping those in need.

On the day of their wedding, they hadn't seen each other since the morning – her fiancé had convinced her that he couldn't look at her until she appeared at the altar with her father. She agreed, although hearing through the door that he was crying again, torn by conflicting emotions, she felt like her heart was about to break.

He had given up his life for her, everything he knew, everything that was familiar, safe, his.

"Just a few more hours." She assured him in a whisper.

She swallowed hard as he slid his hand under the door and she squeezed his fingers, wanting to give him courage.

When she saw him in the church, she had the impression that he was an angel – like her, he was dressed all in white – she smiled softly as she looked at his white turtleneck, white jacket, white trousers, white shoes, white rose tucked into his pocket, almost white short hair pulled elegantly back, a white artificial eye in his empty eye socket.

She pressed her lips together, as he did, feeling burning tears of emotion as she moved forward with her father, dressed in a simple, modest wedding gown with a garland of daisies on her head, holding a bouquet of field flowers in her hand.

She smiled broadly as she stood before him and saw that he reciprocated her expression, a single, lonely tear running down his cheek.

He was happy.

She vaguely remembered the moment when they spoke their vows and her uncle the Pope gave them his blessing, uniting them as husband and wife for eternity.

The way he kissed her greedily in front of everyone when it was announced aloud that they were married made her blush, making the wonderful squeeze between her thighs unbearable.

Her husband couldn't even last until the wedding cake – he said he needed her help with the jacket. She didn't understand what he meant, as it looked perfectly normal – it wasn't until the door of the hotel room, located above the wedding hall, closed behind them that she recognised his true plans.

She only sighed, surprised, when he pushed her onto the bed, pulling the fabric of her gown up, breathing heavily, as if he had made some enormous effort by waiting for so long.

She nodded her head in understanding and reached out to him, letting him lie between her thighs – as soon as he pulled her underwear off her they both moaned loudly, feeling him open her on the widest part of his length – he did it slowly and gently, sliding deeper and deeper into her soft, warm body, knowing that she wasn't properly prepared yet.

"– does it hurt? –" He exhaled, his face sunk into her plump cheek, his hands clenched on her thighs – she could feel him throbbing hard and she knew he was doing everything he could to not yet come inside her.

Admittedly, she felt a slight discomfort, but not so much that she couldn't enjoy the pleasure of this sudden act – on the contrary, her heart was pounding like mad in delight.

"– n-no – a few of your thrusts and I'll be wet – it's okay –" She whispered in his ear and he cried out loudly, clamping his hands on her buttocks, starting to pound into her like crazy. She bit her lower lip, trying to be quiet and not moan too loudly, which was difficult when he hit the sweet spot inside her every time.

"– Aemond – ah –" She mewled, throwing her head back, crossing her legs over his body – she could feel how much he needed it, how hard he was.

She knew he wouldn't be able to hold out for too long.

He hadn't touched himself at all, suffering the agony for weeks just like she did.

"– please – please –" He babbled, as if asking her permission – he groaned lowly as her pussy squeezed his swollen manhood at his words, sucking it in with a quiet clicks of her moisture, slapping his bare hips against hers with each successive thrust.

Her fulfilment was still a long way off, but she didn't have the heart to torture him any longer.

She knew he would reward her later that same night.

"– shhh – just come inside me, sweet husband –" She whispered, and he sighed, as if surprised by the use of the word, something he thought he would never hear.

His peak was so strong that he gasped loudly and clenched his eyes shut, with a few messy, sloppy thrusts trying to prolong his pleasure, his warm seed spilling deep inside her.

He fell on top of her, panting heavily, and she smiled under her breath, stroking his hair affectionately.

At last they were one.

Husband and wife.

"– forgive me – forgive me for being so selfish –" He muttered in breaking voice, his half-soft manhood still pulsing deep inside her.

She sighed quietly and shook her head, placing a tender, warm kiss on his temple.

"– no – I'm happy – we'll finish this later – we have to go downstairs now – someone has to cut that bloody cake –" She giggled, looking at him with amusement.

Her husband stroked her cheek, gazing at her as if she were the saint from Bernini's Baroque sculpture to which he had so often compared her.

Her portrait as Mary Magdalene hung in their bedroom and she flushed every time she looked at it, remembering what he had done to her to get such a blissful expression on her face.

"You are my Eve," he said, snapping her out of her reverie, "my Mary Magdalene, my Beloved from the Song of Songs."

She smiled broadly at his words, her hand combing through his short, fair hair.

"And you are my Salvation."

[theswordwrites]

THE ALCHEMY (series masterlist)

As Election Day approached, the polls were clear: Aemond Targaryen was too cold, too untouchable and seemingly heartless. Juniper Greyson seems to be the exact opposite and might just be the perfect solution to his problems.

(Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, they are both traumatized, but trying their best, angst, otto hate train, rhaenicent undertones, specific warnings each part.)

PREVIEW + PLAYLIST PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

[bananadrinkxxx]

DISCLAIMER: all stories are 18+ and intended for adults only.

TAGLIST: Please let me know if you want to be part of a taglist. I differentiate by stories. (click here)

AEMOND TARGARYEN

The Blood Crown (click here) (ongoing)

[Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character ! I fem!reader]

[warnings: smut, sex content, dark romance, angst, fights, domination, murder]

[description: Aemond Targaryen meets his niece under a different name and falls in love with her without knowing that she is supposed to be his enemy.]

Royal Betrayal (click here) (ongoing)

Aemond Targaryen x female original Targaryen • fem! oc!reader]

[warnings: sex content, fights, harassment, angst, smut, domination, violence, targcest (uncle/niece)]

[description: War is going on between the Blacks and the Greens and Aemma Velaryon is brought to Aemond as a prisoner.]

The psychopath and his lost eye (click here) (ongoing)

[Aemond Targaryen x female Lucerys Velaryon • fem! oc!reader]

[warnings: sex content, fights, harassment, angst, smut, domination, violence, targcest (uncle/niece)]

[description: Boarding School - Modern Setting. Lucerya avoided her uncle for years but Aemond remembers and he is on his mission to make her life a living hell.]

[humanpurposes]

My Heart Belongs to Daddy part ii, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // And if it feels good, then it can't be bad

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, smut, daddy kink, spanking, degradation, questionable relationship dynamics, infidelity, mentions of grief/loss, no underage elements

Words: 5900

A/n: Thank you for the love on the first part! Let me know if you want to be tagged in upcoming parts or follow me @humanpurposes for updates. Also available to read on AO3.

The wedding of Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen is turning out to be exhausting and a little overwhelming. It’s been built up for months as the event of the year in King’s Landing, extravagant and scandalous, which describes the family rather well.

Every room in the Red Keep has been booked to accommodate the city’s elite. It’s a beautiful venue, an ancient redbrick castle overlooking the bay, once a home for royalty, now the flagship of a chain of luxury hotels, and the crowning jewel in the Targaryen empire. 

She glances around the ballroom where the guests are mingling while they wait for the arrival of the newlyweds. It doesn’t take her long to spot her mother, martini in hand, making smalltalk with Corlys Velaryon, who just happens to own the largest shipping company this side of the Narrow Sea. Alys Rivers is nothing if not efficient. 

They had been surprised to receive an invitation at all, but then Rhaenyra has always valued appearances above everything else. They had hardly heard from her since Harwin’s funeral, and even then it was funny half-smiles and overcompensating niceties to gloss over the obvious pain in her eyes. That’s the thing about Rhaenyra, you can never really tell what she’s thinking.

She looked other-wordly floating down the aisle in a white satin and lace gown. Her father, Viserys, CEO of Targ Corp and patriarch of the Targaryen dynasty, walked beside her. Maybe it was the lighting in the Sept or the red and black suit, but he looked pale, and his eyes were heavy and tired. Rhaenyra’s step-daughters, Baela and Rhaena, trailed behind them in matching maroon dresses, while the three Strong boys lined up beside Daemon at the altar. A picture perfect family.

She tried not to judge Rhaenyra too harshly for wearing white– damn purity culture and the misogyny that comes with it, but she couldn’t help but think how she preferred the vintage cocktail dress she wore when she married Harwin.

She’d been too young to remember that wedding, but she’d seen the photos enough times. There was one she especially loved, of the bride and groom on the front lawn of Dragonstone, smiling to each other like they had a secret (turns out they did when Jace was born eight months later), while she and Helaena stood in front of them. Their faces were round and chubby, scrunched into the confused frown toddlers make when they’re made to wear pale pink dresses and carry round baskets of rose petals.

Alys fell out with her parents in her mid teens. She always said it was her uncle Lyonel who was there for her, who saw her through to adulthood, who offered her a room when a shitty ex-boyfriend left her with no money and a positive pregnancy test when she was twenty-two. And having no siblings, she said Harwin was more like a brother to her than a cousin.

Losing one of them would have been hard enough, but losing both had been devastating. In a lot of ways it still is.

“Harwin was so dear to us all,” was all Rhaenyra had said to them on the day of the funeral. So dear it took her just over a year to marry her own uncle.

Not that she’s in much of a position to judge.

A large, gentle hand settles on her back and Aemond hands her a flute of champagne. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

He means the ballroom. Gold paints the vaulted ceiling and trails down the walls, the pillars and the archways, as sunset bleeds in through the windows. 

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” she says, trying to hide a grin. 

They’ve managed to avoid each other all day until now. He sat with his siblings at the ceremony, while she and Alys were on a bench at the back of the Sept.

She allows herself a better look at Aemond’s suit; midnight blue, with a subtle floral pattern that would be easy to miss if her eyes were only skimming over it, and a baby blue tie that matches his eyes perfectly. He’s cropped his hair for the occasion too, it’s shorter at the sides but still long enough at the top to run her fingers through, to tug on. He looks beautiful. He always looks beautiful.

His hand stays in place against her back, unassuming but just firm enough to keep her on edge as he leads her further into the hall. “The decor was inspired by Versailles, but the hall itself dates back to the original Keep. You’re into this sort of stuff, aren’t you?”

She doesn’t know why he needs to ask. At this point he knows better than anyone what she’s ‘into’. 

“This used to be the throne room,” she says, nodding to the platform at the end of the hall. “Imagine, the Iron Throne used to sit there and now it’s a stage for fucking a jazz band.”

The corners of his mouth curl into a reserved smile that makes her heart hum. Aemond is rarely one for obnoxious laughter, but then every time she can make him smile it feels like a little victory. It hurts a little too.

They settle at the edge of the room and his hand slips away, but he makes up for it when he leans into her, close enough that she can smell the dark, almost boozy scent of his perfume on his neck. “How are you doing, by the way?”

It’s a question she’s avoided asking herself. She spots Jace, Luke and Joff across the room, sitting down at a table with Aegon, Daeron and another guy she doesn’t recognise. They look happier than she feels, and suddenly she feels ridiculous for wallowing in her own self pity.

She shrugs. “Alright I think.”

Aemond’s face is somewhere between a frown and amusement, the face that means I can see right through you.

She shifts on her feet, looking for something else to focus on.

Larys Strong, she notices, is standing by the bar. They had run into him at the Sept, and though they’d definitely made eye contact, he made no attempt at conversation. He keeps his head low, only looking up to glare at Alys.

“Gods that man’s pathetic,” Aemond mutters, following her line of sight. “Not still upset about Harrenhal, is he?”

“Considering mum took half his clients when she left, I’d say yes. He’s always been good at holding grudges, creepy uncle Larys.” Harwin’s brother, director of what used to be King’s Landing’s most successful PR firm, recently overtaken by Rivers PR.

“Shouldn’t that be ‘creepy second cousin Larys’?” Aemond says with a little smirk.

“My version has better ring to it, rolls off the tongue easier.”

A hand suddenly slaps her shoulder and she nearly drops her glass. Aemond quickly takes it from her as Viserys Targaryen pulls her into a stiff embrace and makes a grand exclamation about love and family that she forgets to pay attention to.

She’s a little bewildered but manages to smile. “Good to see you again, Mr Targaryen,” she says. As she pulls away she catches the eye of the woman standing over his shoulder. Alicent Hightower has donned her usual shade of dark green in a velvet dress that compliments her auburn hair and elaborate gold jewellery perfectly. She has a particularly sour look on her face this evening.

“How are you, love?” Viserys asks. “Doing well I hope?”

A thousand thoughts flood her head, but she can already see the interest dying in his eyes. So she just nods.

“How is school, you’re still at school, aren’t you?”

“She’s at the university, dear” Alicent corrects him, “final year, yes?” Her lips thin as her eyes finally spares a glance for her son. “Two years behind Aemond.” 

Mother and son exchange a vacant look.

“Yes,” she says, making her best attempt at Alys’ networking voice, “I study History–”

“Excellent! Well wonderful to catch up, and good to see you too, son.”

Aemond nods in acknowledgement as his parents move away to offer a similarly shallow greeting to the next group of guests. His breath tickles over her neck as he sighs. At least Rhaenyra tries to act friendly. 

“I’m sorry–” she blurts it out, not really sure why she assumes it’s her fault.

He smiles. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

There’s an uneasy feeling of guilt settling in her stomach. She knew Aemond wasn’t on the best of terms with his parents, but she hadn’t realised it had gotten to a point where they would hardly even look at him.

Her fingertips brush over his as he hands her back the glass.

She watches his eyes as they start to skim over her lavender summer dress, the thin straps running over her shoulders, the dainty gold necklace on her neck and the gathering of silky fabric at her bust. 

“You look lovely by the way,” he says.

For a moment she forgets how to breathe. Maybe she should be used to his compliments and praises by now, but it still makes her nervous. “For a lovely occasion,” she says, taking a tentative sip.

“Hmm.”

“Not a fan of weddings?”

“Not overly fond. This…” he briefly sweeps his gaze around the room, at the endless arrangements of orchids and roses, the crystal centrepieces on the tables and the perfect smiles that are just a little too forced. “It’s all very pretentious.”

“I would have thought you like that, all the pomp and ceremony.”

He huffs a laugh as he takes her glass and casually brings it to his lips. “Call it a combination of circumstances.” He keeps his eyes on her as he tips the glass back. 

She does the same, admiring the sharp features of his face, his jaw, his chin, his neck and the way it bobs when he swallows.

He “tsks” at the dryness of the champagne and hands her back the glass. “Things with my family have never been straightforward.”

But even less so over the last year, she imagines. For most of her life, the Targaryens existed at a distance. She and Alys used to see more of the Strongs– Harwin, Rhaenyra and the boys– for birthdays, the occasional family dinner and that summer they joined them at Dragonstone. But that was before things really started to get messy, before the lawsuits and the infighting.

None of it is helped by the fact that Viserys and Alicent despise Alys. They think she’s an opportunist, desperate for some profitable connections, stealing away their golden boy. She knows her mother better than that. Alys is less of an opportunist, more of a pragmatist, and to her credit she doesn’t pretend to be oblivious to the benefits of dating the son of the wealthiest man in Westeros. 

She likes to think Aemond’s more than that though. A little less entitled than Rhaenyra, and certainly more motivated than Aegon, but brilliant in his own ways. He has a first class degree in International Relations from the University of Oldtown, a quiet but mysterious public persona, with a Hightower work ethic and an understated confidence, usually wrapped up in a Prada suit or a vintage leather jacket. 

She finishes her drink before she asks, “have you spoken to Jace and Luke yet?”

His face darkens. Another point of conflict. Aemond had a falling out with the Strong boys when they were kids, something to do with inappropriate use of a kitchen knife on Luke’s part, resulting in the scar slicing down the left side of Aemond’s face. By some miracle it managed to spare his eye.

“Might be worth saying ‘hello’ at least?” She suggests.

He glances over at their table with his lips pressed together, rubbing his thumb over his index finger.

Before she knows it her hand is on his bicep, stroking her thumb over the fabric of his suit. It’s her usual reaction when she notices he’s anxious.

His eyes meet hers. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep inhale. “Maybe later,” he mutters.

A rush of cheers and applause announces the arrival of the bride and groom. Rhaenyra has changed from the elaborate gown she wore to the Sept to a black slip dress, with rows and rows of diamonds dripping from her neck. They make their way to the high table and the guests begin to settle at the round tables around the hall. She doesn’t look back to Aemond before she heads for Jace and the others.

Jace is in his first year at KLU studying politics. It’s a small campus and she often sees him hanging around the humanities block or in the library. Understandably he’s not been himself these last few months.

“Alright?” he says brightly, pulling her into the first genuine hug she’s received all day.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “You?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure?”

Jace seemed so much younger a year ago. All three of the Strongs seem to have grown up far too quickly. “It’s just been… things have changed so quickly.” He runs his fingers through his dark curls, grown down to his shoulders, she notices. “I just miss him, you know?”

 She offers him a bittersweet smile. “Yeah, of course.”

“But Daemon’s great. He makes mum happy. That’s what matters most.”

She sits between Aegon and the other guy at the table and realises she vaguely recognises him. He looks older than Jace, with dark hair, surprisingly sleek stubble and silver direwolf cufflinks on his sleeves.

The dinner is infuriatingly exquisite; seared tuna, steak that almost melts in her mouth, followed by a raspberry and rose pastry and a lemon posset topped with purple primrose petals. It’s all pretentious and so very Targaryen.

Her eyes keep wandering. There’s a haunting kind of beauty about watching Daemon and Rhaenyra. They keep their fingers intertwined and share smug, knowing glances. They fit perfectly together, despite the taboo of it all.

Alys and Aemond are at a table with the Velaryons and Aemond’s sister, Helaena and her girlfriend. Alys keeps a hand over Aemond’s as she talks to Rhaenys and Corlys about some (no doubt dull) business venture, but she’ll make it sound brilliant. Her skills of persuasion are second to none.

She had half expected Aemond to follow her, but that was a stupid expectation, wasn’t it? She’s enough to fuck behind closed doors, not enough to sit beside at a wedding dinner.

She needs to stop getting her hopes up. She needs to stop looking for more from him because she’s only setting herself up for failure. But that’s just the problem, she wants to cling to every look, every hand against her back, every whisper in her ear, and convince herself that, whatever this is, that it’s for something more than just carnal desire.

She often finds herself wondering if Alys really loves Aemond. It started off as a casual thing, from what she could gather without wanting to know the details. Alys would go on these overnight ‘work trips’, which she suspected were really dates.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she came downstairs one morning to find Aemond Targaryen in the kitchen, leaning over the island and sipping an espresso. That was after his last fight with Alicent and Viserys. He had been planning to retreat to Aegon’s, but ended up spending the night with Alys instead.

She watches Aemond, running a slender finger over his fork, his eyes moving sceptically around the room, until they settle on her.

He smirks, and then he turns to strike up a conversation with his sister. 

Alys certainly likes him enough to get him involved in Rivers PR, to let him live in their house and sleep in her bed.

What does he get out of it, she wonders?

“Got your eye on someone?” 

The unfamiliar voice snaps her out of her trance. The boy with black hair is leaning into her.

She glances down at his cufflinks. “Stark?” She guesses.

“Cregan. My dad’s an old mate of Viserys’.”

He’s a politics student too, a classmate of Jace’s and captain of the KLU rugby team with the muscles to prove it. She recognises him a little better as they talk; he was at Baela’s Halloween party last year, though they hadn’t spoken then.

Jace shoots her a quick wink from across the table and inclines his head ever so slightly towards Cregan. She swears under her breath and rolls her eyes at him. Gods, as if she needs help from her cousin to get laid. 

It’s Aegon who starts ordering rounds of shots. She tries to stick to champagne at first, until she looks across the room again. Aemond leans into Alys, as though he might kiss her, but she turns her head and his lips settle on her cheek.

After seeing that, she reaches for the tequila, met with cheering from Aegon and Daeron. 

Daemon and Rhaenyra take to the floor and sway to a dreamy number played by the jazz band. Rhaenyra soon takes Helaena by the hand and Daemon grabs his girls to join them on the dancefloor.

She smiles as she watches them all, Rhaenyra and Helaena spinning around each other, Baela and Rhaena giggling at Daemon’s smooth moves that come straight from a 50s movie.

“I feel like we should go up,” Jace says. 

Luke starts to groan but Joffrey is already up  and dragging his brothers with him.

Aegon turns to her in his seat. The oldest of the Targaryen Hightower siblings and undisputedly the messiest, but she had found him the most approachable that Summer at Dragonstone. “What do you say, kid?”

How could she say no to that sly, self-assured grin and those puppy dog eyes? They’re a little duller than Aemond’s, closer to grey than blue. She lets him lead her to the dance floor. 

As she and Aegon sway to the charming brass and bass, she wonders if Aemond is watching them. She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of checking. Not just yet.

Aegon leans into her ear. She ignores the sour, bitter smell of alcohol on his breath. “How is Aemond?”

It takes her off guard. She finds herself a little perplexed, eyebrows raised and lips parted as she tries to think of an answer that won’t seem suspicious.

But having to think about it at all must be incriminating.

Does Aegon know? If he did know, why would he want to bring it up?

“Good, as far as I’m aware.”

Her internal crisis seems to evade his attention. His eyes move between the space over her shoulder and the floor as he gnaws slightly on his lip. “Look, I know this isn’t your problem, but I just worry about him.”

Aegon Targaryen, worried about his brother?

“He said things were difficult lately.”

“Gods yeah, things have been tense with dad trying to sort out his will. Mum and Rhaenyra have been at each other’s throats, then there’s granddad trying to get something out of it all. It’s a fucking mess.” 

Realistically she doesn’t know him that well, but between their few interactions and what she’s heard from Jace and Luke, Aegon is easy to understand. It’s strange seeing him so concerned, about anything really.

He sighs heavily. “Then Aemond went and completely fucked up a contract with Storm’s End and mum was livid.”

“That’s it? They fell out over a work issue?”

“She needed it. She’s really pushing for Aemond to take over from dad, because Gods know once Rhaenyra’s in charge she’s not letting the Hightowers get a fucking look in.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I’m the designated disaster child, no one expects anything from me. Aemond’s always been perfect. And now he isn’t.”

It would explain the dramatics of it all.

“Are they happy? Him and Alys?”

She’s not sure how she should know, or what the criteria for ‘happy’ would even be.

“They must be. I don’t see why he would stick around otherwise.”

Aegon’s lips flash into a crooked smile that disappears as quickly as it comes. “I think he wanted to get out. I said he could come live with me, hells, he could afford his own place.”

“So why doesn’t he? Get his own place, I mean.”

“He likes the distraction, something to get him away from Targ Corp, and the rest of us, I suppose. I think he needed an escape.”

The pace of the music picks up in a flourish and Aegon spins her under his arm. Aemond is looking at them.

At some point in the night, the band is swapped for a playlist of songs everyone knows the words to, and closer to midnight the hall becomes a haze of thumping bass and sparse bursts of red and green lights. She loses count of the number of cocktails she’s had, all she knows is her mind is buzzing blissfully. She feels happy and careless, but one drink away from a nasty hangover in the morning.

Aemond is still at his table, sipping a glass of what she guesses is whisky. He loves an old fashioned, if they’re out for dinner or if he makes it himself at home. He talks to Rhaenys and Corlys, and has a brief exchange with Daemon and Rhaenyra when they come over to him, but other than that he just sits and watches her.

She’s not sure how she ended up dancing with Cregan. He wraps a large, muscular arm around her waist and holds her close against him. 

He brings his lips to the shell of her ear, shamelessly letting them brush against her skin. It feels nice. “Sure you’ve not got your eye on anyone?”

She smiles even though he can’t see her face. “Why is it important?”

“I’m trying to figure out what my chances are here,” he says as his mouth moves along her cheek.

She giggles as she pulls away from him. “You’re lovely,” she says.

“But?”

A hand lands firm on her shoulder. She recognises his perfume and a cool steel ring against her skin.

She turns into Aemond and puts her hands on his chest. “Are you going to dance with me?” 

Aemond holds her wrists and leans into her so that she can hear him over the music. “I think you look tired.”

“I don’t feel tired. Where’s Alys?”

He cocks an eyebrow like he’s irritated she would ask. “She went to bed an hour ago.” Then his mouth curls into a smug pout. “Do you want me to take you upstairs?”

He starts to stroke his thumbs over her hands and his eyes, though hard to make out through the darkness, are fixed on hers. She can’t quite catch her breath. “Yeah, I do.”

They don’t speak as they head up. Her room is on the third floor, and they could take the lift but a few other guests have had the same idea. Quicker and quieter to take the stairs.

Occasionally her hand brushes against the sleeve of his suit but he doesn’t react. She listens to his breath, heavy and pointed, and imagines he might want to say something but keeps deciding against it.

They reach the hall on the third floor, lined with mahogany panelling, vintage gold lamp shades mounted on the walls and patterns of dragons swirling in the red carpet. It’s empty, so she weaves her arm through his. 

Aemond holds her arm tight. “Had a nice time?”

It was nice to see her Strong cousins. It was nice to chat to Baela, and get to know Rhaena a little better. It was nice to dance with Cregan and to know Aegon cares about his brother.

“Yeah,” she sighs, letting her head drop against his shoulder. “You?”

Aemond starts to tell her about a conversation he had with Corlys about some new customs regulations that could screw over his company. She likes to watch him when he’s explaining something, how he moves his hand around, how he tilts his chin up and presses his lips together when he’s thinking.

When they come to her door she drags herself away from him and swipes her keycard over the lock. The door is heavy and Aemond reaches over her to prop it open as he follows her inside. 

He switches on the low lights and hovers by the door to the ensuite, muttering about tariffs while she slips off her heels and places her jewellery on the vanity.

He looks deliciously casual and self-assured, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, the warm lights dancing over his cheekbones and the shape of his nose. “...they just can’t compete with the Triarchy, not to mention the extra costs…”

His eyes drift to where she stands. They stare at each other for a moment. The silence is screaming at her.

“Who was the guy you were dancing with?” He asks.

“Friend of Jace’s. He studies politics.”

Aemond hums and smiles to himself. “Looked like the two of you were getting on very well.”

She could point out his poorly placed frustration and that their entire involvement revolves around someone else.

“Is that why you came over?”

He’s still smiling but there’s an intensity to his stare. He puffs his chest a little as he takes a slow breath. He taps his fingers three times against the wall. “Did you like him?”

Restraint is one of Aemond’s most defining traits, she thinks, everything about him is meticulously planned, and every decision is a considered one. Restraint is also his downfall in some cases. He rarely raises his voice or gives into his impulses, but he tries too hard to hold back and craft his perfect image. It excites her whenever she sees the cracks and inconsistencies in him. They feel sacred, another secret she gets to keep.

She takes a few slow steps towards him, until she can smell his perfume again. “I might have done.”

“Might,” he echoes. “If it weren’t for what?”

She tilts her head. His eyes are soft and his lips are parted. She holds the scarred side of his face in her hand and kisses him. She intends it to be slow and reassuring but it’s too easy to get lost in him. She presses herself into him and caresses the back of his neck and she deepens the kiss.

Until his other hand cups her head, lightly pushing her away. “I should go back to the party,” he whispers. 

“Why?”

He takes a breath through his nose.

“Stay with me for a little while,” she says, nudging her forehead against his. “I need you.”

His face starts to light up, a familiar playfulness in the curl of his mouth. “Need me?”

She trails her fingertips down his shirt, tracing over his chest and the ridges of his abs, dangerously close to his belt. “Aemond, please.”

He walks forward and she stumbles with him until her back is against the opposite wall. He grips her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look up at him. “Try again, sweetheart.” His voice is low and it makes her feel weightless.

“Please, daddy,” she whispers. 

He half growls a “hmm” before he pulls her into him to claim her mouth. His kiss is firm, slow and hungry. She was right about the whisky. She can taste it on his tongue and feel it tingling on her lips.

His knee slides under her dress, between her thighs, and pushes up. She gasps at the pressure and starts to rut her hips against him.

“You’re so eager,” he hisses, “what a desperate little slut I’ve made out of you.”

His hands slip under her thighs to carry her to the edge of the bed. He’s careful as he draws her dress over her head and lays it out over the armchair by the window.

He leans over her, laying her down, working lips, tongue and hands over every inch of her bare body. He starts by kissing her neck, sucking at the soft spot that always makes her melt. His hands run over her collar to her breasts, kneading and pinching her nipples between his fingers. Then he goes lower, planting a trail of kisses down the valley that leads to her waist and her stomach. Usually he likes to drag this out, treat her to divine torture until she had to beg, but tonight he is urgent, no less desperate than she is.

His hands run down her thighs, skimming one moment and squeezing the next. And then she feels his lips against her panties.

“Oh you do need me, don’t you?” He teases. “You’re already so wet for me, baby.”

She writhes against his mouth, desperate for just a little more friction. “Oh fuck, please, daddy, just–”

“Not yet.” He stands over her, slips off his suit jacket and starts to roll the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the pale skin of his forearms. “I’m going to take care of this pretty pussy, but first you’re going to tell me why the fuck you thought you could flirt with Stark, right in front of me.”

She gazes up at him. His expression is stern and intense, and she finds it thrilling.

He pulls her to her feet and takes her place sitting at the edge of the bed, running his hands over the silky fabric covering his thighs. 

“Come here,” he orders, taking her hand and guiding her to drape herself over his lap. She can feel the bulge in his pants pressing into her stomach.

He’s gentle at first, stroking his palm over her ass, toying with different pressures and patterns.

The first slap is gentle. 

“How many– ah!”

The second slap is harsher and she groans at the sting it leaves behind.

“You’re gonna take what I give you,” he says, stroking softly again while his other hand rests on her neck. “We’re done when I say we’re done.” Slap. “Understood?”

“Fuck!” She gasps, “yes, daddy.”

“Hmm, that’s my good little girl,” he says, running his other hand through her hair. It’s comforting, lulling her into compliance. “Now, have you got an answer for me?”

“I wasn’t trying to flirt,” she utters.

Her answer is met with a few succinct blows. She doesn’t care to count them. She breathes through it, focusing on the burn and controlling her reactions to it. She tries to keep her hips still, but she can feel her pussy throbbing and her arousal dripping between her legs.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Aemond warns. “You’re smarter than that, baby, I know you are.”

He switches between tenderness and pain so easily. Every time she feels his hand against her flushed skin her belly tightens and she starts to shiver, never quite sure what to expect.

“Do you know what I think?” He asks, slipping finger underneath her panties, circling through the wetness and the sensitive flesh of her pussy. “I think you’re just a needy little whore, desperate for my attention. But it’s okay baby, I know you can’t help it, right?”

She can’t help the broken whimper that escapes her throat as he inches closer to where she needs him most, or the cry that comes when he withdraws his touch delivers another stinging slap.

“Shh, baby,” Aemond coos, “I know it hurts but I need you to know you’re mine,” a point he emphasises with another few strikes that have her squealing and squirming over his lap. 

“I’m yours,” she mewls.

Slap. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, daddy!” She cries, “only yours.”

He strokes his palm over her again and she grips the duvet, expecting another slap. Instead, he curls his fingers over the hem of her panties and slowly drags them down over her thighs. “I’m going to take care of you, baby,” he says, planting a kiss at the base of her neck, “just like I always do.”

Unable to form a response, she nods absentmindedly. The anticipation is driving her crazy but she trusts him completely.

He positions her with her back on the bed again, and kneels before her. He kisses along her thighs, groaning with satisfaction at her little whimpers and moans.

He leans in and kisses her pussy as sweetly and delicately as he would her cheek, letting his lips linger against her. “I’ve been thinking about you all fucking day,” he says, teasing her with gentle pecks and licks while his hands knead at her thighs. “You looked so pretty in your little dress, I couldn’t wait to take it off and have you laid out for me, just like this.”

She runs her hands through his hair as he deepens his movements, that delicious feeling rising and rising as he draws his tongue from her entrance, up to tease her clit, and back down again.

He slides a single finger in, letting out a soft groan at her slick and the sound it makes as he inches further in.

Her hips buck when he starts to flick his tongue over her clit, met by the weight of his hand against her stomach to hold her in place.

“Just relax, sweetheart, be a good girl for me, that’s it.”

Her eyes start to glaze over as her orgasm builds slowly. Agonisingly slowly. She stills her hips, fighting the urge to grind against his mouth. She’s left panting and groaning, desperate for more but she has to be good for him. 

“Daddy,” she chokes, feeling a single tear stream down her temple. “Please… please…” she whimpers as she feels herself hurtling closer and closer to the edge. Just a little more and she’ll fall apart.

“There you go,” he hums, pushing deeper and working his tongue faster. “I want you to cum, baby, want you to finish all over my mouth.”

Finally she comes with a stuttering moan, back arched and pleasure rippling through her body, leaving her pleasantly numb in the afterglow.

Aemond presses a sweet kiss against her quivering cunt, trailing back up her body, coming to nuzzle into her neck.

“You alright?” He whispers. “I’m not being too harsh, am I?”

She turns her head to look at him. His eyes are so bright and his breath washes over her skin. He’s still wearing his shirt. She wants to tear it off him, feel every inch of him with no barriers or modesty.

It just slips out, mindless and simple, like a breath or a heartbeat. “I love you.”

He looks at her, wide-eyed and vague. She leans up to kiss him and he pulls away.

Then he comes to his feet, looming over the bed. He wipes his hand over his mouth and drags it over his chin. 

She’s sure her heart has stopped beating. Why is he staring at her? Why hasn’t he said anything?

“I should…” His eyes dart around the room, to his suit jacket discarded on the floor. Then back to her, trembling, breathless and bare. 

She props herself up onto her elbows, drawing her legs together. She’s never felt ashamed of herself in front of him before. 

“Aemond?”

Suddenly he snaps out of whatever trance he’s been under.

“Night,” he mumbles, disappearing around the corner of the ensuite. The door opens. The door clicks shut.

Her hands shoot up to her hair, tugging and gripping, if only to have something to do with her hands. When it gets too painful she smooths her hands over her neck. Her pulse drums under her skin and beads of sweat trail down her back.

What the fuck was that?

Tags : @marthawrites @randomdragonfires @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy

[eden031]

Here‘s to courage

Aemond Targaryen x reader/original female character

About 6k words long

Modern! AU

TW: sexual harassment (not by Aemond though), talks of infertility

With a loud sigh she let herself fall into her chair, the light of the computer felt like it was burning into her eyes. The pounding headache was still not gone, even after taking painkillers it did not get any better. Maybe she should not have drunk that much last night, knowing that she would have to drag herself to work the next day.

„Good Morning.“ the voice of Otto Hightower brought her back to reality. He was standing in front of her, his long coat draped over one arm and the suit he was wearing looked like the newest edition to his wardrobe, a deep navy blue with a white dress shirt.

„Good Morning, Sir.“ she smiled at him, his eyes wrinkling slightly at the sides. He looked a lot more happy than he usually did. Most of the time his expression seemed to be sulking or unhappy with something, but on this particular morning he looked like a heavy burden had been lifted off his shoulders.

„How was your weekend?“ he asked, hanging up the coat on the rack. The young woman was slightly startled by the question, Mr Hightower had never been a rude employer, but he had also never been particularly interested in his employees personal life.

„Good. My brothers and I drove up north to visit family, it was nice. Both my brothers thrived on being up there again. How about yours?“ she laughed softly and shook her head at the thought of how happy her older brother had been to see their older sisters again and how good the air up north had been for her other brother‘s lungs after he had developed severe pneumonia. She could, however, not tell him about the more bitter and sad part of the weekend, which led to her thundering headache.

„That is good to hear. My weekend has consisted of the usual business.“ he waved his hand in the air and sighed softly. She knew what that meant, it meant that his grandchildren had driven him up the wall and his daughter had probably ranted about her husband and maybe his oldest grandson had even brought around his new girlfriend or even one of his many kids.

„Could you call a few people for me before the normal issues of the day come flooding in?“ he asked her as he picked up the briefcase again, which he had sat down before hanging up the coat.

„Of course.“ she held back her comment that this was exactly her job, calling people for him, taking calls for him and scheduling every event while keeping track of all the requests that came into the Mailbox during the day.

„Here is the list and what I want from them or what you have to tell them. Some calls are internal, others are external.“ he handed her a large piece of paper, which he had drawn out of his breast pocket and unfolded with one hand.

She just nodded and smiled at him, with that he disappeared into the room which was behind her office. It was not really an office, she was only a secretary after all and that meant no big office for her.

As she looked down at the list she let out a drawn out groan, it was long and a few of the names on it were not her favorite ones to call. His handwriting was neat and tidy, yet it was elegant, which made it easy to read.

Lyman Beesbury

Ask about the debt to the Lannister Banks and how much of the budget for the new project has to be loaned to the Company

Jason Lannister

Tell him that we will not be able to pay the debt back with the current interest rate, negotiate (if he is not willing to cooperate put him through to me)

Harwin Strong

Put through the list of attendees for the Gala and the current security guidelines that have to be taken into consideration for such an event

Hobert Hightower

Also put through the list of attendees for the Gala and tell him that I want him to prepare a separate account for the donations for the Gala

The list went on and on with tasks like these, most of them either relating to some form of finance or the Gala coming up in a month. With a heavy sigh she placed her head on the table, closing her eyes before looking at the last point on the paper.

Aemond Targaryen

Tell him that he will be attending the six o‘clock meeting with me tomorrow.

She rolled her eyes at that, but also felt some kind of relief. Aemond was always polite when she called and never snapped at her so at least there was something to look forward to while she was making some of the more dreadful calls on the list. With a glance at the clock she picked up the phone on her desk and started to dial the number of Lyman Beesbury. She had exactly one and a half hours before the usual rush of the day started to flood in and then she would be buried in work.

With a groan she hung up that second to last call and dropped her hands on the keyboard in front of her. She had a deep resentment for that Baratheon man, he always made disgusting comments about her and her professional relationship with Otto Hightower. She looked at the clock again, it was now almost an hour into the normal work day and she was already stacking up work for the rest of the day, making copies of certain documents, putting things away, sending Emails to different people with requests or telling them that they did not do their job correctly. One more time she picked up the phone and dialed the number of Aemond Targaryen. After one ring he picked up.

„Hello, Aemond Targaryen speaking.“ his smooth voice came through the speaker.

„Hello, Mr. Targaryen! Here is-„ she was interrupted by him.

„Ah, dear. How can I help you?“ his voice was calm and she could hear the tapping of a keyboard in the background. It always flustered her that he called her dear, but she never said anything because it did not make her uncomfortable.

„I am just calling because Mr. Hightower wants to let you know that you will be joining him for his six o‘clock meeting tomorrow.“ she waited for him to say something.

„Alright. Tell him that I will be there. I just have a quick question: who else is attending the meeting?“ he asked, the tapping in the background had stopped a few moments ago and scribbling had come into the audio now.

„Uhm…I can answer you in just one moment.“ she hacked the date and time into the calendar, which she kept for Mr. Hightower’s meetings.

„The meeting is with Ms. Rhaenyra Targaryen,“ she paused and continued to read the other names, a bad feeling settling in her stomach. „Mr. Corlys Velaryon, Mr. Vaemond Velaryon and Mr. Daemon Targaryen. As well as Mrs. Targaryen and of course Mr. Hightower." She licked her lips and waited for him to say anything. There was only the sound of his breathing now.

„Thank you. One more question; is my grandfather currently available?“ he sounded angry about something and she really did not want to know what he was angry about. She knew a lot about the problems within the Targaryen family, but by far not everything.

„Uhm, yes he is. He is in his office right now.“ she said calmly.

„Thank you, goodbye.“ Before she was able to say anything he hung up. Quickly she sat down the phone and now stared at the documents laying in front of her. With a sigh she took the stapler from the side of the desk and started to look through the dokuments, wanting to know which of them belonged together and which of them needed to be put away separately.

While she was stapling and putting away all the documents she remembered why she had such a blaring headache. It had not been a pleasant night, normally she did not drink that much, but due to her unnerving aunt she had drunk one glass of whiskey after the other and had realized too late that drinking almost three quarters of a Whiskey bottle was not a good idea. The woman had been asking about when she would get married and why she was not engaged and when they would be able to welcome more children into the family. Her aunt was particularly cruel when it came to things like these. The woman never kept it to the annoying enough questions, but always started to insult the other person the drunker she got. The best insult of the evening that had been thrown at her head had been:“defect breeding cow“, which would have not affected her as much if it was not for the fact that her Gynecologist had recently told her that the chance of her ever having children was slim, not zero but close to. She shook her head to get rid of the images and the feelings associated with that night, pushing the stapler aggressively into the paper and then putting it in the hole puncher to even more aggressively punch the holes into the papers.

Suddenly the door flew open and Aemond strode into the room. His face filled with annoyance as he closed the door behind him. Closed was the right word, he had not slammed it, he never slammed doors unlike his older brother who seemed to be always slamming doors.

„Mr. Targaryen,“ she nodded at him, her eyes turned back to her work. She did not want to bother him, especially not when he was angry about something. He smiled softly at her, greeting her and continuing to Otto Hightowers office.

After Aemond had entered, muffled voices were audible from the room, however only a mere moment later the muffled voices turned into something that sounded much more like shouting.

She tried hard not to listen to anything they were saying since it felt like a huge invasion of privacy. Luckily their voices were only muffled again after a few moments.

The young woman was not sure how long their talking continued, but after some time Aemond left the office again. He walked slowly and also closed the door gently again. Now she was finally able to get a good look at him. Aemond Targaryen was in his mid twenties, lean and had gorgeous platinum blonde hair, which shone softly. Otherwise he was also very good looking and always well dressed, on this particular day he accentuated his frame with a tight fitting, emerald green dress shirt and black slacks.

„Would you like to come to the kitchen with me and get a coffee?“ he asked her as he was about to leave the room.

„I would love to!“ she smiled softly and got up from her chair, her back aching since she had been sitting since the early morning.

He opened the door for her and let her pass, he left the room after her and gently closed the door. Together they quietly walked through the corridor.

„You have probably heard that my dear father will be hosting a Gala next month.“ Aemond broke the silence as they continued their way to the kitchen.

„I have, actually I have been making calls about that all day and sending Email out about certain regulations that have to be met.“ she chuckled softly as they turned a corner.

„Oh, well that is also good to know. At least I now know that someone competent handled the bureaucracy of the whole event.“ he said.

„Thank you, but to be honest: Mr. Hightower did a lot of the bureaucracy things, I just sent out the Emails for him and made the phone calls.“ she laughed softly.

He just hummed in what seemed like disagreement, but she was not able to place the sound combined with his nonchalant facial expression.

„Have you received an invitation?“ he asked, seeming genuinely interested in the answer.

„Oh no! I do not get invited to any events of the sort. After all, I am just a secretary that does not have that much influence. There is no need to invite me.“

Aemond looked over at her, his eyes opened wide and his eyebrows raised.

„Well, then. If you have not received an invitation yet then please see this as your invitation to the Gala, as my plus one.“ he said.

She stared at him in shock for a moment. He had seriously asked her to come to the Gala as his plus one. She took a shaky breath and swallowed the lump in her throat.

„Thank you, Mr. Targaryen.“ she said quietly.

„Aemond.“ he responded plainly.

„Excuse me?“ she asked, not quite understanding what he wanted to say with that.

„Please call me Aemond. I believe that I have told you on a few occasions already that I do not like to be called by my last name.“ he smiled softly as they reached the kitchen.

„Thank you, Aemond.“

„Have you finished up everything for the day?“ Otto Hightower asked as he exited his office. He seemed to be in a hurry to leave, which made sense since tonight was the big night in which hours and hours of planning had been invested. He probably also had to get changed since his usual plain suit would not be doing well at the Gala.

„Yes, Sir. Everything is finished, all the pile up of the last few weeks is also gone and you can go to the Gala with a good conscience.“ she smiled at him as he put down the briefcase.

„Good, good.“ he paused for a moment, „You do know that Aemond told me that he invited you as his plus one, right?“ he asked.

She felt her face heat up slightly as she looked at her hands. All the time after Aemond had invited her she had not told Mr. Hightower since she did not know what he would say, but the fact that Aemond already told him made things much easier.

„No, he did not tell me that he informed you about that.“ she laughed softly, trying to cover up how flustered she was. The older man hummed slightly, but just nodded.

„You should also leave, I believe getting ready will take you some time.“ his expression was kind as he picked up the coat and draped it over his shoulders.

„Until later.“ he said, after she also said goodbye he left, shortly after she also took all of her things and made her way home.

She took a deep breath as she looked at herself in the mirror. The light green dress was smoothed out perfectly and her hair had been done perfectly by one of her friends who worked as a hairstylist, falling loosely over her shoulders and complementing the color of the dress. For her shoes she had opted for cream colored strap heels, which blended nicely with the color of the dress. A pair of small golden hoops dangled from her ears as she took the clutch.

Aemond had told her not to worry about what she would be wearing and wear something she felt comfortable in, which turned out to be harder than she thought at first since most of the dresses she owned and already knew felt comfortable in were not appropriate for a Gala in any way. As she looked away from the mirror she glanced at the clock, it was almost time for him to come pick her up, nervously she smoothed out the dress once again and made her way over to her coat rag. It was not too cold, but still rather cool, especially since she was wearing a dress that unfortunately did not have any sleeves. Before she was able to grab her coat the bell rang and she walked towards the speaker in the wall.

„Hello, Aemond?“ she simply spoke into the microphone. For a moment there was silence.

„Yes, dear.“ as she heard his voice she pressed the unlock button for the door and went to take her coat and her clutch. She opened the door and made her way into the stairwell, closing the door and locking it behind her.

As she was about to call the elevator the doors opened and Aemond stood in front of her. She felt like someone had knocked all of the air out of her lungs. He stood there, looking like a model. His lean body was clad in a beautiful black suit with a black dress shirt, but no tie or fly. The soft platinum blonde hair was brushed back, but still hanging loosely over her back and shoulders.

„Hi.“ she whispered softly as she stepped into the elevator, almost realizing too late that she had been staring at the man.

„Hello, dear.“ he smiled softly at her as he pressed the button for the ground floor and seemed to relax.

„You look beautiful in that dress.“ he looked at her with an expression that she was unable to read. His one eye looked her up and down while the glass eye, which he had chosen to be a sapphire, shone bright in the light of the elevator.

„Thank you. You look rather handsome yourself.“ her eyes traveled up and down his figure again, the first two buttons of his shirt were opened, which made it look a lot more relaxed than it would have looked if he had been wearing a tie. At the statement he chuckled softly.

With a soft ding the elevator came to a stop, as the doors opened he stretched out his arm, signaling her that she should take his arm. Her hand landed on the crook of his elbow, making her feel like she gave up some sort of control, a fact that would have terrified her under normal circumstances, but this was different, right now she was happy that someone was guiding her.

They approached a car that was standing in one of the parking spaces in the area. It looked to be an older Porsche model, but she had in all honesty no idea what kind of car it was. Aemond opened the back door for her and she took a seat in the back of the car, putting on the seat belt, greeting the man that was sitting at the wheel. The young man rounded the car and took a seat beside her.

As the car was set in motion by the driver she looked out of the window. His voice brought her back to reality.

„I will give you a fair warning before we arrive. There will be a lot of people taking photos, especially while we exit the car.“ he adjusted his cuffs as he spoke.

„Oh.“ she swallowed harshly, knowing that that would be hard for her, she had of course expected it, but it still felt odd.

„No need to worry.“ he chuckled softly. „I will guide you. Wait for me to get out of the car, then I can help you exit.“ he paused again and studied her face for a moment. „While we are in the main hall, you can just mingle. Before the buffet there will be many speeches, they are not the most interesting, but you will be able to pass the time. Afterwards it is just food, polite conversation and dancing.“

„Thank you. I am good at mingling and listening as well, that is a positive.“ she smiled softly as Aemond raised his eyebrow and looked at her with confusion written across his face.

„Well, mingling and listening is my job after all. I do not only send out emails, but make calls that need a sensible tone and an open ear.“ she smiled softly. „And if I may say so myself; I have gotten quite good at listening to people talking about things that I have no idea about.“

He laughed softly and shook his head. „Then I should keep you close since listening to the ramblings of my father‘s business partners is not my strong suit.“ There were a few moments of silence then he spoke again. „Also I would recommend you leave your coat in the car as well as the bag, there will not be many places to hang it and things can easily get lost at these Galas.“

„Oh, alright.“ She began shrugging off her coat, knowing that the hall which they had booked for the Gala was only a few minutes away from where they currently were. A slight shiver ran through her body as she felt the warm coat leave her body. Only shortly after she pulled it out from beneath her and folded it on the middle seat.

„I have never seen someone take a coat off so elegantly while sitting, even my dear my mother is not able to do that.“ he laughed and shook his head in amazement.

„It comes easier when you spent most of your childhood in a car. You actually learn to do a lot of things while in a moving car.“ she laughed softly.

The short rest of the drive was spent in silence. The car pulled up beside the hall and stopped at the height of a red carpet. Smoothly the driver reached for her coat and clutch and put it on the passenger seat before Aemond opened the door. As he did so she heard and saw the flashes of cameras going off. Waiting a short moment she scooted over and also got out of the car, taking Aemond‘s hand in the process. The only thoughts on her mind were to keep your legs together while getting out of the car and your hand on the neckline of your dress. Luckily, she exited the car smoothly and without issue.

As she stood securely Aemond offered her his arm again, she took it and they began to walk. She smiled softly as they made their way to the entrance of the hall. The flashes of the cameras were truly blinding and she was happy that Aemond seemed to be so confidently strudding towards the entrance.

It became apparent immediately that they entered the building since the flashes stopped. She took a deep breath and looked up at Aemond, looking to find some kind of reassurance, which she also found: he wore a gentle smile and nodded at her. They continued into the main room of the hall and she again felt like someone knocked all the air out of her lungs.

The ceiling was made of glass and shimmered softly, but the most impressive thing of the whole building was the massive chandelier, which was hanging in the middle of the ceiling. It was made of glass and what seemed like crystals, the light cascading down from it made the room feel like a scene from a fairy tale. This feeling only intensified as she looked at the people in the room. All of them were immaculately dressed as well as having some kind of regal air about them.

He moved his arm away from hers, but quickly placed his hand on the small of her back. She tried to follow his gaze, which led her eyes to a group of people with the signature blonde hair of the Targaryens.

„Come, my family is there. I think we should greet them.“ his voice was soft, yet it still carried over the muttering and talk of the crowd with ease. She just nodded and he directed her effortlessly through the crowd, people parted to let them through.

Finally they arrived at the group. She recognized a few people; Viserys Targaryen and his wife seemed to be the first to notice the pair approaching. Alicent Hightower, the wife of Viserys, was a beautiful woman with big brown eyes and a soft face, she was clad in a dark green evening gown with black heels and her hair pulled back in a slick bun. Viserys Targaryen himself was seated in his wheelchair, the suit he wore looked similar to the one Aemond was wearing, just that he wore a red tie with it. The other people were Aegon Targaryen and Helaena Targaryen, Aemond‘s older siblings, as well as Daeron Targaryen, Aemond‘s youngest brother. They all looked immaculate, Helaena wearing a golden dress with long sleeves, Aegon looked the most casual out of all of them with his white dress shirt and black slacks. Daeron wore a dark green satin suit paired with a black dress shirt and a green tie. Moreover there were Rhaenyra Targaryen and her husband Daemon along with Rhaenyra‘s sons and Daemon‘s daughters. Rhaenyra and Daemon‘s daughters, Baela and Rhaena, wore black dresses with varying accents of red. Daemon in a black suit with a black turtleneck pullover and all of Rhaenyra‘s sons seemed to be matching their grandfather.

„Aemond! I knew you would bring the cute secretary!“ Aegon shouted as they approached. His face lit up as he saw his brother, she saw as much, but felt a wave of nervousness hit her as all eyes were on her and Aemond. The large family all seemed to expect her to say something.

„Good evening everyone.“ Aemond greeted politely. He let go of her for a moment to go over to his mother and kiss her on the cheek. „Mother.“

„Hello.“ she smiled as relaxed as she could, but still felt like anyone from the group would be coming at her at any given moment. Before anything else could be exchanged Aemond took his place by her side again, looking positively annoyed by the fact that his nephews were present.

„Just a fair warning Aemond, the waiters have not finished setting the table. Take care so that they don‘t get to your other eye.“ Lucerys, one of Aemond‘s nephews, snickered. She felt how his hand slit over to her hip and the grip on her seemed to get stronger.

„You should be careful as well, nephew. We do not want an accident to happen to your eye, would we?“ Aemond seemed so calm as he said it, but there was a very definite threat behind these words. She felt a lump form in her throat as hateful glares were exchanged between the men.

„No, we wouldn‘t.“ a new voice came from behind her. She turned around, looking for the person that had just spoken. It was Otto Hightower and she never felt relief wash over her quicker before. A warm smile spread across her face as she saw her employer.

„Mr. Hightower.“ she nodded at him. He looked away from both of the young men and sent her a kind smile, his expression turned stony again as he looked at his oldest grandson.

„Aegon, come. Some people want to meet you.“ his voice was stern as he said those words, clearly displeased that they wanted to meet the young man.

„Do I really have to?“ he whined.

„Yes!“ Mr. Hightower snarled, turning around again to make his way back into the masses. Aegon followed him silently.

They stood there in silence for a few minutes then Aemond spoke again.

„If you would excuse us.“ Aemond already started walking away, almost dragging her behind him.

„Goodbye.“ she hurriedly said as she walked with Aemond. He seemed annoyed as they walked through the crowd.

„That was intense.“ she muttered under her breath, happy about the fact that she was able to escape that circle of hell. After Aemond had asked her to accompany him to the Gala they had spoken more and he had invited her for coffee and cake from time to time. That led to her knowing a lot more about the formidable Targaryen family than before and not all of the things she learned were good. However, she had not expected things to get out of hand so quickly once they were all gathered in one place.

„There have been worse things to happen during family get-togethers.“ he muttered under his breath. Before she was able to say anything to him about the interaction again a large man swept in front of them. He was broad shouldered with shoulder long black hair and clear blue eyes.

„Now, now Aemond Targaryen!“ the man laughed and held out his hand. It was Borros Baratheon, the current head of the Storms End company, a man she strongly disliked for many reasons. Sadly, she had to interact with him regularly on a professional level. Before he was able to say anything to her someone took her hand and tugged on it.

„Come, I want to show you the balcony.“ the voice of a woman said. She looked at the woman, it was Helaena. Looking at Aemond for a moment she just nodded.

„Of course.“ Helaena dragged her to the balcony and stopped once they overlooked the city. Kings Landing was beautiful during the night, many lights were shining from all the buildings and even some of the smaller quarters of the city were alight. This city was never truly asleep, everywhere at any time people were making their way through the city and working.

„Thank you.“ she whispered softly as she leaned against the railing, looking down at the magnificent city.

„There is no need to thank me. I know how much you hate him.“ she hummed softly. Her eyes seemed distant, like she was somewhere completely different. She had been well acquainted with Helaena for most of the time she had worked for Otto Hightower, however their friendship had only begun shortly before Aemond had asked her to join him for the Gala.

They stood outside for what felt like half an hour, looking at the city and speaking hushed whispers, giggling softly at each other's jokes. Suddenly she realized that she was freezing and needed to get inside if she did not want to get hypothermic.

„Helaena? I need to get back inside, I am freezing.“ she muttered softly. Helaena just nodded and hummed.

She entered the warm hall again and felt her skin prickle at the warmth of the air. Now the next step was to find Aemond again, she did not want to be alone for too long. While walking through the crowd she greeted a few people politely and even held short conversations with them. Most of them she knew, having already met them at meetings or similar events. Out of nowhere a warm hand landed on the small of her back. She turned, fully expecting to see Aemond but she was wrong, very wrong. It was Jason Lannister.

„How nice it is to see you here!“ he greeted her with a polite smile, his hand not leaving the small of her back the whole time.

„Mr. Lannister, it is a pleasure to see you.“ she nodded politely, trying to writhe her way away from his hand, but it stayed there, moving up to her hip. It was easy to smell that the man was drunk out of his mind, his breath reeking of alcohol.

„Now tell me, doll. What did Aemond Targaryen promise you if you showed up here with him?“ Now she heard that his speech was slurred, only confirming her theory.

„I do not quite understand what you are talking about, Mr. Lannister.“ she felt how his grip on her hip only got more intense.

„You know, did he promise you money? Maybe a promotion? Or a good fuck? Because the last thing he can‘t give you, however I know someone that might.“ his face was dangerously close to hers now and she felt like she was about to throw up as her brain fully processed what the man had just said. As he was about to press his lips against her he was pulled back from her, it was such an aggressive pull that she stumbled back slightly.

„Back off Lannister. She does not want to talk to you.“ Aemond hissed as he wrapped his arm around her waist, still placing himself slightly in front of her. Before Jason Lannister was able to say anything to her or Aemond, Aemond pulled her away and into the crowd.

After they had put a good distance between them and Jason Lannister, Aemond let go of her.

„Are you okay?“ he took her hand and looked her in the eyes. For a moment she was contemplating lying to him, telling him that she was okay that this had not affected her in the slightest, but it had. It had scared her and she felt like she was about to throw up.

She just quietly shook her head and took a step closer to him, Aemond understood the gesture and pulled her into a warm embrace.

„Alright, let's find you a place to sit down.“ he took her hand and guided her through the crowd to one of the tables. He sat her down on the chair in front of him and gently rubbed her arm as he scanned the crowd. She tried to follow his gaze, she spotted the same person he did or rather the two people. It was Aegon and Otto Hightower: Aemond shouted Aegon‘s name and the man turned right away. Aemond waved his hand, signaling him to come over, Otto Hightower followed behind his grandson. As they arrived Otto‘s eyes immediately fell on the young woman sitting on the chair, she looked like a scared deer, eyes glossed over and hands shaking.

„What happened?“ he asked right away as they arrived. His face was hard and he seemed displeased.

„Jason Lannister happened,“ Aemond snarled. Otto raised one of eyebrows, Aemond leaned in and whispered in his grandfather‘s ear. His expression became furious.

„I will get one of the security people to deal with him.“ Otto disappeared after that. Aegon now stood there, looking like he had no idea what to do.

„And what do you need me for?“ Aegon asked.

„Get two lemon cakes from the buffet.“ Aemond‘s voice was commanding and Aegon quickly obliged.

The rest of the evening went by without incident. Jason Lannister had been escorted out of the building by a group of security people and no one else had dared to come near her after that, the fact that she was attached to Aemond‘s arm for the rest of the evening probably also played its part.

Just like Aemond had said the speeches were boring, but she just let her thoughts wander during that time. After the buffet had opened and people had started dancing, the shock of the encounter with Jason Lannister slipped off her like a blanket and she began to enjoy herself. While she was chatting with Helaena she looked over at Aemond who was just speaking to Criston Cole, one of the private security people of the Targaryen family. He looked a lot more relaxed now, but there was still a certain tension in his shoulders.

As he returned to the table she got up from her seat.

„Is everything alright?“ Aemond asked, surprised that she seemed to get up so abruptly.

„Yes, I just wanted to ask if you wanted to dance?“ she smiled at him, this request seemed to have taken him by surprise.

„Of course, why not?“ he smiled and took her hand. As they reached the dance floor a more upbeat song started playing. Aemond twirled her as they danced to the song. Moving towards each other, then apart again, twirling and turning. She laughed as Aemond dipped her down and pulled her up again. They continued like that for what felt like hours. She was in a bliss of pure enjoyment, especially when the slower songs played and he would place his hands on her hips and just gently sway with her. As one song came to an end she looked up at him, seeing how he looked down at her with an unreadable expression, but it was not unfamiliar, he looked at her like he had looked at her in the elevator. Then suddenly he leaned down and gently kissed her, their lips met and she was unable to breath for a moment, she was shocked, but in a pleasant way. He pulled away again, a soft smile on his lips as she looked up at him with big eyes.

„I hope that was okay.“ he whispered softly as they continued to dance.

„It was.“ she laughed softly.

The rest of the evening they danced, they danced and laughed. Aemond knew that it would not be easy for him, but courage was a first step in the right direction.

[zenka69]

High risk of broken hearts, lots of tissue 😭😭🤧I would highly recommend !!!

All the ways lead to you - part 3

Read Part 2

Characters - Aemond Targaryen and Inara Maegyr (OFC) in a modern AU.

Warnings - Slow burn. Mentions of alcohol and smoking. 

Summary - Inara tries to figure out how she feels about everything that happened on her first day at work.

Note - Flashback and internal monologues are in Italics.

Word count - 1593

"He is a man of few words. You'll get used to his personality once you start working with him," Margaery's voice cut through the hustle and bustle of the coffee house.

"He seems hard to impress," Inara shrugged, adding sweetener to her coffee.

"Well, he is a celebrity, a superstar here in Westeros. He meets and works with so many people every day. In his situation, anyone would act stoically while dealing with their staff."

Of course. He looks every bit of a superstar.

"His family descends from the ancient Targaryen royal line and still kind of owns this city."

Oh. Wow. Targaryens of Old Valyria.

Margaery chuckled, noticing Inara's eyebrows shoot up in astonishment and awe.

“Red Keep Production house and studios are half owned by them, so this show is his home production. Have you seen any of his work before?"

So he is The Boss.

“I should have done some homework before coming here." Smiling sheepishly, Inara made a mental note to watch some of Aemond's acting projects over the weekend.

They finished their coffee and she took her leave to attend her second orientation meeting with the on-set medical team. However, she had a hard time focusing on the presentations, her thoughts constantly drifting back to him. 

To the enigmatic Aemond Targaryen. 

Back home, she tried to immerse herself in her chores and her books, but thoughts of him clung to her like a shadow she couldn't shake off.

Although she was left feeling a bit intimidated by his presence, she couldn't help but replay her brief encounter with him in her mind.

His voice still thrummed through each fiber of her being, drowning her in a tantalizing warmth.

He was not around her anymore, yet she could still feel his gaze lingering on her, like an invisible caress.

There was something about him—both unnerving and exhilarating. Intimidating yet inviting. 

An inexplicable pull was drawing her to him. 

Maybe he has the same effect on everyone around him.

Maybe I am merely in awe of a celebrity. 

Yeah that's all it is. 

But since when have I started fangirling over movie or TV stars?

She rolled her eyes at her chattering mind and tried to clear her head by writing in her journal.

I had a good day today. The world of glamor and excitement is a realm far beyond anything I've ever known. But I need to learn more about how to maintain a professional decorum. It is unlikely that I will ever have the chance to know someone like Aemond Targaryen on a deeper level.

Smiling, she stared at his name on the paper for a moment. Of all the words she had ever written, those were two she never thought she would find in her personal journal. Ignoring the flock of butterflies taking flight in her chest, she continued - 

I'm just an employee. A small cog in the grand machinery of his professional life. Why would he pay any attention to me?

She frowned at her own musings, closing her journal with a sigh. Glancing at her phone one last time, she noticed the emails from both teams in her inbox. Emails that were a reminder of her role as a professional. She was there to work and forge a path to a career she aspired for.

The sky thundered outside, the sound interrupting the chain of her thoughts, bringing her back to her reality once again. 

My first rain in King's Landing. 

As the clouds began to pour, sleep gently flickered her eyes closed. Her mind, hanging between wakefulness and the subliminal recalled a cherished memory from the past - her father telling her favorite bedtime story about a valiant Valyrian prince and his dragon, the largest in the world.

-

Two months ago.

"You need a drink," Criston Cole, Aemond’s best friend and his personal assistant, remarked pointing a finger at Aemond as he entered his suave office. He dropped a file onto his cluttered desk, taking the chair across the table.

"It's ten in the morning," Aemond replied, sifting through the pile of documents scattered around, his frustration palpable.

"Your face says it's ten at night."

Aemond sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. Criston chuckled, pulling out a cigarette and offering it to him, who accepted reluctantly. Criston placed one between his teeth too, lighting the cigarettes for both. Taking a long drag, both men leaned back in their chairs.

"This project is vital. It has to work. We have it to get renewed for two more seasons," Aemond said, exhaling a thick plume of smoke through his nose.

"Everything will be alright."

"As long as my uncle sits on the board, nothing will be alright," Aemond muttered, his gaze drifting back to the mess on his desk.

"Why do you worry so much? Your mother and I are doing the best we can."

"That's not enough!” Aemond's voice rose as he slapped the table, causing a few papers to flutter. "Where's Aegon? Why isn't he in the office? I have rehearsals; I shouldn't be doing his work." He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and stood up abruptly. "Call him right now!"

"Aemond, calm down," Criston said, his concern evident in his voice. 

"And this..this pile of papers - why is it on my desk?" Aemond swiped the files off his desk in a fit of rage. "Where are my scripts? Where is the report on the CGI budget?"

One of the folders slid to the edge of the table, its contents spilling out. A document with a photograph of a young woman caught Aemond's eye. Instinctively, he picked it up.

"Do I have to do the hiring too now?” His tone softened a notch as he examined the document - a resume, “Be an HR consultant too?" 

The name on the document read - Inara Maegyr. Bachelor of Medicine. Diploma in Makeup and Prosthetic arts.

"I brought that file. It's a list of shortlisted medicos," Criston explained, stretching out a hand to take it from Aemond, who was still engrossed in the document. "And it wasn't for you to check, anyway."

"Hire her." Aemond handed over the resume he was holding and tossed the rest of the folder aside.

"What? Hire who?" Criston asked, his face contorted in confusion as he took the document from Aemond, who was already lighting another cigarette. "There are interviews and proper processes to follow before the project goes on the floor. I can't just hire anyone..” He paused to check the name on the resume.

 “Inara Maegyr, what's with her?"

Aemond only exhaled curls of smoke in response.

"She seems... interesting," Criston said, raising an eyebrow at the document.

“Hire her, she looks..” Aemond fumbled, but quickly corrected the course, “I mean, she seems suitable for the job.” He flicked his cigarette into the ashtray, watching the embers fade.

“We don't want to lose a talented candidate, do we?” 

“Who's acting like an HR consultant now?” Criston teased him. 

Aemond was reclining on a couch in his opulent bedroom, an unbuttoned shirt draping over his frame, a cigarette poised between his fingers. Wisps of smoke swirled around him, as he was gazing up the ceiling, lost in his thoughts. 

Thoughts of her.

Her innocent smile. 

A smile that felt like a refreshing mist in the putridness of his life. A simple, unassuming gesture from her, yet it pierced through the shadows that often clouded his days. 

The way her stunning, fire-colored eyes lit up when she approached him with her sweet demeanor, stayed with him. 

Taking a deep drag from his cigarette, he ran a hand through his hair, as he recalled their brief interaction. A smile played on his lips, resurfacing the dimple on his cheek. 

Ever since he had read her resume, he had been curious about the woman behind those impressive credentials. He had been eagerly anticipating meeting her in person.

But upon finding her so close, his words scrambled out of nervousness, and he couldn't even make eye contact with her - an unusual experience for him. Typically, people went speechless in front of him, not the other way around. He couldn't afford to shatter his composed exterior. He couldn't allow her to expose a vulnerability that he rarely acknowledged. 

But now, he was certain that he had driven away the unstained, unadulterated warmth she emanated. Unintentionally, he had intimidated her. 

He wasn't accustomed to being caught off guard by such intense emotions for someone he had just met, not for a very long time. It had been years since someone had stirred any feelings within him. 

Despite being surrounded by a bevy of attractive business women, actresses, and models at work, he had never felt this way about anyone else, the way he felt about - 

“Inara,” surprised by the unfamiliar sensation of her name on his lips, he realised he had never voiced her name before.

Curiously, he picked up his phone to google the meaning of her name.

A ray of light.

An image of a ray of light piercing through the window of a darkened room closed for too long, surfaced in his mind. 

Sky roared outside, pulling him back into his dimly lit room. The sound of heavy raindrops splattering and clattering against the sophisticated French window lulled him to sleep.

As he closed his eyes, a soothing petrichor filled his retiring senses, wrapping him in a blanket of tranquility.

The sweet, mellow scent brought back the memory of the moment when their eyes first met.

-x-

Taglist - @zenka69

Next part - soon :)

[theswordwrites]

(the alchemy) PREVIEW + PLAYLIST

As Election Day approached, the polls were clear: Aemond Targaryen was too cold, too untouchable and seemingly heartless. Juniper Greyson seems to be the exact opposite and might just be the perfect solution to his problems.

(Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, just a blurb!)

authors note: here is a blurb to immerse you into modern!westeros. part one is written, with the rest loosely planned in my head and my notes app. i'm excited to indulge in some romance tropes and just have fun with it. most likely very out of character aemond, but its my world and we're living in it! part one will be up tomorrow <3

HAS THE DRAGON BEEN TAMED JUST IN TIME? kingslandingnews.com / politics / pop culture

Aemond Targaryen, Green Party candidate and son of Viserys Targaryen, was spotted with his new paramour yet again. A source close to the dragon-blooded politician said, “… she’s a normal girl, really grounds him and softens his demeanor in a way we haven’t seen before.”

Who could this woman be? Our sources say it’s Juniper Greyson. A student, waitress and museum employee— and possible newest addition to the Targaryen dynasty. Greyson, 24, moved from Winterfell to attend Kings Landing University to study in their art history department. The university declined to comment on her standing.

Her social media accounts show no trace of her new beau, but pictures of her cat, friends and writings. Some might wonder what a girl like her could offer someone primed for political office, a large inheritance and a legacy to fulfill. If our sources are correct, perhaps she will give Targaryen the down-to-earth edge he needs to win his upcoming election.

At 27, he would be the youngest member of the Westerosi parliament in history. Although Targaryen’s policies are much more progressive than his fathers, he hasn’t polled as well with middle class and young voters as his campaign had hoped. With his recent tours of Flea Bottom, labor policy roll outs and promises to raise wages for tipped workers, those numbers have improved greatly.

Polls open three months from now, plenty of time for this relationship to bloom and push Targaryen one step closer to power, or drag him back down to being the second son of a disgraced Prime Minister.

PLAYLIST million dollar man lana del rey nothings gonna hurt you baby cigarettes after sex nude radiohead guilty as sin? taylor swift falling florence + the machine sober II (melodrama) lorde my boy only breaks his favorite toys taylor swift right side of my neck faye webster

yes this is heavily inspired by ttpd. but also deep achingly yearning love songs. but also songs about complicated relationships and two love interests having serious fucking issues. more to come xoxo

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (4)

[ canon • 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.

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

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 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 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. She 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 beloved 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 parted, his healthy eye wide open – 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 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 breath 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. She saw his pupil narrow, his nostrils twitching 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 and 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 his twitching erection against her from underneath making her feel something like warm tickling between her thighs.

One, slow, tentative kiss turned into a second, a third and a fourth, his hands suddenly on her body, clamping down on her hips and neck as if he wanted to make sure she didn't leave his side.

She shuddered, looking down at him with slightly parted lips, suppressing a moan when she felt his free hand slip shamelessly under the material of her nightgown and clamp down on her naked buttock, rubbing his hardness against her hidden womanhood 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 spend the night with him and then leave, surrendering her fate to destiny.

"− uncle −" She mumbled, 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 waved his hand into her hair and kissed her, greedily, aggressively, quickly, his slick tongue forced it's way deep into her throat.

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 his hard cock against her with increasingly intrusive, shameless movements as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against his body.

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 plump little breasts; she gasped quietly and trembled when his fingers timidly run and squeezed one of them.

She felt something sticky run down her thighs onto the material of his breeches, felt the moisture between her legs.

"− uh − it tickles − here −" She mumbled helplessly, stroking his jaw 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, commanding her to lie on her back, and she obeyed 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 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 puffy 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. 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 and slowly 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 as he licked her shamelessly with a quiet, lewd clicks of his saliva and her moisture.

"− uncle − mghmm −" She babbled desperately, feeling something approaching, the tension and tickling in her lower abdomen unbearable, her hips rocking to 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 fat 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 its 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 it pulsing and twitching in her grasp, that it was swelling more and more, his breath erratic and heavy, 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, his hips rocking aggressively to the rhythm of her hand.

"− don't fucking stop − faster − fuck-fuck-fuck −" He hissed 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 lazy, moist 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 – 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 soft kiss on the top of her head, stroking her further with his warm palm.

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 wish 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 area 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. 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 feels 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 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 a sharp, 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. She saw him tighten his lips, his nostrils quivering restlessly in a quick, laboured breath, his eye opened wide.

"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 as his fingers dug warningly into her skin.

She thought he had completely lost his mind.

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, Aemond, she wants me to marry someone else, she doesn't know I'm here –" She cried helplessly, recognising that he could do whatever he wanted with her, beat her or kill her.

Nothing could change the fact that she was heartbroken.

"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.

"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.

She felt his warm, shaky breath on her skin, his hands quivering, his face pressed against her neck.

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

"I have waited for you for so many years. Don't leave, it won't happen again." He muttered in a trembling, pleading voice.

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.

"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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