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endless-ineffabilities · 6 months

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Maroon (part four)

modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

And I lost you The one I was dancin' with In New York, no shoes Looked up at the sky and it was maroon

A series loosely based on the song Maroon of off Midnights by Taylor Swift ▪︎ read more Daemon & Aemond midnights imagines here: masterlist

series list: part one - part two - part three - part four - part five -

themes/warnings: jealous!Aemond, language, a LOT of tension, very event-heavy

word count: 11.4k

The Dragonstone ball is here. Will the reader and Aemond finally reconcile, or will things stand in the way? Again.

It had been eleven days of bliss.

Eleven days since Aemond visited you in the bookstore, and you found him waiting for you at the corner table, perfectly illuminated like some mythical Valyrian god.

Eleven days since he confessed his feelings for you, asked you to be his partner to the Dragonstone Ball.

Afterward, he had started picking you up from lectures, taking you to places around the city, visiting you more frequently, shadowing you when you spend time with Helaena, to which she would simply roll her eyes and jest about being a “third wheel.”

You found yourselves in their secluded estate an hour away from the city, sitting in the clearing of a beautiful lush field overgrown with blue lupines and marigolds.

By then you still had not gotten accustomed to being with Aemond. Your heart still skipped each time your hands touched, and he gazed at you with longing.

You had come to realize just how good and proper of a lover he can be. He was careful not to overstep any line, not to take things too fast. You know you’re not experienced in this kind of thing, either. A connection so real. Something like that cursed four-letter L word that the both of you had managed to avoid when it comes to crushes, dating, romantic relationships in general.

He sat on the green-and-black gingham blanket that he previously laid down on the grass in a flourish. You had giggled when the wind threatened to whip it over his head.

“Laugh it up, darling.” He playfully glared at you, which didn’t do much to quell your laughter. Aemond watched on, feeling warm at the sight.

You watched him, studying as the outline of the side of his face eclipses the sunlight in the horizon.

He has no idea, does he?

He seemed oblivious to your staring, until he suddenly spoke, still keeping his gaze trained forward to the trees, “I’m glad I have your full attention.”

You were certain all the blood rushed to your cheeks at his remark, but you scoffed, and playfully shoved him. He was caught off guard, and failed to prop himself upright in time.

He shot you a glare as he brushed himself off. Without any warning, he wiggles his fingers against your side, making you audibly yelp in surprise.

The bastard fucking tickled me.

“You did not just…”

“Oh, but I did, darling.” Aemond nodded slowly, taunting you.

You raised your hand to retaliate, but that didn’t work. Because in a flash of movement, Aemond grabbed your forearm and then your waist.

And then, you found yourself underneath him, lying back on the mat. His halo of white-gold hair framing his face as he hovers above you, glowing brighter than the fading sunlight.

When his lips met yours, you realized that there truly were moments in life when time stands still. When everything is reduced to a humming of heartbeats in sync, and of someone else's warmth against you.

When his blue eyes blazed into your own, you thought that maybe… just maybe… that was what it was like to be in love.

-----------------------

Love, love, love. What is it really good for? Aemond has seen people fall apart because of it, suffer in spite of it.

He is quite sure that his mother has grown to love his father, despite theirs being a marriage of convenience. This is why she continues to care for him, and turns her cheek at any wrong done to her.

Aemond has been on the receiving end of his mother's love, more so than his siblings. But sometimes he wonders if this is borne out of obligation and instinct. Would she still love him if he wasn't her only doting son - with Aegon never in the picture, and Daeron having grown indifferent to family affairs?

Does his mother truly see him, for all that he is, or does she see some idealized version of herself? One that she puts on a pedestal? Her golden child who has the chance to attain what she never could.

There are times when Aemond fears that he does feel love himself, or not the truest form of it, at least. Sure, he loves his family. But is it also due to an uncontrollable pull of the heart, or simply out of duty? Does he feel like he needs to love them, being of the same blood? Has he just gotten used to being the binding force among his siblings, shepherding them like he actually is the eldest child? Do they even love him in turn? Certainly not with the same ferocity, Aemond knows, but in their own way? Most times, he finds it hard to tell.

It’s all like a game. They are all pieces on a chess board, playing a match that has no end. Moves and countermoves - isn’t this all that love is? Do something for them, protect them, as they will do for you. It is ultimately the right thing to do.

But with you, Aemond knows it’s different. It has been, since you stumbled into his life. He never felt the need to maintain a sense of devotion. Never really gave it much thought, or any planning. It was just there. Out of the blue. Much to his surprise, and not without hesitation.

He did not understand what it was at first. You certainly did not need him. Did not ask anything of him. He saw how you approached him with no expectation. He was never Aemond Targaryen, Prince of the City, to you.

Only Aemond. Your best friend’s mildly sullen yet cordial brother.

And you, well… you were just a passing fancy. Not bad to look at, pleasant enough to talk to.

Until you weren’t just that.

There were times when Aemond feared that did not feel love himself.

Until you.

And you became everything.

-----------------------

3 hours before the Dragonstone ball

Alicent has been walking in a flurry all over the penthouse, her bluetooth earpiece buzzing constantly. Having final consultations with event coordinators, on-site production staff, caterers, florists, and security staff, among others.

Talia trails her all around the vast living room, prepared to give a helping hand.

“Yes, yes, that was the one that I asked for, I don’t know why I have to clarify this again,” Alicent seethes, pinching the bridge of her nose and looking up at the ceiling in her frustration. The caller’s rushed apologies echo from her earpiece.

Her youngest son walks past her, an ascot tie loosely hanging around his neck.

“Daeron!” Alicent grabs him by the arm. “Are you all settled? Have you finally gone through options with the tailor?”

“Yes, mother,” Daeron cheekily sneers at Alicent’s worried expression. “I’ve just chosen which necktie I’ll be wearing, as you can see here. Just went down to get something to eat. Do try to relax, would you?”

“What about your brother? Please tell me he has had his suit vetted.”

Daeron replies, “I assume you mean Aemond, since Aegon will probably turn up in something ridiculous, like an inflatable dragon costume.”

Alicent scoffs before responding dryly, “If he actually does that, I just might consider sending him to the Silent Sisters institute.”

Daeron shrugs, “Best keep the family doctor close by, then. Oh, and Aemond’s all prepped since last week! You know him. Mr. Stickler-for-rules with a stick right up his a - ”

“Daeron!” Alicent exclaims.

“Alright, alright, I’m kidding!” Daeron puts his hands up, laughing. He turns on his heel and strolls down the hallway.

“My children,” Alicent sighs, sharing a look with Talia, who smiles knowingly in response. “Whatever will I do with them?”

“Oh, what will you do without them, ma’am?” Talia offers.

Alicent hums in acknowledgement. She feels as if the lines on her face have deepened the past few months, though they’ve long made themselves evident, due to all her ceaseless worrying about Aemond's condition and all this commotion about the ball. But what else is there to do?

She removes her earpiece and places it on Talia’s awaiting palm.

“Are you alright, ma’am? Do you need some refreshments, perhaps?” Talia asks.

“I need…” Alicent sighs, preparing herself for the task to come. “I need to go see my son.”

“He isn’t here at the moment, ma’am.” Talia shuffles from one foot to the other, a force of habit when having to share something that may induce more stress to Alicent. “He left for his apartment at Blackwater Residences last night. He has requested that everything he needs for the ball be sent to him there.”

“And I was not informed of this because?” Alicent inquires, her mask of composure remaining. Aemond used to be the one she would run to first, should she need anything. Her confidante. Her dutiful son. And he’s always been comfortable enough to keep her in the loop about his affairs.

But not lately. Not since the accident. Her son has rebuilt the impenetrable wall around him, and she has not been allowed access inside.

“Well, you’ve been very busy, ma’am. And Sir Aemond really didn’t tell anyone, he just informed me so that I may relay the message as I should.”

Alicent sighs in finality, “Fine. That’s fine. Have we made sure that his partner for the ball is in line? That model… uhhm, Alys, was it?”

“Yes, ma’am, she has made all the necessary preparations. And she is already aware of the regulations to follow, as she has attended the ball with Sir Aemond before.”

A question remains in Alicent’s mind. “You alluded once to something going on between Aemond and Helaena’s friend. The one who’s studying at the local university? I had thought that she would be his partner…” She trails off, remembering the one time she crossed paths with you. It was one evening in the penthouse, her kids and a number of their acquaintances sitting around a big round table of drinks and hors d'oeuvres. She only came round for a moment to retrieve something from her office, lingering in the foyer with Talia to get some documents in order.

She noticed you because you were sitting across the table from Aemond, who had been sneaking looks at you the entire night. Aemond clearly thought no one would notice, but if anyone would, it would be Alicent.

Aemond has always been the most stoic of her sons, the least likely to wear his heart on his sleeve. But she saw, plain as day, that he was drawn to you.

Her son fancied you, but has something changed? As for Alys, Alicent has never been her biggest fan when it came to Aemond. Their age gap is not her favourite thing, but how can Alicent claim to be a judge on that matter when the man she married is 11 years older than her? She’s chosen to set that aside, but the Rivers model has struck her as highly self-regarding and standoffish.

Alicent would never admit it to herself, but perhaps the main reason why she dislikes Alys Rivers is that she sees part of herself in her. What she might have devolved into if she hadn’t married for power and privilege at a young age. Alicent, Alys. The latter being a recreational drug-addled, provocative social climber who Alicent doesn't think is good for her son.

Talia dithers on her response. Who can explain what is going on in Aemond’s mind after all? It is clear that the attraction remains, but his actions are all over the place. “As I gathered, ma’am, he did ask her. But… and I am not sure why, he ended up asking Miss Alys instead. Which is a downright shame, if I may add. She is really a sweet young girl. She and Miss Helaena dote on each other.”

“A shame, indeed,” Alicent hums. She begins walking down the hallway, Talia in tow, who then adds, “She will still be at the ball, though, ma’am. As Sir Jacaerys’ partner.”

Alicent’s brows furrow, and a grimace flashed across her face on instinct. “Got a Strong pup, has she?”

“They’re close friends - ”

“So I’m not certain what’s been going about, but my son likes her… or used to like her. But now he’s coming with Alys, and she’s coming with Jace?” Alicent spins on her heel, huffing out her confusion, her fiery auburn hair whipping around her. Regarding Talia whilst shaking her head, she exclaims, “Quite the handful this ball is turning out to be, and isn’t that just exactly what I need?”

-----------------------

Alys Rivers rarely does her own makeup, preferring the ease of having a glam team on call 24/7.

But as she deftly applies medical-grade concealer on Aemond’s scar, her hands pat and press with a practiced ease of someone who had to do her own makeup on public buses at the age of 16, sneaking off to castings without telling her foster parents.

She huffs with impatience from her stool. “Could you keep your expression neutral, dear? I dunno why you look like you’re in pain.”

Aemond responds in a cold voice, “Why, do you find that this is something I should enjoy, dearest? You’re smattering something on my face to make me look presentable. I’m allowed to react in a manner of my choosing. My sincere apologies if it’s not acceptable for you.”

“That’s not what I meant at all.” Alys drops her hand, frustration clear on her face. “Look, I can see that you don’t want to come to the ball.” She packs on more product on the brush in a rapid motion.

“Oh, is that your input?” Aemond mumbles, disinterested. He simply wishes he had placed his glass of firewine within reach.

“Yes, that is my input,” Alys snaps in return. When her brush meets Aemond’s face again, she does it with less care and more impatience. “If you’re not going to be civil to me, then you should have accepted the help of the makeup artist your mother assigned - ”

“I won’t have some fucking stranger’s hands all over my - ”

“I know!” Alys emphasizes, her exasperation growing evident. “Which is why I’m here. Which is why I agreed to help when you asked. I - ” She stops working, leaning back, her shoulders stooped in her frustration. “I only want to help you, Aemond. I care about you. You know this.”

Aemond finally looks at the woman sitting in front of him. Appraising her irate expression, which he had caused. “I did not want this. This… concealment of my scar was my mother’s idea, to keep up appearances - ”

“Oh, I know - ”

“I don’t know how you expect me to be, Alys, considering - ”

Alys stands abruptly, walking away to look out the window. “Aemond, this has been going on even before that godforsaken accident.”

Aemond sighs deeply, wanting to be anywhere else but in the room. Only that isn’t true, he wouldn’t want to just anywhere else.

He wants to be with you.

Alys continues, “It all started that night when I visited you and you sent me away. Next thing I know there’s been whispers of you going around with some random girl.” She does not mention you by name. It’s better not to give you that power. She doesn’t need Aemond’s attention to drift any further from her than it already has.

She has not been blind to the switch in his demeanour, having been on the brunt end of his anger one too many times. He still maintains his impeccable sense of decorum and tact most of the time, but she can easily tell that it's only for show.

She once felt Aemond’s eyes on her, with some form of desire. Whatever he is capable of mustering, at least, even if it was never enough for Alys. At least she had hope that it could turn into something more. She can change him. Make him fall in love with her. But now, it’s like he sees straight through her. Only calling on her when absolutely necessary. Like this very moment.

“Hmm.” Aemond looks to the side. He feels the weight of the product Alys just applied on his scar and it starts to irritate him. More so than the situation at hand, to his surprise. “What do you want from me?” He lifts his arms up offhandedly.

“I heard… about you and her. I’m not an idiot,” Alys says, trying not to sound desperate.

“No one ever said that you are,” Aemond responds impatiently.

“Did you ask her to come with you to the ball before you asked me? Am I just some last resort…”

“The fuck does it matter? You’re here because I asked you, did I not?” Aemond snaps, whirring around, away from Alys. The reminder of you is throwing him off, threatening to chip away at the mask of composure that he has prepared for this night.

He hasn’t been able to shake off the scent of your skin, how warm you felt against him, that night he last saw you.

And tonight, he will see you again. Aemond never fancied himself a romantic, but he knows that your presence would be the one thing that will make this night worthwhile. This dreaded ball, which he has never looked forward to. Save for a few short weeks when he thought it would be you on his arm.

But he fucked it all up, didn’t he? All because he’s too weak to let you see him as he is. He thinks he’s not good enough for you. But a part of him has always known, because of your goodness, your undeniable warmth, that you would not mind the way he is right now. You would accept the person he has become - that’s just who you are. Good.

And even then, Aemond always comes back around to the same conclusion. You’re too good for him; he’s not good enough for you. Might as well save both of you the pain, and try to stay away.

And maybe, he can use Alys as a distraction. Choosing to bring her to the ball was an act of a coward, Aemond knows. Making you feel unwanted, pushed to the side.

But this is what he deserves. The bruises on his knuckles from that incident in Pentos have only just healed, after all. He is still out of control.

He’s never been a true believer, but the gods only know what he might do when he sees you on his nephew’s arm. Just the image of it causes him to clench his jaw in distaste.

In pure jealousy.

Aemond is blind to the possibility that you and his Jace are only friends, and will stay that way. All he sees in another man, holding you, laughing with you, looking at you like you’re the best thing in this world.

Another man, and not him. Aemond is going to need a lot of ale to get through the night.

And maybe more.

Alys snaps him out of thoughts of you, walking across the room in a flash, until she stands right in front of Aemond. “Do you think you can just use me like this? I’m not second best, Aemond. You asked me to come with you, but you’re acting like you wouldn’t even touch me with a ten-foot pole.”

Aemond remains unmoving, gauging her livid expression. Calculating the next move to make. He’s found himself settling more and more into his old rhythm. Careful, methodical. Almost machiavellian. Never giving away too much. Far from how genuine he allowed himself to be around you. He did not have to pretend or mask anything. But that was then. That was with you.

“Say something, goddamnit,” Alys breathes, her slender fingers wrapping around his forearm.

Aemond’s eyes drift to Alys’ touch, feeling nothing at all. There used to be a time when he would want her company. Crave it even. Although that may have been for the most depraved purposes, one that he allows himself to indulge in now and again, it was still theirs.

Now, Aemond cannot feel right having anything with anyone else. When all he wants is you.

“I asked you to the ball because I wanted to, Alys.” Aemond relents, choosing to take the calmer road. He presses further, knowing that Alys would need more assurance than that. “You should know that I don’t trust many people, and yet here you are. That should count for something.” The sentiment is honest, at least, if not completely heartfelt.

It isn’t as if Aemond grew to have Alys as a confidante by choice. It began as a series of run-ins, then deliberate nighttime invitations.. The trust he formed with her does not mean he values her above anyone else. It was more so that he knew, even early on, that he could never be tethered to her. They had an understanding of the nature of their relationship.

He knew he would not fall in love with her. And he knows because has tried. It spares him from ever truly being vulnerable. It spares them both from any pain.

He takes her hand in his, a final gesture to temper her storm of emotion. And it’s enough. For now.

When Alys leans in to plant her mouth on his, he sees it coming. But he stops himself from taking a step back, or turning his head. He knows that Alys would not dare back out of being his partner for the ball, the publicity and prestige of it all too good to her to pass on. But he does not want to risk having the same useless argument again.

The kiss is cold, fleeting. It leaves a faint hint of maroon by the corner of Aemond’s lips. Like a mark of betrayal.

“Okay, honey.” Alys reaches upward to smooth his hair. “Let’s do some final touches on you, then I’ll go to my suite and get ready.”

Some time later, she finally reaches some satisfaction on her work on Aemond’s scar and departs the room, eager to get started on her lengthier high-profile event glam routine.

Aemond only has one consolation.

He gets to freely indulge on firewine now.

-----------------------

You sit in anticipation at the edge of the bed in your humble apartment.

Helaena had granted your request that you get ready in the confines of your own small but comfortable space, though she preferred that you take her up on her offer of getting ready in their penthouse.

You knew it was best to concede to your friend when she said she would send someone to deliver your dress and to assist you. It couldn’t hurt, you thought, half-expecting that it would only be Talia.

You didn’t expect that sending someone in Helaena’s terms would mean two makeup artists, a hair stylist and his assistant, a nail technician, and Baela Targaryen, who had quickly risen through the ranks of the fashion industry with her clothing brand, Moondancer.

Little did you know that Baela herself would be arriving at your door.

“Hello, sweetheart. I heard from a little birdie that you might need some assistance?” Baela says, stepping into your apartment without waiting for an invitation, confidently occupying any space.

“Baela!” you exclaim. “How are you? Helaena did say she would send someone.” Before you could shut the door, a garment rack comes rolling through, about a dozen designer dresses whipping right past you.

“Where to, ma’am?” A lanky man asks, his mop of ginger hair peering from behind the rack.

“Just there,” Baela gestures to a far wall, before glancing at you, as if remembering that it is in fact your apartment. “Is it fine?”

“Sure,” you smile. As if refusal was an option.

“Our dearest Helaena has informed me of your top choices,” Baela says, as her red-haired assistant began to gingerly pull each dress out from their garment covers. “And I commend your taste, by the way, most of these are my favourite pieces from the collection.”

Soon enough, all of the dresses are revealed to you, each one more beautiful than the next.

“These are all amazing, Baela. Thank you. I owe you.” you say appreciatively, pulling her into a hug.

Baela keeps an arm over your shoulders when you pull apart, leading you to take a closer look. “You don’t owe me anything, sweet. So,” she says, “what are we thinking?”

“This one seems reasonable,” your hand drifts over a plum coloured dress, the material feeling nothing short of luxurious to the touch. It is a lovely A-line maxi dress, with intricate sequin detailing all over.

“Reasonable,” Baela snorts. “It’s lovely and all, but awfully safe, don’t you think?”

“What’s wrong with being safe?” you raise an eyebrow at her statement. “This is my first and possibly only Dragonstone ball, Baela. I just want to get through it without making a fool out of myself.”

“But you won’t make a fool of yourself,” Baela squeezes your shoulder in encouragement. “You belong there just as much as anyone else. Maybe even more so, because we actually do like you. Jace especially.”

Baela has a reputation for being quite the enterprising young woman, making a name for herself outside of the Targaryen business empire through her brand. She takes no prisoners, they say. If she wants something, she will go and get it herself. Most find her intimidating, and you count yourself lucky to be at the receiving end of her sweeter side.

“Hmm,” you feel a sense of ease wash over you, making you brush through the other dresses on the rack.

“This dress you chose is nice, and if safe is what you want then…” Baela gives you a once-over, her eyes gaining a mischievous spark. “... that’s all well and good. But, sweetheart, don’t you want to leave Aemond a groveling mess by your high-heeled feet?”

Your stunned expression betrays you, hindering any attempt at denial.

“Oh, I know.” Baela smirks. “Let’s just say that Hel may or not have clued me in on how absolutely childish he was to ditch you like that. I’ve always been of the opinion that my dear cousin needs to get his damn head screwed on straight, but hey, I might be biased.” She raises her hands, knowing she already got her point across.

It won’t be long before she wins you over to a not-entirely-safe dress.

The idea of Aemond possibly exhibiting any form of adoration upon seeing you at the ball is one that you have entertained too many times in the months leading up to tonight. To deny that would be foolish.

Some part of you wants to save yourself from what can only be described as the rollercoaster of attempting to maneuver a relationship with Aemond. But an even greater part… just can’t let him go.

You sigh in finality. Baela grins at that. She clearly won this one, but there was never really any doubt.

“I’m glad you agree, because I have something for you.” She nods over to her assistant, who promptly leaves the room and returns with another dress. The dress.

“Baela, what in seven hells.” You appraised the dress with evident stars in your eyes. “This… this was not in the catalogue Hel made me choose from.”

“Of course not, silly,” Baela responds proudly. “Because I designed this just for you.”

You shake your head in amazement, lightly asking, “What if I had stuck to my first choice, huh?” You wouldn’t have, not after seeing the dress, and you know Baela is aware of this.

“Impossible,” Baela reaches for the dress and holds it against you, studying you like a subject. “I had planned to custom make dresses for the ladies in the family anyhow. Well, apart from my beloved aunt - your dearest’s mother - so making one for you too was a no-brainer.”

You thank her profusely, as she and her assistant, whom you discover is named Lancel, check how the dress fits you. Seeing if any last-minute alterations were needed, but there was really nothing else to do with it.

It was perfect.

“Lancel will stay to assist you, and Helaena’s sending a whole team, and they should be here soon.” Baela says, growing busy with her buzzing phone. “I’ll be off to prepare myself.”

“I don’t know what else to say, but thank you again, Baela. Helaena said you would be in charge of our dresses but I certainly did not expect this.” You say sincerely, as you see her to the door.

“It was my pleasure,” Baela responds, and in true fashion, drops her head in a dramatic bow. As she walks down the hall, she does not miss her chance in calling back and adding, “and it will be an even bigger pleasure to witness the absolute anguish in Aemond’s face when he sees you.”

You welcome the shiver that runs up your spine at the thought of that. That’ll show him.

As if on cue, the rest of your designated prep team arrive not long after, and you surrender yourself to the frenzy that followed.

-----------------------

The Dragonstone Ball

The Valyrian Hall is a place of marvel in the city.

Erected nearly a century to the day, it essentially marked the dominance of the Targaryen empire in the country. Designed like an amphitheatre, the looming structure has hosted many history-marking events.

As befits it, it is also the venue for the annual Dragonstone Ball. Revamped for the purposes of each ball, it transforms into a hub of merrymaking and pageantry. Its attendees include no other than the rest of the nobility, dignitaries, notable artists and academics, as well as the nouveau riche.

The country of Westeros is officially an oligarchy, with the heads of the most powerful Houses in power. But the unspoken truth of it is that the Targaryens rule over them all.

And no expense is spared by the ruling family of the country.

The media is flocked outside the hall, a thousand cameras flashing at each arriving guest. Hurling empty exclamations at the impeccably dressed attendees walking down the black carpet. The theme for this year was simple - Firelight - a play on the Targaryen and Hightower slogans, honouring the long-standing alliance between the two families. The dress code warranted only their traditional colours to be worn - red and black, green and silver.

Viserys himself was the mastermind behind the theme, in an effort to make a show of strength in the family, after the horrid incident between Aemond and Lucerys. Alicent was slow to warm to the idea, if she ever did at all.

Tensions are still high, especially between the mothers of two belligerents, with Alicent having shared unsavoury comments about Lucerys’ upbringing.

And of course, it is an open secret in this year’s event that everyone is in anticipation of finally seeing what has become of Aemond Targaryen.

-----------------------

Your reflection stares back at you, wide-eyed and beautiful, standing tall with a quiet confidence you didn’t think you could muster.

Clad in the dazzling red gown Baela crafted specifically for you, and your tresses adorned with an embellished tiara crafted by the silversmiths of Volantis, you surprisingly do not feel like a whole other person. Not exactly.

You feel more yourself than you ever had before.

“I could be a Targaryen,” you jokingly share with Jace as you both study yourselves in the mirror. “If only I had that damned silver hair.”

“Trust me when I say that it’s not as fun as people might think,” he laughs in response, catching your eyes in the reflection. “But you look beautiful, sweetheart.”

You whirl around, not even bothering to hide the blush on your face. Jace would see right through you, anyway. “And you look handsome as ever.” You take a deep breath, trying to do away with the nerves that are threatening to emerge. Calm down.

You lightly brush your hands across his shoulders. “Well, I cannot believe that I am going to the ball as the famous Jacaerys Velaryon’s date. What an honour, really. You’re practically a prince!”

“Oh, ha-ha,” he says dryly, rolling his eyes playfully. “I’m just Jace to you, thank you very much.”

“This is going to go great,” you sigh in encouragement, mostly to yourself. I’ll finally see him, won’t I? What could go wrong?

What could go wrong, indeed? How much will it string to see Alys Rivers draped on Aemond’s arm. To see them dancing with each other, barely an inch apart.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jace smooths your perfectly-done hair in reassurance. “You and I are going to enjoy this godsforsaken ball with Hel, Luke, and the rest of our friends.” Don’t even think about him, he wanted to say, but you already knew that.

He holds his arm out for you to take, indicating that it is finally time to head to the ball.

“Shall we?”

You loop your arm around his with a steady smile, bracing yourself for what would turn out to be one of the most memorable nights of your life.

-----------------------

You feel the limousine idly come to a slow stop in the private road leading to the front of the grand Valyrian Hall. All at once, everyone flocks around to catch a glimpse of whom they presume to be members of the Targaryen clan, but the security detail is quick to ensure that none may come too close. Even if it would be impossible to peer through its heavily tinted windows.

“Don’t worry, we won’t come out here.” Jace is quick to note, when he sees the apprehension on your face. “We’ll head inside to the inner courtyard.”

The yelling of photographers outside sounds like a cacophony, an endless buzzing, and you are grateful you don’t have to go right into their throes.

The limousine moves once more, presumably following the one before it, passing the towering gold palisade surrounding the hall.

“Special entrance for special guests, eh?” Jace nudges you, smirking.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” You hum in response. You try to fight it, but your mind races. Is he already here? ‘I’ll see you at the ball,’ he said. Sure. What then?

“There are still photographers and members of the media here, but only ones vetted by the family,” Jace explains. “I’ll take the lead, so you don’t have to worry about answering any questions if you don’t want to. Just stick with me.”

Ever the gentleman.

The chauffeur opens the limousine door, and Jace gently tows you along with him. When the blinding camera flashes first hit your eyes, you enter into a sort of haze. Like on autopilot, you don a practiced smile and smoothly walk with Jace down the black carpet.

Jace opts to have only one brief interview, with whom you recognize to be the prolific Mysaria, the head news anchor for the channel owned by the Targaryens.

“And who is your lovely date for this evening?” she beams, and the camera pans over to you.

“This beauty here is y/n, one of my best friends.” Jace drapes an arm around you, then smiles to the camera. You admire how flawless his media training is.

“That’s right,” you hear yourself saying, “someone needs to keep this one in line.”

Mysaria laughs, “Oooh, we love your attitude. Well, you two do make the most gorgeous pairing.”

She asks a few more questions, then the interview quickly wraps, and Mysaria shakes both of your hands in her professional manner.

Event coordinators usher the two of you inside the sprawling foyer, lush with intricate Targaryen red and black tapestry. But right as you start to appreciate the detailed engravings on the bronze panels propped up on the walls, you are directed up a flight of stairs and into a private parlour.

Your shoulders visibly slump in instant relief when you spot some familiar faces.

Helaena stands speaking to Lucerys, who incidentally is her date, as she refused to be paired with anyone unfamiliar. Luke had been gracious enough to volunteer to be her partner.

“Even if her brother and myself fucked each other over a while back, I still love Hel,” you heard him joke once, a pit of dread settling in your stomach. Leave it to Luke to be nonchalant about the whole thing.

“Look who it is,” Luke greets loudly, “my brother finally looks like an actual human being.”

“Ah, you little shit,” Jace counters, shaking his head fondly. “How’s the limp?”

“Not bad,” Luke props his right leg forward, showing off some progress.”Lucky for me, we’ll be walking at a snail's pace all throughout this bloody thing. You look stunning, by the way.” He winks at you.

“Thanks, Luke.” you smile at him. “So, what a spectacle, huh? It was crazy out there.”

Helaena wraps an arm around your waist, “If you think that was crazy, wait ‘til you enter the main hall.”

“We’ll be announced next. It’s just us left from the family, really. Everyone else has already walked down the proverbial aisle.” Luke comments, straightening his shawl lapels.

The brothers’ choice of attire contrasts yet complements the other’s, with Luke sporting a burgundy three-piece suit and a black tie, whilst Jace dons a simpler black suit and a red tie.

Helaena looks simply otherworldly in her emerald gown, representing the true Hightower heiress that she is.

“Everyone?” you exhale, the words registering. He’s already here.

“You alright? You remember everything from rehearsal?” Jace confirms with you. Yes, I remember rehearsal quite well. The one that Aemond predictably chose not to attend.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You nod, shaking away any thought of him. We’ll see each other soon enough. “Let’s get this shit done, shall we, partner?”

“You’re up next, Sir Lucerys, Miss Helaena.” The event coordinator summons the pair, directing them to stand in front of the heavy-set ornate doors.

A moment passes, then the doors open with a slow, echoing groan. Helaena shoots you one more smile as she walks through with Lucerys.

You hear the herald’s booming voice announcing their names, just as the doors close once more.

“Two more minutes of this,” Jace remarks. “Or you know, maybe ten, since my brother has to take his sweet time walking down the hall.”

“Hey,” you smack his chest, laughing, “it’s not his fault he still has a limp.”

Taking your hand, Jace leads you in front of the doors. You feel your heart pounding, as the sounds coming from the great hall are amplified.

You turn to Jace, wanting to say something, anything, to calm yourself but your mouth feels dry. “Hey,” he gently croons, coming to your rescue, his hand covering yours as you squeeze his arm, “do you see this?”

Your eyes follow as he points to the figure embossed on the large metal doors.

“It looks like… a dragon?”

“That’s right. I think you know of the myths of Old Valyria, where my family hails from. This dragon is called Balerion, the greatest and largest that my ancestors were said to have claimed.”

“Even in this form, he looks imposing,” you say, gazing at the figure, “and beautiful.”

Jace hums in agreement, adding, “You know, legend has it that Targaryens are of the blood of the dragon. That we, for lack of a better word, are dragons ourselves.”

“Hmm,” you smile at the thought, “and do you believe that?”

Jace shrugs, facing ahead, getting ready. “Why shouldn’t I believe?”

His words inspire a sense of calm, and self-assuredness, quieting your restless mind. I can do this. You hold yourself up, lips curved in a soft smile.

The doors open, revealing the revelry below.

Here we go.

-----------------------

Aemond had been eager to get through with the initial presentation, practically marching through as fast as can be allowed, with Alys clinging on his arm. He did not much care for the dissonant whispering that flooded the hall once the crowd got sight of him. Their missing Prince of the city has returned.

You would think I grew a second fucking head.

It was no use trying to drown them out, even with the orchestra resounding from the balcony.

“What happened to his eye?”

“Is that really him?”

“He looks…”

“In a rush, are we, honey?” Alys asked through gritted teeth, annoyed, but kept her signature sultry expression intact. She pulled him closer to her, “Keep pace with me now.”

When they finally reached the front of the hall, where the rest of his family assembled, he nearly took a swig out of the flask Aegon was subtly trying to hand over to him.

Until Alicent hissed at the both of them. “Not now, boys.”

The crowd continues to sneak glances at him. In awe or pity, Aemond does not care to know. With every new pairing being announced, he is grateful that their attention is momentarily diverted.

He stands tall in his midnight black formal leather overcoat, with a fitted dark green shirt underneath. His hair has grown longer since his last public appearance, and he now wears it in a half-up manner, with his eyepatch neatly in place over it.

He has come to terms with his appearance, and soon enough, he might even grow to accept the moniker Aemond One-Eye as his brother keeps calling him.

“It’s badass, Aem,” Aegon had drawled. “You look like a Valyrian dragonrider from the old stories with that scar.”

The pairings could have blurred in a haze altogether. Lannister, Arryn, Baratheon, Stark, Tully. On and on it went, but none of them left a mark on Aemond.

There is only one person he is so desperate to see.

When Lucerys Velaryon’s name is announced, Aemond can’t help the distaste he feels. He rolls his shoulders, trying to keep composure, Alys’ arm falling from him. She only regards him from the corner of her eye, likely praying that he doesn’t cause a scene and embarrass her.

He keeps his focus on his sister, as she gracefully floats through the crowd in Hightower green. Such a shame it’s that bastard she got paired with.

Helaena and her partner reach the front of the hall, and she throws him a look as if to say, behave. Aemond ducks his head in acknowledgment, lips curling.

I promise I’ll try to be good. For her sake.

To his left, he hears Helaena whisper, “Any moment now.”

Aemond knows exactly what she means, and does not feel the need to muster a response. The anticipation has devolved into some kind of torture, as all he wants to see you again.

To feel you against him, how your skin would glide smoothly against his, how you would fit together.

The effects of firewine are getting stronger, encroaching on his senses. It dawns on him that perhaps he shouldn’t have imbibed in considerable quantities before the ball, but no matter.

The herald begins his next announcement.

“Finally, let us welcome Jacaerys Velaryon, son of Laenor Velaryon…”

“More like Strong,” Aegon mumbles under his breath, but Aemond no longer pays him any mind.

“... and Rhaenyra Targaryen. With his partner…”

The herald says your name, and Aemond can practically feel his heart lodged in his throat. Keeping his arms behind his back, he adjusts his stance, trying to calm himself. He sees you emerge from the top of the steps and watches as your eyes sweep over the entire hall, and eventually, finally, meet his very own.

Aemond can hardly breathe, the blood rushing to his head at the sight of you in that red dress, making him feel all woozy. The firewine surely does not help, either.

She looks like a goddess. You walk down the hall, keeping your eyes trained ahead, hand firmly on Jacaerys’ arm. But Aemond does not spare his nephew any more than a cursory glance, almost entranced by the way your gown enhances your silhouette. By the exposed planes of your skin.

He watches your chest heave against your bodice as you take deep breaths. He knows that you would be nervous, but to your credit, nobody will be able to tell.

That’s my girl. You reach the front of the hall, joining the rest of the family and their respective partners. Your lips part slightly as you get a better look at Aemond, and he wants to know badly what you think. But then your eyes visibly narrow at something, and you turn away, walking with Jace to the other end of the group.

Aemond registers that Alys had looped her arm around his again, and he curses her internally. He can’t help the glare that he throws in her direction, but she must not see the irritation in his eyes or simply ignores it.

Alys mouths, “Have you been drinking?” with a seductive smile that does not fit her query.

Keeping up appearances, as usual.

“Some,” Aemond snaps. “Don’t let it concern you.”

The hall falls into silence as Viserys conducts his opening remarks, followed by a brief speech from his daughter and named successor, Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Soon enough, it’s time for the first dance. All of the main pairings make their way to the open floor in the middle of the hall, standing across from each other as they line up in an orderly fashion. It is the only traditional Valyrian dance of the night, for which participants were required to attend a series of rehearsals prior to the event. Aemond opted out of them this year, not that it mattered. He has long since mastered the dance, having attended every Dragonstone ball since his childhood.

He is tempted to look in your direction, but his instinct to follow tradition wins over.

Always keep your eyes trained on your partner, his mother had ingrained in him and his siblings.

That wouldn’t be a problem, if she were mine.

The dancers raise their right arms to the front, and the music starts. For Aemond, every step almost feels robotic, and his body moves on its own volition. He does not even need to think, nor does he appreciate the closeness the routine requires of the pairings.

Fuck it. At that, Aemond lets his eye wander over to you, as you twirl around with Jace a few feet away. You don’t even look at Aemond, and you shouldn’t, but it annoys him anyway.

He spins Alys around, and her back is pressed to his as they saunter from side to side.

Then you lock eyes. He notices the switch in your expression, which you quickly revert back to a fixed soft smile, but he sees it anyway.

You’re irate at me, my love. The pairings spin around again. And for good reason.

“You smell of firewine,” Alys mutters, when she draws closer.

“Well, I needed something to make this night bearable,” Aemonds responds coolly,

“Aemond,” Alys warns.

Aemond could have rolled his eyes at her reaction. Eye, he smirks at himself. “Don’t worry. It’s not you. I just dislike all this.” Surely that will get her to simmer down.

“Do you really ? Aren’t you a stickler for Valyrian tradition?”

“Hmm.” When in seven hells will this dance end?

-----------------------

When the first dance ends, you audibly breathe a sigh of relief.

It is no longer the apprehension about tripping on your feet, or doing something unbecoming of the tradition of the ball, or even forgetting a part of the dance routine that plagues your mind - all of your worries are set aside, overpowered by the rush of emotion from seeing Aemond once again.

The sight of him had been enough to drown out all the noise. Like the focal point of a kaleidoscope, your eyes sought him out when you entered the hall.

Like a moth to a flame. And he found you too.

You don’t know what else to think, apart from - He looks beautiful.

What was he even worried about? He still looks every bit like your Aemond, though you feel sorry at the now apparent loss of his eye. You know he would not desire your pity, that he would hate being on the receiving end of it from anyone. But you can’t help it.

I’m sorry this happened to you, you want to tell him. But would it even matter? Would it make a difference? Or does he already get enough consolation from the company of Alys Rivers?

Jace does not let go of your hand as you walk to the head table with the rest of the family, which is situated like a dais at the front of the hall, so that all the family members would have a full view of everything. Aemond is situated at the other end of the table with Alys, but since they are seated at the other end of the long table, as are you and Jace, they are directly in your line of sight.

The staff had distributed glasses of a deep violet wine which Jace explained is firewine, originally from Valyria. “Are you doing alright so far?” He places his hand atop yours on the table, and you hum positively in response. He does not let go, his thumb drawing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

You raise your head when Viserys addresses the hall, making the mistake of catching Aemond’s eye. You notice how tense he sits, both hands intertwined on the table, his eye trained on you. Or rather, on Jace’s hand adjoined with yours.

You shake your head slightly. He looks up at you, as if noticing the attention you are giving him. So you look away quickly, listening as Viserys makes his first toast to the hall.

“Now we drink,” Jace signals. You pick up the ornate glass and bring it to your lips, and see Aemond doing the same. He does not drop your gaze as he takes a drawn out sip, and finally lowers the glass. You catch the way his tongue flickers to taste the remnants of firewine on his lips, and you feel your cheeks flare up with warmth.

Does he know what he’s doing?

“We now invite all of you to partake in another bout of dancing, this one less stringent than the first, so there’s no need to worry. No dragon will come to smite you if you step on your partner’s toes, but my dear wife won’t hesitate to throw you out of the hall, I’m sure,” Viserys announces genially, earning some laughter from the attendees. “And shortly after, the feast will begin.”

The crowd sets into commingling. Some pairings remain together, some accept invitations from other guests. The orchestra begins to play a slower, gentler hymn. Something more intimate. Romantic.

“May I have this dance, stranger?” Jace grins at you, offering his hand.

“Well, who am I to refuse a dragon?” you quip in turn. You pass by Helaena and Luke already on the dancefloor, and Aemond and Alys…

“Hey,” Jace keeps you from finding out. He keeps a gentle hand on the small of your back, and takes your hand in the other. “Is he bothering you?”

“What?”

“Aemond,” Jace says. “I could not help but notice that my dear uncle has been practically drooling at you like some starving dog.”

“He has not,” your eyes widen at his insinuation. But he has, hasn’t he?

“Are you blind?” Jace laughs. “He’s bloody doing it right now.”

It doesn’t take long for you to find him, guiding Alys Rivers in a slow dance. And Jace is right. He may be holding her, but his focus is on you.

“You can tell that he must be so jealous right now,” Jace says. “It’s kind of funny.”

A giggle bubbles up your lips, and Jace joins you. You hold each other closer in an attempt to control your laughter. “Still,” you breathe out, finding the words. “He came here with Alys. Not me.”

Jace simply smirks at your concern. “Oh, doll. Judging by how he looks like he might commit nepoticide at any moment, I’d say you’re doing a fine job of making him pay for it.”

-----------------------

Aemond hears you laugh a few feet away, recognizing his favourite sound. It’s been too long since he last heard it. Too bad you’re sharing the moment with his Strong nephew, of all people.

The song slows to a gradual halt, but the dance is still under way. Aemond takes this as his cue to turn away from Alys, mumbling something about getting a drink.

“Wait until they’re served. You don’t just slink away searching for alcohol to drown in! This is so unlike you.” She seethes, his attitude finally getting to her.

Aemond knows this. He’s well aware that the servers will soon emerge from the corners of the hall with delicate glass flutes balanced on gold trays. He’s seen this ball play out all throughout his life.

But he is not looking for the same sweet, feeble firewine. He’d much prefer the seedier alcohol that Aegon brings around in his flask.

Alys was right. This is truly unlike him. But between the awareness of everyone scrutinizing his new appearance and seeing his nephew’s hand firmly on your waist, his only recourse is to take a book out of Aegon’s page.

And drink like a Braavosi seahorse, as they say.

You begin swaying once more, in the arms of Jace, as the music gradually rises back to a crescendo. New sets of pairings venture onto the dancefloor.

Thankfully, one of them steps in to relieve him.

“Well, if it isn’t Alys Rivers herself,” a man exclaims, then turns to Aemond. “Do you mind, sir?” He holds his hand out to Alys, standing tall like a reed, as if a stiff breeze would blow him away.

“Oh, hi.” Alys says, pleased at the attention. “Aemond, this is Harris, he’s an actor and we worked on…”

But Aemond has already stepped away, disinterested by her explanation. “By all means.”

It is clearly not the reaction Alys wanted from him, and she glares at his retreating figure. Aemond doesn’t notice, approaching his brother on the sidelines.

“Finished dancing with mommy?” Aegon sneers by way of greeting.

“Fuck off, Aegon.”

“Aw, come on.” Aegon slaps his brother on the back. “You know I'm joking. Besides, you’re doing well for your first event in a long time.”

“Well,” Aemond’s lips curl in thought. Is that how things are going? Well? I wouldn’t say so. “Hand me your flask.”

Aegon sniggers, reaching for his pocket. “Hurry while our dear mother’s not looking.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Aemond takes a long drag of the liquid, the unforgiving taste biting in his mouth. It burns a little as it goes down his throat, winding up in his core as a pit of warmth.

“Well, well. Did you lose your inhibitions along with your eye, brother?” Aegon snatches the flask back, surprised but not disappointed by this turn of events.

Perhaps.

“Look at them. Smiling at each other like that.” Aemond spits out, venom lacing his tone.

“Wha -” Aegon’s head whips around, searching. Landing on you. “Oh. I see.” His amusement flares even greater. “Someone’s bloody jealous.”

“Hmm.” Why bother denying it?

“Didn’t think you had it in you to be cuckolded by a bastard.” Aegon says, dealing an effective blow.

“Give me that,” Aemond swipes the flask once more, taking a careless swig. Intrigued whispers reach him, somewhere from behind. Or to his side, it doesn’t matter. They can say whatever they want.

He hands the flask back to his snickering brother, then goes on to claim what’s his.

-----------------------

“Nephew.”

You hear his voice, plain as day. One minute he was some distance away, then he materialised right beside you.

“Mind if I step in?” Aemond asks Jace smoothly. Politely. But his eyes betray a hint of malice. You can’t help but stare at him blankly as he offers his hand to you.

Jace doesn’t respond right away, looking to you for approval. Are you fine with this? He seems to ask with furrowed brows.

“It’s okay,” you find your voice, albeit timid and unsure.

“I won’t go too far,” Jace whispers. He lets you go, letting Aemond take over in his stead. You stand in front of each other, but you don’t dare move closer. You feel arrested in his gaze, and he doesn’t say anything for a while.

Until he takes a sure step. Then he is everywhere. His familiar scent envelops you once more. Dizzying, like a long swig of firewine. You even catch a hint of it from him. His lips curl in amusement as he sees you studying him. You take notice of his eyepatch, of the scar lingering beneath.

Aemond. Enticing as ever. Ethereal and princely in his leather garb.

Why did he ever have to hide from me?

He whispers your name, and puts both hands on the small of your back, pulling you right against him. More intimate than the stance you had with Jace.

Aemond always had a pair on him.

He does seem to be unfazed, though he surely regards how flustered you’re becoming. “Hands up on my shoulders, love.” He says, and you comply.

Then he gracefully guides you through the slow dance. How can he act like everything is normal between us? Does he expect me to just -

“You look beautiful.” Aemond says, breaking you out of your thoughts. Your eyes widen at his sentiment, and your cheeks warm. “Easily the most beautiful woman in this room.”

It’s all too much, and you have to look away. “Nice of you to say that, Aemond.”

“I mean it.”

“Sure.”

You continue with the dance, too aware of your proximity. If you lean in, you’re almost certain he’ll feel your rushing heartbeat. Maybe he already does, judging by the pleased look on his face.

“Are you… are you better now?” You ask, tentatively.

Aemond’s expression hardens, and you struggle to decipher what he could possibly be thinking.

“I wish this never happened to you,” you add, and your hand strays on its own, hovering over the side of his face. But you catch yourself, and let your hand fall just as quick.

“I know,” he says, sincerely. “I do wish I never had to be away from you.”

“But you never had to,” you respond immediately. “This wouldn’t have changed how I see you.”

“It might have,” Aemond looks away this time. “You didn’t see how I was. How I still am.”

“I don’t - ”

Aemond’s head whips back to you, leaning closer. “There’s a reason why my mother made sure I wore these bloody gloves. So we don’t give people a chance to talk about their fucking Prince of the City’s latest exploits.”

You swallow, growing concerned. “I heard about those… fights. I wasn’t sure if they were true. Nobody ever said anything.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, they are. I’m not going to lie, darling. Right now, I’m not averse to slamming Jacaerys right to the ground.”

“Aemond,” you freeze, no longer swaying to the music. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Maybe he has changed. But did I ever truly know him? Did he really let me in?

He notices your expression fall, agonizes at the sight of you moving away from him, dropping your arm to your sides. So he pulls you in once more, holding you right against him. His leather coat is smooth against the featherlike fabric of your gown, cool against your growing warmth.

“Wait,” Aemond pleads. “Stay with me.” His hands slide upward, cradling your face. You have no choice but to look at him. Briefly, you wonder how he would appear without the eyepatch. Not that it matters. Not that he will reveal himself to you.

The song comes to a gradual halt in the background. The crowd begins to shuffle back to their tables. Some of them cast wary glances in your direction. Who is that girl with their beloved Aemond, they must wonder, and you begin to grow self-conscious.

“I want to kiss you right now, darling.” Aemond sighs, fanning your face with an exhale. Proving your assumption that he might be inebriated. Not just with wine, but something stronger.

I wish you would. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” His face scrunches in frustration, and it’s actually adorable.

“Not here. People are staring.” You clear your throat, trying to get a hold of yourself. But it doesn’t seem to matter to him.

“Let them stare.”

His gaze drifts down to your lips. His thumb flutters across, parting them just a little. Just as he had, that one night. Has it been that long?

Like a shock to your senses, you see a lithe figure in a silver slip gown walking in your direction. A vision with her cascading dark hair.

You jump back from Aemond, and he looks almost wounded.

“Enjoy your night, Aemond.” You turn away from him. “Alys.” You muster up a greeting, and the corner of her mouth lifts in a wry smile.

You walk through the crowd, your mind still on Aemond, unaware that he continues to watch you with longing, tuning out the dark-haired vixen holding on to his arm.

“You look flushed,” Aegon greets, standing with Helaena by the dais.

“I suppose it’s your fault Aemond’s drunk,” you respond, raising your eyebrow.

“He’s drunk?” Aegon exclaims, shrugging dramatically. “I swear I had no part in this.”

Helaena shakes her head, watching the exchange. “It’s a relief you didn’t decide to become an actor.”

“Hey,” Aegon grumbles, but he is clearly unaffected. “Aemond wanted to get drunk. I never could make him do anything no matter how hard I try.”

Smirking at you, he presses on. “If anything, sweet, I should be blaming you.”

-----------------------

You are seated back at the high table when Jace finally returns. But he is not alone, grinning conspiratorially with another raven-haired fellow, strapping and dignified in appearance.

You spot the wolf sigil pinned to his black tunic, and you automatically make an assumption.

This must be a Stark.

“I would like to introduce you to an old buddy of mine,” Jace smiles, confirming your thoughts. “This is Cregan Stark.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Cregan reaches you, drawing close. He smoothly takes your hand, and presses a kiss to the back as a gesture of courtesy. “A shame we didn’t meet sooner. I suppose I haven’t left Winterfell in far too long. Haven’t seen this one in a long time too.” He tilts his head in Jace’s direction, smiling. You can’t help but notice the sharpness of his canines, making him appear kind of wolflike, in line with his family symbol. “My sister Sara misses him way too much for my liking.”

At the mention of Sara, Jace’s cheeks visibly redden, and you make a mental note of teasing him about it later.

“What’s not to miss about Jace, really?” you say, taking a liking to the Stark boy’s demeanour. Sure, he holds himself with a steely confidence that befits someone of his status - much like Aemond - but he doesn’t come across as intimidating.

And, more importantly, he’s good friends with Jace, so he must be trustworthy.

“Right, you two, the feast is starting,” Jace playfully pulls Cregan away from you, who winks in your direction before hunkering off to his own table.

Jace sits down next to you, a smile still resting on his lips. When he catches you looking, you take the opportunity and say, “So, Sara Stark, huh?”

He smirks, easily countering with, “So, my uncle, huh?”

Your eyebrows raise, and you pick up the flute of wine set before you.

“Touché.”

-----------------------

Another one. Aemond has half a mind to break something when he spots the fucking Stark boy making advancements on you. Who does he think he is anyway? Does he not know that you are already spoken for?

True to form, his nephew Jacaerys only seems to be encouraging the whole thing. Bringing his two friends together.

Bastard is as bastard does.

Thankfully, there is a sudden trill sound, some chimes swinging, it doesn’t matter. The feast is being signalled to commence.

Everyone makes their way back to their tables, including bloody Cregan Stark.

Aemond is simply determined to go through the motions, and to make it to the remaining two hours of this ball. Two excruciating hours. Then he plans on taking you off somewhere, just you and him, having already considered the different outcomes in his head.

To Blackwater Residences, perhaps? But that would be a bit far away. You would be inclined to go with him, only if there would be an option to return to the ball should the need arise.

So he settles on simply pulling you away from the crowd, somewhere within the Valyrian Hall. He knows the ins and outs of the establishment quite well. So there would be no trouble getting around. To the gardens, to the balcony on the upper floor, to the private parlour?

Anywhere, anything.

“... so of course, I said yes! It’s a really good opportunity for me to finally venture into the film industry, you know. It’s something I've always wanted.” Alys prattles on, and Aemond tunes in, now and then, nodding or shaking his head as warranted. Keep her happy, and the night should flow by easily. If he plays his cards right, he should be with you soon enough.

Viserys commands the attention of the crowd, and hush falls over the feast.

He begins by thanking everyone in attendance, then goes on to make a toast for the entire city, for prosperity. And at the end, he expresses a tribute for perpetual unity among his family, the accident glazed over like a bad headline.

Like it never happened. And that is how people will see it, if that is the will of Viserys.

As per tradition, the rest of the family may take the opportunity to share a toast, should they wish.

Rhaenyra is next, and she expresses gratitude for the health of their sons.

Otto Hightower announces the predicted success of the next business venture between the Targaryen and Hightower empires, shepherded by his tireless consulting and liaising, of course.

Daeron makes a cheerful toast to his many friends, scattered across the hall in attendance.

And then, Lucerys stands, leaning against his good leg, one hand on the table for balance. He raises his hand high, and his usual impish smirk is in place. He looks around the hall, making sure to have everyone’s eyes on him.

“It's been quite the year, as we all know. I, for one, am simply grateful to still be standing here among you.”

Viserys looks to Rhaenrya, as if to question whether Luke will stray too far. The boy’s mother merely smiles stiffly, trusting her son to be prudent in his speech.

Luke does not miss a beat, continuing, “I would like us all to toast to my family, especially to my dear uncle, Aemond. Hopefully he has learned his lesson about challenging me to a race.” He adds the last thing lightly, and the crowd titters as a result.

“Alright, Luke, that’s enough.” Rhaenyra makes a hushed warning.

Luke mouths, wait, and finishes up the rest of his speech. “I would like to make a toast as well, to our dear friends and companions here at our table. To Daeron’s girlfriend, Viola. To Rhaena and her Corwyn. And to my good friend, y/n.”

Aemond’s hand clenches into a fist on the table at his nephew mentioning your name. He sees you regard Luke with surprise, not expecting this at all.

Luke finishes his toast, and in a deliberate move, he says, “Seeing as how my brother is quite taken with you, I won’t be surprised if you will be joining our family soon.”

Aemond suddenly rises from his seat, his weighty chair causing a grating noise to echo across the hall.

Luke sits back down with a triumphant sneer, having accomplished his desired result.

Aemond takes a deep breath, not saying anything for a few seconds. His features are stony and his figure taut, like a serpent ready to strike.

“Aemond,” Alicent says, worried.

Then Aemond raises his glass, a determined look on his face, his one beady eye scanning the hall. Not willing to be defeated.

“A tribute,” he begins, “to the health of my nephews. Jace, Luke and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…”

He catches sight of you, sitting too far away, worriedly looking between himself and Jacaerys, who glares at him appalled. You shake your head at him.

This is all for you, my darling.

“...Strong.” Aemond calls to everyone. “Let us raise our cups, to these three Strong boys.”

The tension takes its toll, and despite Viserys’ best efforts, chaos ensues.

a/n

not Aemond getting wasted just to cope with the high of properly being with the reader after the longest time...

also - someone send Ewan back to Derby please. I'm serious.

Sound off in the comments! I would love to know what you guys think 🖤

Series taglist: @caught-in-the-afterglow @aemondtargaryensrider @punggo66 @dollfaceyourfear @candypurplebutterfly @moonmaiden1996 @mxrgodsstuff @lolitaisreal @blue-serendipity @melsunshine @thejanecampaign @fxngsfxgxrty @padfooteyes @msmarvel-19 @tempo-rary-fix @lauraneedstochill @julczimozart @sarcasticfangirl @witchyv @pyjama-shorts @bellaisasleep @zillahvathek @thincrusttheworks @krispold @yougotthatlove @raging-panda @fleetingly-artistic @throughgoeshamilton @polireader @katsav17 @minttea07 @kravitzwhore @meggiemay82 @hedonefox @daenysx @schniiipsel @namoreno @afro-hispwriter @aemondswifeisme @emcharra @malfoytargaryen @iiamthehybrid @fullmetalriotts @kellzlib @justsumtuffstuff @daydreamy-me @yentroucnagol @kezibear @queenofshinigamis @paprikaquinn

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen imagine #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon

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megamindsecretlair · 4 months

Text

Runaway Lover, Part 1

Pairing: Big Stunna x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. ANGST. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female and male receiving) teasing/mocking, cum play/swallowing, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, referring to female anatomy as she, all consensual. Use of n-word. Mentions of God, Christian leaning. Sorry if I missed some, I'm rushing, just let me know.

Summary: On a girl's trip with your friends to Punta Cana, getting some much needed rest before spring semester, you bump into Stunna and a whirlwind romance rocks you to your core.

Word Count: 9,326k

Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: This is a wonderful ask from @melaninpov. I'm sorry if this wasn't what you had in mind, I've been watching romance movies all day and this turned sweet unexpectedly. Happy Valentine's Day, my loves. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @blackerthings @browngirldominion @we-outsiiiide @thecookiebratz @iv0rysoap @notapradagurl7 @sevikasblackgf @miyuhpapayuh @xo-goldengirl @kindofaintrovert @flydotty @judymfmoody @slippinninque @soufcakmistress @henneseyhoe @westside-rot @melaninpov @twocentuar @blackpinup22 @babybratzmaraj @theyscreamsannii @kiabialia

“Are you sure this isn’t too short?” You asked your friends. You stood in the bathroom of your hotel suite. The bright, fluorescent lighting in the bathroom highlighted everything. Everything. You wore a simple gold dress with intricate bronze and burnished orange swirls. It was a tad too short and showed a tad too much.

You weren’t a prude but you were also unused to showing…so much. You tugged at the short sleeves, the low neckline, and pinched the areas around your sides. You weren’t sure why you packed the damn thing, but you were drinking while packing. Something you vowed to never do again.

“You look so hot!” Your friend, Stella, said and moved closer to you and faced the mirror. She wore a violet dress with sparkling beads woven in to make it look like she wore a dress made of stars. It fit her deep ebony skin perfectly and brought out the subtle jewel tones in her skin.

You bit your lip, tasting the sweet lipgloss you dabbed on your lips. Abusing your lips was your worst sin and you avoided putting anything on them but tonight, you were all about new experiences. Hopefully.

“I should change,” you said. You pushed past Stella’s calls out for you to stop and that there was no need.

Angela appeared in the doorway and trapped you in the bathroom. “Damn girl!” You said. Stella’s sister was gorgeous in a marigold bodycon dress that hugged all of her curves and showed off her perfectly round ass. Truly, an apple bottom that she claimed was her best feature.

Angela preened under the praise but did not lower her hands from the door frame. “You’re not changing. None of us are changing. We only have two days left before it’s back to fucking school and we’re going out with a bang. They better be throwing us out before the trip is over,” she said.

She pushed you back into the bathroom. Thank goodness the space was big enough for all three of you. There were wide tile squares on the floor, a discarded hotel towel on the floor to keep you all from slipping, and two large mirrors over a double sink.

Angela and Stella finished up their makeup and demanded that you applied more gloss. Stella handed you a clutch to match your dress and told you to take the gloss with you.

You accepted it with a roll of your eyes. You’d likely go through the entire tube before the night was over. You were constantly at battle with your anxiety. Ya’ll really didn’t fuck with each other but it was like a toxic ex that didn’t know how to leave you alone. You could block, skip, and hop away from it but it was always lurking around the corner.

“Alright! Let’s go!” Stella yelled, getting you two pumped for the night’s activities. You all put on your matching heels or sandals, grabbed purses and clutches, and tucked in last minute items you may need, and headed out of the door.

Punta Cana was a balmy destination spot with plenty of resorts. The trip there had been uneventful but you and your friends had stayed glued to the windows, snapping pictures of the local plantlife, hills, and palm trees.

At the resort, you couldn’t help looking around in wide-eyed wonder, taking in the people and accommodations. You had been here for a few days enjoying the beach and accompanying swimming pool at the resort.

Everyone was friendly and open and a staff member was always around waiting to answer your questions. The goal of the trip was rest, rest, and more fucking rest. You were approaching your final year of school. After this spring semester, you were officially a senior and would have to enter the dreaded world of adults.

Stella and Angela kept up a steady stream of chatter on the ride down the elevator about what they were most excited for. The adults only resort was a breath of fresh air. No kids running around and no harried parents running after them.

Tonight, you were going to the club in the resort. So far, your activities have kept you from that venue. You rode ATVs and did a snorkeling tour off the shore of the beach. You also climbed into a boat to watch the local marine life. That part was your favorite.

Angela had to remind you that you were in fact young and it was okay to enjoy yourself. Half the time, you didn’t know where your anxiety came from. You could be having the time of your life and then boom! Your anxiety was snatching your breath away and warning you of an invisible threat. No matter how many times you asked for proof or begged to know what the threat was, your anxiety only shook its head and repeated the warning tone: danger, danger!

You shoved your anxiety in the recesses of your mind. You were not in danger. There was no threat. You were only here to have a good time.

On the main floor of the resort, the wide open arches and large windows let in enough of the view that you saw the moon ascending the sky. Sunset was losing its grip on this part of the world. Swirling colors of lilac, tangerine, and amber dotted the sky as night approached. The ambient lighting outside began to turn on one by one.

Stella looped her arms through yours and Angela’s arms and pulled you toward the entrance to the club. The music reached you first. Hotel guests were spilling in and out of the place so it must be a popular spot.

You swallowed around the huge lump in your throat as you pushed inside, flashing your wristbands that confirmed your age and the amenities you paid for. The staff member waved you in with a polite smile and soon you were entrenched in the booming club.

The space itself was huge with plenty of dancefloor area. The upbeat, fast paced music got everybody dancing and shaking their hips. There were pillars stationed around the room holding up the ceiling but other than that, it was pretty much open. There was a bar area on a raised platform filled with tables and chairs.

Most were all occupied as people looked over the railing at the brave people down below getting it on in various states of fancy clothing. Dresses flew through the space. Heels clacked on the floor. Hands were in the air in an undulating wave like the waters that crashed on the shore.

There was a heavy smell of liquor and sweat and some type of sweet perfume in the air that tried to combat it. There was no way to combat the funk so it ended up smelling like sweet sweat. But that was to be expected with so many people in one room shaking what the Lord gave them.

You and your friends made a beeline to the bar, immediately ordering sugary drinks that would go straight to your head. Alcohol was never a proper solution to anxiety. However, you’d take anything for a release from its shackles for the night.

As you waited for your drink, you bounced your shoulders trying to get your body to catch up to your mind. “Naw, show us what you got, girl!” Stella said. She whistled and encouraged you to dance a little more, shake a little more.

Fuck it. You couldn’t let your anxiety win this time around. You started getting into it, shaking your booty faster and then backing away from the bar. You felt the rhythm of the song, waving your hands and getting your whole body into it.

You backed up one more step and tripped, your body flying to the right. You shrieked, hands reaching out to catch your fall. However, you didn’t fall. Strong arms encircled you. It took a few moments for your mind to catch up to the fact that you weren’t kissing the nasty club floor.

Your heart roared in your chest, causing stops and starts that made you shake all over. The strong arms pulled you back to standing, righting yourself on your wedges. “Thank you,” you said.

You looked up into the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes you had ever seen. Those eyes were framed by a long face, wide nose, and a trimmed dark beard. He had a big smile with perfect, symmetrical teeth encased in hollow grills.

The man had rich, deep golden brown skin that he showed off with a collared navy shirt and black jeans. His upper arms were bulging with muscles, straining against the short sleeves of his shirt.

He was in a word: devastating.

“Are you okay?” Sound finally filtered past your racing heartbeat. The way he looked at you gave you the indication that he had asked it more than once. You bit your lip and nodded. You forgot how words worked.

“Are you sure you didn’t twist anything?” He asked. His voice felt like what hot chocolate on a cold evening tasted like. It warmed you up from the inside out, awakening places that didn’t usually awaken for anything other than your favorite celebrity and brownies.

Your mind was slow, fuzzy around the edges, as it dawned on you that he was pointing to your feet. You moved each leg, leaning on him while you lifted your legs and moved them in a tiny circle.

You looked back into his eyes and nodded again. “Good,” you chirped.

He smiled slowly. Fuck, you could watch him smile for the rest of your days and never get sick of it. He was so damn cute. And hot. A dangerous combination that had you acting like Helen Keller. ‘Cept you could plainly see how divinely sexy he was.

“Can I buy you a drink to apologize for ruining your dance?” He asked.

You smiled and ducked your head, cheeks warming up from the embarrassment of dancing in front of him. You looked down at his hands secured around your arms, at your hands on his.

You started to move them but he held on a little tighter, unwilling to let you go. “I…kind of already ordered one,” you said around the thick lump in your throat. Come on! Get it together! What the hell was wrong with you?

“Oh, are you here with someone?” He asked. He still didn’t let you go.

You licked your lips, the sweet taste of manufactured strawberries coating your tongue and snapping some sense back into you. You nodded and looked towards your friends. They were openly gawking at you.

“My friends,” you finally said.

“But no guy?” He asked.

You giggled and shook your head. “No girl?” You asked.

He smiled and shook his head. “I’m Stunna,” he said.

You told him your name. He said a few times, rolling the syllables around his tongue like one did to a lollipop. You focused on his mouth and the way he said your name. As if he had been saying it his whole life and never wanted to stop.

“If I can’t buy you a drink, can I get your number? You from the States?” He asked.

Anxiety reared its huge, ugly, monstrous head. You were nervous to just…abandon your friends. Let alone your drink. With your luck, you lived on complete opposite sides of the country. You nodded, to give him an answer about the States. But were too nervous to tell him where. To even hint at the possibility that you could occupy the same city and there wasn’t a national alert about it.

You were sure that he caused a storm of women wherever he went. You would have noticed if he lived around the Bay. You knew that you’d feel him in your blood, taste him in your veins if you lived in the same area. Certain that you would have bumped into each other already. Seen each other somewhere.

“I should probably get back to my friends. I’m sure your friends are missing you as well,” you said. You reluctantly withdrew your hold on him. Your small claim for the time being. Relinquishing that hold hurt.

He nodded. As you turned to leave, he swiftly caught your hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed your fingers. “Save a dance for me? I wanna see more of them moves.”

A nervous giggle pushed against your rib cage, threatening to spill over. You swallowed it back down and bit your lip. You didn’t want to keep turning him down but your stomach twisted and turned. Danger! Threat!

There was nothing threatening about the man so you figured that you needed away. You needed space to breathe and think. Time spent away from his spicy cologne that tickled your nose.

You nodded once more. What were the odds that he’d find you again in this club? If your friends weren’t at the bar, you wouldn’t know the first place to look for them.

Stunna let go of your hand and backed away, giving you a small wink before turning back to his friends. He was surrounded by a group of guys, all hot in some way or another? Damn. You checked out his back side as you walked back to your friends.

“The hell you doing back here?” Stella asked.

“What’s happening? Why aren’t you sitting in that man’s lap?” Angela asked.

“What are you talking about?” You asked. You grabbed your drink, the glass sweating from sitting so long. How long had you been talking to Stunna? And why did you feel like you wanted to run right back into his arms?

You took deep gulps of the fruity concoction, letting the alcohol seep through your system and chase away your anxiety. The cold from the drink burned away the lump in your throat. Being away from him helped. It helped in a way that was foreign to you to name or identify.

People didn’t have physical reactions to others right? Like that was a thing made up by romance movies to get people’s heads in the clouds and sell more candy in stores, right?

Your friends hounded you for answers to their questions, wondering what you spoke about and why you weren’t still talking to him.

“I didn’t want to abandon you for some guy. This is a girl’s trip. A relaxing trip,” you said.

“You better relax on that man’s dick! Like you saw him right? Like you saw the way he looked at you? Girl, please tell me she’s not that oblivious,” Stella said, leaning her head on her sister’s shoulder.

Angela tossed her hands up as if she were preaching to a congregation. “Father God, grant your child the gift of sight because she’s clearly blind,” Angela said.

You laughed, rubbing your forehead at their embarrassing shenanigans. “I’m not oblivious!”

“I pray that I’ll never do some dumb shit like her, Lord. Smite her and send the nigga my way, because damn,” Stella said. She looked behind you and you panicked, standing in her way to not bring attention to the fact that you were discussing Stunna. You risked a glance over your shoulder.

Stunna was sitting down at a table, faced in your direction. He lifted his glass to you and you smiled, turning around and immediately dropping it. The drink wasn’t helping. Butterflies flapped tiny wings in your stomach. He was killing you.

“What happened to new experiences?” Angela asked.

“Not that damn new,” you muttered, sipping more of your drink. At this rate, you’d need ten drinks to calm the wings in your stomach.

Stella groaned dramatically, throwing her arms across your shoulders. “As sweet as it is to worry about us, you see us every damn day. How often do you run across someone that damn fine in real life? In real life? He belongs in a magazine or on TV or some shit,” she said.

That was the fucking truth. “He probably lives on the East Coast or something,” you said, waving Stella off of you. You were too hot. There were too many people here. Too many clusters of hot breath, sweat, and body heat raising the temperature in the room to dangerous levels.

You sipped more of your drink. You tapped your foot against the hard floor, vibrating with energy that had nowhere to go. Nothing to do but zip up and down your body and twist your insides.

“So? You ain’t trynna marry the nigga. Just get down,” Angela said and bent low, shaking her hips. Stella joined her, sticking their tongues out. Stella turned around and bounced her booty against Angela. Angela mimed hitting Stella’s ass and you laughed, waving them away.

“You two are a hot fucking mess!” You screamed. They continued to dance and giggle, shaking their ass and proceeding to make you wish the floor swallowed you whole.

“Since our girl is romantically deficient, let’s get on the floor,” Stella said. You finished your drink and followed your friends to the dance floor.

You started out stiff, not wanting to bump up against anyone. You didn’t need a repeat from earlier. Your friends noticed your reluctance and each took one of your hands. They began to swing you around.

You smiled, falling for their obvious charm. You loosened up and relaxed. The drink finally did the trick and you surrendered to the music. You closed your eyes and felt the thumping beats, the instruments, and sultry crooning of the singer.

You danced and laughed with your friends, relishing the feeling of being young and carefree. This was what you had been chasing this entire trip. This feeling of being present and in the moment.

You began to twerk as the music changed, popping your ass to the beat of the song. Your friends cheered you on. You placed your hands on your knees and got lower. Someone sidled up behind you, not one of your friends you were sure.

You shrugged your shoulders and kept dancing. Now was the time to keep living in the moment. You could dance with someone that wasn’t in your immediate comfort circle. You couldn’t always hang onto your friends like a barnacle.

Large hands circled your waist and you leaned back into a lean but strong frame. The stranger felt like a man and a good dancer on top of it. Able to match your changing moves. The stranger grabbed your hands and spun you around to face him.

Stunna grinned at the surprise on your face. “I thought I told you to save me a dance,” he yelled to be heard over the music.

“What took you so long?” You asked.

“Like that?” He asked, exaggerating his words. You nodded. He matched your nod and then spun you back around. You giggled, breathless at being spun around like a doll. He pulled you around the dancefloor dancing to the fast-paced music with ease. Now it was you that was having trouble keeping up with him.

You faced him now and your hands were in each other’s, dancing with complicated turns and twirling limbs that made you feel like you were on Dancing With the Stars. The song finished and you waved your heads. “I need a break!”

Stunna grinned, flashing those damn grills. You stared at them, wondering if he took them out during sex. Was he the type to go down on a woman? Stunna winked as he if sensed the direction of your thoughts.

He placed his hand on your lower back and led you back to the bar. You ordered some water and he made you order a drink. “Since you don’t wanna give a nigga your phone number,” he said with a show-stopping smile.

You rolled your eyes. “Why do you want my number?” You asked. You drank the water bottle at his nudging.

“So I can hear that sexy ass voice in my ear,” he said.

You rolled your eyes playfully and played with the paper around the water bottle. “You’re so bad,” you said.

He shrugged his shoulders, calling your name like he was savoring the taste of it. “I’m still right though. I want to keep talking to you,” he said.

You could practically feel your friends on your shoulders like little devils pushing you to give him your number. What harm could it do? You held out your hand for his phone. He dug it out of his pocket and handed it to you.

His total focus on you while you entered your number was unnerving. You couldn’t help giggling as you put in your number. He reached out and trailed a finger down your arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. You messed up on a number and giggled in his direction.

“You’re distracting me,” you said.

“Yeah? Good. But make sure that number right,” he said. He peeked across the screen as you backspaced and entered your number correctly.

He smelled like his cologne, sweat, and whatever drink he had throughout the night. You handed his phone back to him. You fanned yourself with your clutch while he looked at his phone.

He smiled and tapped a few times. “There, now you have my number,” he said.

The butterflies returned to your stomach the longer you spent in his presence. He liked that he could fluster you so easily and tried his damndest to keep doing so. Your cheeks ached from all the smiling you did.

You talked more about yourself and your friends and why you came to the D.R. He told you that he was out here celebrating for his friend’s wedding. The wedding had already passed, cheaper during the week, so they were spending the weekend celebrating with friends.

“It’s nice of you all to come out here and celebrate with them,” you said. Stunna turned his head to the side, he didn’t hear you. The music seemed to get louder and even though you yelled, he couldn’t hear you.

Stunna scooted closer to you and yelled in your ear. “Wanna go outside?”

You looked at him and nodded. You couldn’t hear shit, but you were pretty sure you could hear your friends whooping for joy as Stunna took your hand and led you outside of the club.

Your ears popped as you reached the quiet interior of the lobby. There was a stark contrast between the two rooms and your ears rung. You shook your head, trying to clear the ringing. Stunna did the same, shaking his shoulders too for good measure.

Being out in the lobby, the base temperature felt like frost at the top of a mountain. You shivered as it highlighted buckets of sweat rolling down your spine and between your breasts.

A drop of sweat rolled down Stunna’s arm and you followed the movement as it trailed down a prominent vein. Stunna still held your hand and you walked out of the resort, past the open pool that shimmered with light from nearby lamps.

You walked along the concrete pathways heading down to the beach. Before you stepped onto the sand, you leaned down and took off your wedges. Stunna took off his boots, and rolled up his pants legs.

“Looks like I was smart to wear a dress,” you said and giggled at him.

“Damn smart. I’m glad you did. Your body in that dress, hmm,’ he said and rolled his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Stop,” you chuckled and shook your head. He was incorrigible.

“Naw, I can’t. Your ass looks amazing. Thighs I just wanna squeeze. Lips I wanna kiss,” he said. He stood up to his full height and you stared at him.

Soft moonlight fell over his features on one side of his face. The lamps gave a warm glow on the other side. He was light, soaking it all up and reflecting it back out to seem like he had an inner glow.

You sighed, staring at this work of art before you. You wanted to pinch yourself. You stepped closer but Stunna only smiled, grabbed your hand, and you took off down the beach. You spent time walking up and down, warm sand digging between your toes.

You talked more, learning about him and how much he loved to read. You shared that passion and spoke about books you’ve read and favorite authors. He took your recommendations seriously, pulling out his phone to add books to a list on his phone.

“Come back to my room,” he said.

You shook your head. “Won’t your friends be looking for you?”

“Naw. I got my own room. I ain’t sharing shit with them nasty niggas,” he said.

You laughed, moving away from him as the sand made you trip up. Stunna pulled you back to his side. “See, yo clumsy ass need somewhere to sit. Come sit in my room,” he said.

You were back in the same position from earlier when he rescued you from falling. He gripped your elbows, standing close enough to lick, and your hands were on his arms. He was too close, surrounding you with him. You couldn’t think past him. When you looked up, all you saw was him.

You waited to feel panicked and shaky. To warn you to step away and flee from him. It never came. “If I go back to your room, I doubt we’ll just be sitting,” you said.

“I never said that. That’s yo nasty mind,” he said. He licked his lips. “But I like the way you think. You wanna come sit in my lap?”

There were no reservations. No warning bells in your head. No screeches of noise or racing thoughts to prevent you from biting your lip and nodding. From grabbing his hand and watching each other as you left the beach and headed inside.

You didn’t talk as you leaned against one another in the elevator. He placed a kiss to your head and you melted even further into him. The elevator softly dinged and the doors opened to his floor. He stayed in the building next to your room. You were sort of relieved. Had he stayed in the same building or even on the same floor, it would have been too perfect. Too obviously a set up by God or whoever was out there listening.

Stunna swiped his keycard once he got to his room and opened the door. You walked inside the cool room and turned on lights.

He had a suitcase on the couch of his suite, open to reveal some clothes he packed. He had shoes strewn about but for the most part, he was a clean guest. He closed the door and you turned to look at him.

You placed your shoes on the ground next to his, marveling at the contrast between your sizes. It looked oddly perfect sitting side by side. You ignored that runaway thought as you quickly texted your friends that you would be late to the room. It was a good chance to not wait up for you at all if this night went how you were expecting.

Stunna watched you place your clutch on the TV stand. He moved about the room, cleaning up but it wasn’t necessary. Just bags and bottles of water that were on the nightstand.

“I’ll wash off this sand,” you told him.

“I’ll go after you. Take your time,” he said.

Take your time, yeah right. If you took long enough, you would summon your anxiety like an ancient deity out for your blood. You quickly went to the bathroom and freshened up a little, running the bath to clean off your feet. You didn’t even look at yourself in the mirror. If you did, you would chicken out.

You didn’t want to chicken out. You wanted a wild story. A story to tuck in your heart and bring out as the years passed and you lived your life. A story that you held on to when you got older and your partying days was nearing its end.

When you left the bathroom, Stunna had lowered the lights to make it more intimate and softer. He opened the curtains revealing a balcony that overlooked the ocean. He stood outside, twisting caps off of water bottles. He also had a bottle of Hennesy on the small table outside.

You approached and he smiled when you did. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

He went to the bathroom to clean off the sand. You stepped out fully and enjoyed the breeze kissing your skin. You sipped some of the Hennessy, enjoying that sweet burn. The ocean waves crashed against the shore but from this height, you saw further than you did in your room.

Few stars were able to wink in and out behind dark clouds in the sky. The half moon shone down onto the beach and over the resort. Stunna returned and wrapped his hands around your waist, leaning against you.

He grabbed the cup from your hands and finished the rest. He kissed his way along your exposed neck, sending shivers down your spine. You sighed and relaxed into him. He made no move to do anything else, no roaming hands or nasty words.

“You are so gorgeous,” he said.

You turned in his arms and faced him. “I’m done talking. Kiss me,” you said.

He grinned, flashing those damn golds that have been driving you crazy all night. “You sure?”

You wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him closer before you lost your nerve. You finally tasted him, tasted the bite of Hennessy on his lips. His lips were warm and wet and his tongue dived into your mouth. You moaned as he explored, running his tongue along yours and along your teeth.

Stunna’s hands gripped your arms and moved lower, cupping your ass and squeezing tight. You growled from how good it felt. How wonderful it felt to be in his arms. Stunna hissed in between his kisses, like you were both on fire but he was willing to risk kissing you through the flames.

Your back was against the railing and he pushed into you, rubbing his erection against your tummy. You moaned.

“Keep moaning like that and I won’t be able to control myself,” he said against your lips. You opened your eyes to look at him.

“Don’t control yourself,” you said.

He laughed and licked his lips. He sat down in the closest chair and pulled you into his lap. You straddled him, wobbling a bit since his stance was so wide. Your legs draped on the outside of his and he spread his legs so that he could spread you wider.

His hands searched under your dress so that he could cup your ass directly. Dig those skillful fingers into the meat of your ass. He spanked one cheek and you jerked in his lap, your pussy rubbing against the fabric of his jeans.

He growled, fingers seeking your wet heat. When he found your clit, he had no mercy. He began to run his thumb around the sensitive nub. You scooted higher on his lap, needing the friction of his jeans to help speed your arousal along. Not that you really needed it. You were already dripping for him.

“Mm, so wet. You always sit your pretty ass on strangers and let them finger your pussy?” He asked around kissing you.

“N-No,” you moaned.

He suckled on your bottom lip and your pussy throbbed. He was working some type of magic between your legs. Some type of spell that threatened to rip you into pieces.

“No? You telling me that this is all for me?” He asked. “I get to be the one to play with you?”

“Yess,” you sighed against his lips.

“Then I should feel special that you’re soaking my fingers already and I’ve yet to feel you?”

“Shit,” you sighed. Your arms were wrapped completely around his neck, holding onto him and keeping him close.

He kissed your neck, licking it, while his fingers finally dipped into your entrance. You shook with a long moan, throwing your head back as pleasure rolled through you in cascading waves.

“Nasty little girl, aren’t you?” He asked.

“N-No,” you whined.

He chuckled. “You letting me play with your pussy. And it feels so good gripping my fingers. Bad little girl,” he growled against your throat.

His other hand snaked up your body until he gripped your throat. Your eyes rolled to the back as he squeezed with force. He brought your head closer so that your foreheads were touching.

His fingers increased in pressure and he drove them into you. Effectively fucking you with his fingers. “Say you’re a bad girl,” he said.

Your breathing was heavy and slow, not pumping enough oxygen into your brain. Or perhaps it was him. Perhaps he was some type of demon, stealing the oxygen from your lungs as your orgasm swam to the surface.

You couldn’t make your words work. The words stuck to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. Your mouth moved, working double time as he stuck two fingers inside and rolled your clit with his thumb.

“Say it if you wanna cum,” he said.

“I wanna,” you whined.

“You wanna what?” He asked. “Shit, you’re so fucking wet. Can’t wait to taste you. Do you taste as sweet as you look?”

You whined and gyrated your hips. Why couldn’t you say anything? Why couldn’t your mouth work to speak?

“I wanna cum,” you finally choked out. You leaned your head back. He allowed you to do so and he kissed your neck around his fingers, dipping low to kiss your chest and just above your breasts.

“Say you’re a bad girl if you wanna cum,” he demanded.

You were close. Incredibly close. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you moaned.

“I’m waiting,” he whispered against your skin. Blowing air across your chest, around the pools of saliva he left on your skin.

“I’m bad. I’m a bad girl,” you moaned.

“So bad,” he agreed.

“So bad. You make me feel so good,” you moaned.

His fingers never stopped pumping into you. Your legs squeezed his and your eyes shut as you cried with your orgasm. Stunna continued to pump his fingers as you came, cooing against your skin.

“So pretty when you cum,” he said. When you were done and slumped against him, he withdrew his fingers. Shivers still wracked your body. He moaned while he suckled on his fingers, licking up your essence.

You watched him as he closed his eyes and savored your taste. You licked your lips watching him. He cleaned his fingers and gave you a wink. “You okay?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I wanna taste you too,” you said.

He grinned. “Get on your knees,” he said. You slid off of his lap with a lopsided smile. The balcony floor wasn’t entirely comfortable, but you were too focused on him unzipping his pants. He released himself from his pants and briefs.

Your eyes widened. You couldn’t possibly fit the whole thing in your mouth?!

Stunna chuckled and moved to put his dick away but you gripped his thighs. “I said, I want to taste you too.” You glanced at him as you took him into your mouth. He gave you an impressed smirk, licking his lips at the look of you taking him deep within your mouth.

You couldn’t fit all of him like you thought. But you got enough of him down. You hoped that your inexperience didn’t show. You’ve sucked dicks before but he was probably used to throat goats. Used to women taking him down to the base, fondling his balls, or knowing what the fuck to do.

You only knew that you wanted to keep going. Wanted to please him. You drooled on him and released him to get some air. Using both hands, you twisted his long shaft and then suckled the head of his dick back into your mouth.

His eyes opened and closed, back bowing off of the chair, as he groaned. His hand palmed your head and pushed you down on his dick, pushing you past your limit until you choked. He eased up, but you took him how he wanted. Your saliva helped your hands twist around his dick and coat his tip.

“Gahh damn. Fuckin’ nasty,” he groaned. You made a pleased sound in the back of your throat and continued to take him deeper and faster. Your sloppy, wet suckling was loud in the quiet air.

You slurped him, drops of precum hitting your tongue. You suckled him all down, glancing at him periodically to see the ecstasy on his face. The pleasure you were bringing him.

“Gonna bust,” he groaned.

“Wanna taste,” you said around his dick.

His breathing turned choppy before he tensed. You felt his orgasm travel up his shaft before he moaned, releasing his cum in your mouth. You continued to milk him for every drop you could. You swallowed him all down.

He pushed at your shoulders to stop, sounds escaping him that you never heard from a man. “Too good,” he panted.

You grinned. You wiped at the corners of your mouth. “You’re dangerous,” he said.

You blinked up innocently at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said.

His eyebrows raised and he chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Remember you said that,” he said.

He scooted the chair back and stood up, helping you to your feet. He pushed you into the room and closed the balcony door, leaving behind a tiny crack to still let in the breeze from the ocean.

He unzipped your dress and dropped it to the floor, sighing at the look of your body. You never felt so cherished during sex. You weren’t expecting love and all that crap whenever you took someone to bed. It was more like an overwhelming itch that needed to be scratched.

After the deed, your anxiety returned with a vengeance and you were the first out of the door. No one wanted to deal with an anxious mess after getting off.

With Stunna, there was none of that usual nervousness or shyness holding you back. You just wanted him.

Your soaked panties went next. He knelt down, doing all the work of removing it. He kissed along your spine and back, the globes of your ass, and the back of your thighs. You shivered at the attention. The care with which he removed your panties.

He stood back up and unhooked your bra, freeing your breasts. He eagerly grabbed them from behind and rolled your nipples between his fingers. He pulled you until you leaned back against him.

“Can’t wait to get these in my mouth. I wanna be a gentleman, but fuck. I just want to break you,” he said.

A vicious tingle spread around your thighs. “I never asked you to be a gentleman,” you said.

He chuckled. “Fair, but I don’t wanna scare you away,” he said.

“I’m a big girl. I can use my words when I need to,” you said.

“Yeah? Get on the bed then. Hands and knees, bad girl,” he said. He smacked your ass, hard and you did as instructed. You climbed into his bed and got on your hands and knees.

You were too far away however. He grabbed your hips roughly and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He gripped himself and shoved into your inviting pussy with one savage thrust. His grip on your hip prevented you from escaping. You tried to lean forward, but he held you in place.

He pressed on your back until your chest was against the bed. Your ass was high in the air, giving him total access to you. He smacked your ass.

“You been talkin’ mad shit all night,” he said. He began to stroke, delivering hard and long thrusts that immediately found your G-spot.

“Oh shit!” You cried out.

“That’s my shit.” You heard the pleased grin in his tone. How did he find it so fast?

He continued to stroke, hitting your sweet spot over and over with military precision. He smacked your ass with one hand while the other kept a firm grip. “You ain’t so bold now. A little dick shuts you up?” He asked.

You couldn’t speak. He was slamming into you so hard, just the way you always dreamt of. It brought tears to your eyes. Most guys were afraid to be rough. Afraid of catching a case once you asked them to go a little deeper or stroke a little harder.

Not Stunna. He drove into you, seeking something you couldn’t name. It didn’t take long before you were convulsing, shaking on his dick.

“Talk to me, then. Say somethin’ else,” he said.

“Achgg,” you moaned, eyes rolling.

Stunna continued to work himself inside of you. His dick speared you. Nearly split you in half. You bounced back on his dick, giving as much as you got.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “Don’t let me stand in your way. You take what you need from me,” he said.

Wet, smacking noises filled the room. The sound of your combined fucking pushed another orgasm to the surface. Your ass clapped on his thighs. Your screams were sure to draw the attention of his neighbors.

He leaned forward and wrapped his hands around your throat. “Fuuh,” you moaned.

Both of you matched each other’s intensity. He pulled you by your throat to swallow every long inch of him. Your desperate thrusts sounded like thunder against his skin.

“Goh, goh, fuh,” you chanted in rapid succession.

“So good, so good. Pussy feel so good. You were made to take this dick, weren’t you? You were made for it,” he groaned.

Your hands feebly held onto the bed in front of you but there was no use. This was so intense and passionate that your orgasm crushed you into a tiny ball and flung you into a tornado. You screamed until you were hoarse. Drool leaked out of your mouth with your whiny cries.

Stunna continued to hold your throat and pound, chasing his own climax. “Greedy ass. Fuck, you take me so well,” he groaned.

You were shaking as you rode out your orgasm. As soon as you ended, he began. He flooded your pussy with his cum, roaring like an animal as he climaxed. Your body twitched and spasmed on his dick. His dick hit something deep inside, too deep to know what. But it hit a natural reset.

Stunna let go of your throat and held onto your hips to keep from falling on top of you. You both panted, harsh breaths filling the room. You sniffled as you recovered, brain quiet for once.

Stunna slipped out of you and he leaned back to watch his cum slip out. He panted and his breaths fell across your ass and pussy.

“Fuck,” he said.

You agreed. You never felt something like that before. Possessed. Owned. It was a feeling you would spend your entire life trying to find again. Would you be able to?

Both of you were too wobbly to move. As if with your dual climaxes, you had entered a new plane of existence. Being back in the real world sucked. It seemed foreign. You were changed by the experience so why hadn’t the world changed?

Stunna left to go to the bathroom and returned with a warm washcloth. You cried at the sensation. “Shh, shh, I got you,” he said.

The rough fucking was everything you needed but you were fucking sore. You ached. It felt too damn good for you to complain though. He gently cleaned you up, wiping you down and wiping off some of the sweat.

You curled up into a ball, trying to will yourself to move. To get dressed and make your escape. You felt like the sex police would descend from the ceiling and arrest you for upsetting the natural law of the universe.

You couldn’t move. You felt too raw, too exposed. You focused on your breathing, on drawing air in and then out. Stunna returned from the bathroom and you cringed at the picture you must make.

“I’ll leave just as soon as my legs work,” you mumbled.

Stunna chuckled. “Can you stay?” He sat on the bed in front of you. You were too afraid to look in his eyes. You didn’t know if you were over exaggerating the moment. You wouldn’t be able to bear it if you felt like your world tilted on its axis while it was just Friday night to him.

Stunna laid down on the bed and lifted your chin with his fingers. “Please, stay,” he whispered.

His eyes swirled with emotion. As if the moment you left, this would all disappear from memory. Until he wasn’t sure if he dreamt this or it was real. It only mirrored what you were feeling so you nodded and he grinned. “What you need?”

For your skin to feel like it wasn't going to slough off the moment you unfurled. You looked at him with wide eyes. He nodded as if he understood the turmoil inside of you. He stood up and then came around to lay behind you. His hands came around your arms and knees, pulling you into the heat of his body.

You sighed. Exactly what you needed. He pulled the covers over you, wrapping you in a tiny cocoon of heat. You drifted off to the sound of his quiet breathing. The last thing you felt was a tiny kiss behind your ear.

In the morning, you yawned and stretched. Stunna was asleep next to you. Somehow, you were laying properly in the bed, head on a pillow and his hand draped across your tummy. You watched him in the early morning light.

This was dangerous. Ludicrous. It was crazy to feel this type of connection with someone else. Someone so obviously built for you yet it couldn’t last. Tomorrow you were flying back home. On Monday, it was back to classes.

After taking a peek at the edge of the universe, how did you go back to normal? How did you carry on and keep this in your memory bank?

You had to get out. You lifted his hand to scoot away from him. Away from the oppressive heat that made sweat pool behind your knees.

Stunna groaned and sniffed, pulling you back against his side. “Where you think you going?” He asked.

You giggled. “Back to my suite,” you said.

“You was gonna sneak out? That’s cold,” he said. His deep voice was rough from sleep and it made your pussy flutter. Really? After all that last night, she was still ready to go?!

“Sneak is such an ugly word.” You sighed as he finally cracked one eye open and looked at you.

“At least let me get you breakfast. You can get changed and meet me right back here,” he said.

You laughed. “What if I have plans?” You asked.

“You do. With me,” he said.

You shook your head. “You’re crazy.”

He grabbed your hand and linked your fingers together. Your hands were perfect against each other, skin tones perfectly aligned.

“Please? Text your friends and tell them you’re safe. When do you leave?” He asked.

“Tomorrow,” you said.

“See? Give me one last day until we can figure out when we’ll see each other again.”

You sighed. You couldn’t say no to that face. Those eyes. You bit your lip and nodded. He grinned, peppering you with kisses all over your face.

He ordered room service and ate you out before it came up. He moaned and suckled while he did so, grinding his hips into the bed like he wanted to bury his face into your pussy forever.

When the food arrived, you talked and ate and laughed, sharing more details about yourself but not personal information like the fact that you were in school or where he was working. You talked through safe subjects but all the information you gathered about him, you held it close to your heart.

Each passing moment spent with him carved out a section of your heart and replaced it with a gorgeous, sexy man named Stunna. You did make it back to your room where your friends gushed over your night. You still had no words but you squealed while you showered and begged their forgiveness while you planned to spend the day with Stunna.

They encouraged you, admitting that in a move that surprised no one, they found their way to their own flavor of the day. They agreed to come back to the room at a decent hour to pack away their shit and figure out their flight.

You spent the rest of the day with Stunna, outside of his suite, walking around the resort. It had a small gambling area where he tried to show you how to play poker. He was a very sweet teacher, but you couldn’t make heads nor tails of the rules. You were more of a spades player, but good luck finding that shit here.

You shared desserts and walked along the beach, sitting in the sand in between his legs and talking some more. Stunna stole kisses throughout the day, unwilling to leave your lips for the second it took to breathe and join back together.

As night fell, you ate dinner with him and found your way back to his room where you slowly peeled each other’s clothes off. Where you feasted your eyes on his skin. Gasped as he entered you once more and you gave each other untold amounts of pleasure.

Where he held you like he loved you but fucked you like you stole something from him. You came, looking into his molten brown eyes, nuzzling your cheek against the stubble on his chin. He came with your legs pinned to the mattress and his dick threatening to fuck you into the mattress, the floor, and the next floor down.

You kissed and cuddled while you talked about talking to him every day. He entered you again while you were stubborn, saying you might be busy.

“Naw, this shit belong to me now,” he said while he thrusted into you for the…third time that night? Fourth? Who kept count while his delicious dick was inside you and you felt whole again? Complete.

“It belongs to me,” you said.

He grinned and bit your nipple, then licked away the sting. He continued to nibble across delicate skin, moaning when he found your other nipple and tugged with his teeth. You hissed and your back curved, giving him all the access he wanted.

“Do we have a problem?” He asked.

“Do we?” You countered.

He grinned and then slipped out of you, only to hike one of your legs up in the air. He reentered you from the side, slamming into you until you were crying and shaking on his dick, screaming out his name.

“Stay talkin’ shit,” he groaned as he filled you up once more.

Saying goodbye to him was the hardest shit you ever had to do. It was like you both knew that even with talking every day, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as lying next to him and feeling him take up space in the room, in your heart, in your pussy.

He kept tugging you back for one more kiss, asking if he could walk you to your room. You were blinking back tears. You didn’t want to leave him. But you couldn’t stay either. Both of you had places to be, lives to get back to.

He leaned in the doorframe, holding your hand and not letting you leave. You smiled. “Stunna, you have to let go.”

“I’on want to,” he said.

“It’s not forever,” you said, trying to sound hopeful. Your words only sounded sad. He sighed and rubbed his head on his arm.

“I know. I know.”

He pulled you close to him, capturing your lips with a devastating kiss. You licked his lips, committing the taste and smell of him to memory. “Not forever,” he said.

“Not forever.”

You turned and snatched your hand. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have the strength to leave. A cold numbness seeped into your bones as you made the trek to your suite. Stella and Angela commented on how melancholy you seemed.

How could you explain it? That you possibly found your soulmate in Punta Cana and had to leave him here? To be happy with texts and phone calls? Poor substitutes to hugging him, cuddling him, kissing him, fucking him?

You told them that you were all fucked out to explain it now. Ask you in a week. When your heart wasn’t broken and the pain was less intense. Less potent.

They left you alone to wallow while you all packed up your things and souvenirs. The ride back home was uneventful. You weren’t up to the usual plane shenanigans of talking and comparing in-flight meals. You didn’t feel like eating at all.

You texted Stunna that you arrived safely and even spoke to him on the phone. But it only hurt worse. “C’mon, we said not forever,” he said.

The bastard was right though. Hearing his voice in your ear helped but it wasn’t the same.

“Not forever. I just want you here,” you said.

“I know. We did a few things backward, but when we’re comfortable, we’ll arrange something,” he said.

You talked until you absolutely had to go to sleep to get ready for class. Luckily, your first class of the day was in the afternoon. You had a chance to recover from the plane ride and time difference.

Everything was dull. The California sun was dull. The campus was boring. Students felt like aliens to you, playing and existing in a world that ended for you back in Punta Cana in Stunna’s arms.

You sighed, not for the hundredth time, as you dragged your carcass across campus and to your class. Settling into your literature class, you didn’t share this with Stella and Angela. You were left to look out of the window, mind far, far away.

Your pen tapped on the desk, picturing that accidental bump into Stunna over and over again. Act of fate? Accident? How could you meet the love of your life only for you to be ripped away from him and planted back into your normal life like nothing was wrong?

The door opened and you assumed your teacher came through. Whatever.

“Sorry, I’m late. Not used to the campus yet.”

Your head whipped around and there he was. Stunna stood at the front of the class wearing a deep brown sweater over chocolate colored pants. The sleeves were rolled up revealing his smooth forearms.

He wrote his name on the whiteboard and your heart seized in your chest. Panic made your heart pound against your rib cage, practically screaming to be let out. You sunk in your seat. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.

Stunna turned around and smiled at the class. When his eyes found yours, his jaw dropped and he stared. He stared and stared and you didn’t know what he was thinking or what he was going to do.

He cleared his throat and smiled at the class, introducing his real name. Not that you thought Stunna was his real name, but it was the name he usually went by. His eyes kept returning to yours.

You…slept with your college professor. Your life was over. Ruined. How the hell could you fall in love with your professor? And what the hell were you going to do now?

The Secret Big Stunna Files | Part 2 | Part 3

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