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sepherinaspoppies · 3 months

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Only If For A Night (i/?)

pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.

warnings for this part: profanity, tea drugging, blood magic, sexism, I think that's it... more dark stuff later. READER IS LATINA !

wc: 4,027

series masterlist

my masterlist

pt2

notes: originally I was gonna have this fic be a one shot but it is sooo long that I decided to split it into three. this is an introduction part, aemond will be on the next (I'm half way done with that part).

She knows she is screwed when Doña Maribel broke the news to her that the last of the cempasuchiles were completely sold out in her shop. Making it five flower shops in the span of an hour that she walked to have fully run out of the bright orange flowers she needed for her ancestral altar that she and her abuela worked tirelessly on for the past few days. (marigolds, grandmother)

She wonders what to do next or perhaps where to go as she plays with the gravel beneath her shoes. Sure, she could walk another mile or so to another flower shop and try her luck there just as Doña Maribel suggested but she finds herself too tired to venture deeper in her small pueblo by herself. (town)

Even the walk back to her abuela’s was not something she looked forward to as of now. This was the time where she wished she had the ability to drive but alas she could not for even the streets of Mexico were more hectic and nerve wracking than back at the states. (grandmother’s)

She sighs in defeat. The cempasuchiles were the last thing on her abuela’s list of things she required for tonight’s first day of Dia de Los Muertos. The bright orange flowers illuminated the path of those who died, back into the land of the living and enjoy the offerings their family’s set up for them. (Day of the Dead)

Maybe for just tonight she could spare them.

She sets her three mercado bags beside her as she sits down on a bench right next to a bus stop that could lead her directly to her abuela’s home. The smell of citrus of the lemon tree above her eases her disappointment and feels that this is the perfect spot to reread one of her favorite books. (shopping)

George R. R. Martin’s, Fire and Blood Vol. 1. She wondered what it was like to reside in a world of dragons (before they were all extinct), dire wolves from the North, red priestesses from Volantis, and mysterious yet powerful witches. To live inside the walls of the Red Keep and tour around the secret passageways and to fight for the rightful Queen of Westeros, Rhaenyra and the other members of the Blacks during the Dance of Dragons.

Sadly, even if it was possible to venture deep into alternate fantasy universes. It all was pure fiction. Not real. Impossible.

‘And so one-eyed Aemond the Kinslayer took up the iron-and-ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror, “It looks better on me than it ever did on him,” the prince proclaimed.’

“Excuse me, do you happen to know when the bus is due to arrive?” She snaps her head up meeting the most beautiful and enchanting woman she’d ever seen. Eyes round and greener than the trees itself during spring. Hair long and black like ravens in the night sky. She was tall, taller than most of the women here with skin like porcelain that had not seen a day of sun, a rarity here in Mexico.

It was her mischievous tight lipped smile that made her feel loss of words. Unknowingly, this mysterious woman was the first person who spoke to her in English, not Spanish.

“Umm… I- I’m sorry?”

The green eyed woman smirked as if she knew the small effect she had on her. Gods she was beautiful.

“The bus–”

She shook her head out of her revere, coming to reality. “Oh, I’m not sure. Perhaps a few more minutes.” She informed, pulling her mercado bags closer to her side, allowing the green eyed woman to sit, not wanting to be rude.

She murmurs a quick thank you as she sits exceedingly close to her, shoulder to shoulder, flesh to flesh with her. Jeez, talk about personal space! However, the woman doesn’t seem to care or acknowledge that she has enough space for her own person. A feeling of uncertainty rests below her gut, telling her to be vigilant around her presence.

“How long have you waited?” She asks, breaking away the long silence between them. She almost shivers at the intensity hue of her eyes that bore right through her.

“About ten to twelve minutes.” She replies, looking anywhere else but her.

A satisfactory look sketched around the woman's youthful yet elderly face which she found odd. What could be so pleasing about the bus not arriving? The woman said nothing, only sitting rather straight, almost elegant in her simple long green dress. Though, in the back of her mind, she wondered if she felt hot underneath the heaviness of the velvet fabric. She sure as hell did.

“Wait, how did you know I spoke english?” She asked as the hairs on her arms stood up straight in some kind of chilling fear.

The woman’s eyes lowered and centered on the object sitting up on her lap. “Your book gives it away.” She snickered softly, tilting her head reading the bold letters of her very worn book she got at the thrift store for just two dollars. “An interesting read.” The green eyed woman said whilst her face held no sincere fondness of it for someone who found it interesting.

“You’ve read this before?” She asked curiously, little taken back, that she finally found someone else who read Fire and Blood Vol 1. Or anything by George R. R. Martin.

“Yes, almost like I've lived through it”

She opens her mouth to speak but the green eyed woman beats her to it. “I don’t mean to pry but where are you headed?” The smile falls off her face as she remembers the warning of stranger danger she learned as a kid.

The woman must have noticed the dubious look upon her face as she threw her head back in a laugh. “I ask because it seems a storm is coming our way. And it looks like an angry one.”

Sure enough, as she looked up the sky had turned into a deep gray with heavy clouds ready to pour any minute. Well this wasn’t forecasted in the noticias this morning, otherwise, she’d carry an umbrella. Or better yet, she wouldn’t have walked all this way if a storm was brewing. (news)

“My cottage is not very far from here,” the green eyed woman revealed, standing up from the bench, overlooking the seriousness of the clouds. “It is just around the corner. Would you like to come?”

She wanted to say no, that she was better off walking an hour back to her abuela’s house, even if it meant that she’d catch a cold in the pouring rain with blisters all over her feet. Besides, she did not know anything about this woman. Every bit of her mind screamed stranger danger! Don’t go!

But as she glanced between the heavy clouds and the green eyed woman with her hand extended out, all that doubt and worriment went away.

“I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out. If all goes bad, at least she had a name to tell the authorities.

“My name is Alyssandra Riveras.” The green eyed woman smiled, bowing at the waist.

Though still somewhat skeptical, she walks alongside Alyssandra to her cottage. She makes small mental notes in her head, counting the red stop signs, right and left turns and any other landmarks of important significance.

She was almost positive she could point her way back home. It did not help that five minutes into their journey, it started harshly pouring out of nowhere like a bucket of water had been poured all over, blanketing her vision.

Alyssandra’s cottage had sat on the outskirts of the pueblo, isolated from all civilization, hidden around tall and green pine trees. A faint voice in the back of her head screamed to run and never look back. She ignored it.

From a close distance, she was able to distinguish a small window with overgrown vines and branches wrapped around the perimeter of the cottage. Bones, bells, and crystal windchimes hung from the roof and windows, mostly likely put up for some kind of spiritual protection.

She was no stranger to the craft. Although raised catholic, both her mama and abuela had hung an old broom above their doorway to keep away unwanted guests and negative energies as well as pinning the mal de ojo sigil around the walls for the look of evil and envy against their family. (evil eye)

“Cempasuchiles,” she murmured in awe when Alyssandra’s small garden came into view. It was the most of the orange flowers she had ever seen, all bright and lively and huddled together.

“When the storm is over, you can grab as many as you’d like,” Alyssandra offered, peering over her shoulder, unlocking the door to her cottage. She nods following her inside whilst giving a grateful smile.

The interior of the cottage was small, meant only for one person to take residence. The same size as what a studio apartment would be back in the states.

In no way was the inside minimal, in fact it was the opposite. Almost all of the walls were covered with shelves with small trinkets adorning inside such as little statues, crystals, herbs and other supplies.

In the center of the room lay a huge stone like table, old and antique bearing the resemblance of something medieval. And something about it, sent shivers down her spine along with the same faint voice, telling her to run.

She ignored it, again.

“Give me your belongings, and change into this,” Alyssandra says, tossing a strappy white chemise. She exchanges her poor-soaked mercado bags that contained pan de muerto, churros, and tamales for her ancestral ofrenda. (bread of the dead, offering)

She turns around to protect her modesty, seeing as there was no other room to change nor did Alyssandra point her to the bathroom, so she lifts the drenched garment over her head and sheds away the last clothing she had on her body, leaving her completely bare in her birthday suit.

She couldn’t help but to feel Alyssandra’s eyes watching her very intently, examining every inch of her body as if it met her standards or so. She knows she should use her hands to cover up and give Alyssandra a piece of her mind, or better yet introduce her to a knuckle and hand sandwich for the way she was looking too closely.

Yet her body feels frozen, unable to move under the green eyed woman’s gaze.

“Would you like some tea to keep you warm?” Alyssandra asked, moseying to the kitchen.

She blinks, whatever paralyzing feeling she had dispelled away. “Um, yes thank you.” Alyssandra nodded, pulling what looked to be a kettle on the stove. Meanwhile, she slipped on the white chemise in a hurry to not feel as exposed anymore.

She takes the time to analyze the rest of Alyssandra’s cottage as she hears the droplets of rain hit the rooftop harder and the sound metal being filled with water. Various of the same purple flower plants were placed near the entrance, she notes to herself that these couldn’t possibly be lavender but another species or something within the same family.

A small cot laid in the corner close by the hearth, with multiple open ancient books and scrolls spread on top of the bedspread. She almost wants to look through the pages and read Alyssandra’s interests but she doubts she could as she observes the handwriting is unreadable from where she stood.

She walks forward to where the hearth is, feeling slightly warmer as something immediately catches her eye. Above the mantle, hung on the wall was a medium sized portrait of a small boy, appearing no more than three years old. He stood straight, almost regally with his hands behind his back. His face held no gentleness or warmth like a child should have.

Gods forgive her, but the child looked cruel like the gueritos who bullied her in elementary school when she was just trying to make new friends. (white boys)

Though, for an evil looking child, he sure was beautiful. The most striking thing about him was his set of eyes. Wide with his left eye a dark violet and his right a dark green similarly to Alyssandra’s. His hair was straight and cut short right below his ears. She looked closer at the portrait, thinking if her eyes deceived her as she noticed the peculiar color of the boy’s hair.

Silver.

Curiosity takes the better of her as she asks, “Is that your son?”

Alyssandra turns, holding two mugs of steaming tea. “Yes, that’s my beautiful little boy,” She places both glasses on the stoned table before she sits adjacent to her. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her the sad look on Alyssandra’s eyes. “He looks like you,” she points out though it’s somewhat of a lie in hopes to lift up Alyssandra’s spirits.

Alyssandra throws her head back in a chortle, “For all my hard work and labor, I had hoped he looked like me but nature loves to play its cruel jokes. He is a replica of his bastard father.” The thought of her son’s father left a sour and disgusting taste in Alyssandra’s mouth.

Alyssandra focused her attention back to her, “What about you?” She asked, sitting rather too straight.

“Do you mean if I have kids? Gods, no.”

Alyssandra smirked, “I take it you don’t like the idea of children. I did not either but after years of solitude, I changed my mind. I had other children before my son, but all of them died before they were due. You, however, are still young. Your mind can still change.”

She shifted in her seat anxiously, sipping the odd taste of the herbal tea Alyssandra provided. It wasn’t like she did not like children. She respected children and found them quite cute with their little tiny hands and feet and infectious laughs. But besides the point of appearance, children were a tremendous amount of responsibility that she found herself not ready for.

Not now. Not ever.

She could barely handle taking care of herself. Much less care and provide for a child for eighteen years or so.

“I don’t—”

“Oh but you will,” Alyssandra fired back without so much as blinking an eye.

She grimaced, knowing where this conversation was heading. And it was about to be a not so pretty one. She glanced at the window by the door, the rain was still heavy if not more.

“I thank you for giving me shelter. But I really must go. I was only just supposed to be out for some groceries and my abuela is probably wondering where I am.” Polite and respectful enough just as her mama taught her.

She grabbed her belongings that were hanging by the fire and stuffed them inside her mercado bag. Her hand was on the cusp of prying the door open when Alyssandra rushed to her side, wrapping her hand around her wrist.

“Wait. Please don’t go.” Alyssandra pleaded, “It’s just that you remind me much about myself. I didn't mean to cause offense, I’m sorry.”

Run. Say no and run now, While you still can…

There it was again that same paralyzing feeling closing in on her feet, preventing her to move. It was strange like a shield gluing both her legs down.

She nodded, murmuring ‘fine’ under her breath as Alyssandra slowly led her back to the woven chair with such gentleness as a porcelain doll. “I still need to call my abuela, so she can know I’m alright.”

Alyssandra twisted her face in a wince, “I’m afraid we’re too far out for any signals to catch a telephone call.” She held back the overweening snicker to herself, it was why Alyssandra chose her cottage to be settled this far out in this very modernized realm; so no one could find her.

Alyssandra wasn’t lying. No matter how hard she hit her Iphone against her palm or moved it around, there had not been a single signal bar glowing. She wondered if her abuela had started to grow worried and perhaps began to search for her. She hoped she didn’t and that her cousins kept her preoccupied with the rest of the decorations to notice the duration of how long she’d been out. She also wondered if they were still going to the cementerio, to clean and decorate the graves of their loved ones but with the amount of thunder and rain, she’d doubt it was still on the agenda. (cemetery)

Alyssandra prepared some more tea as the fire gradually faltered down. This one had a different taste than the previous one with tiny purple petals floating around. Alyssandra watched very intently as she sipped every last drop while she scarcely touched her own mug.

The green eyed woman began asking her multiple personal questions, mostly about where she was originally from (due to the fact that her vocabulary deemed to be more vehement in English than Spanish), her family, and if she had any siblings. She had answered them all. Letting her know that she was just visiting from the states to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos with her family she had not seen since the death of her sweet abuelo. (grandfather)

Alyssandra’s eyes glimmered even more when she explained how strangely, her very stern and overprotective mama had suddenly let her travel by herself to a country she had never been to in years since she was small. Her mama preferred her to be where she could keep a close eye on her because ‘uno nunca sabe’ especially if you’re a woman. (one never knows)

It was odd, alright. Especially when her mama gave her money that she didn’t have, and enthusiastically wished her good fortune on her travels. Yup odd…

But not to Alyssandra.

Alyssandra sat down after cleaning both mugs ready to ask the hard hitting questions she’d been warming her up to. “Have you ever been with a man?” Her eyes widened before breaking rounds of deep laughter that made the sides of her ribs ache and cramp.

However, there wasn’t an ounce of amusement displayed on Alyssandra’s face, but rather annoyance. What was so funny? It was a simple and uncomplicated question that meant no harm. At least not to her. He couldn’t harm her any more here. Alyssandra guessed perhaps it was the side effect of the tea making her humoristic.

“No,” She replied, wiping the humoristic tears at the corner of her eyes. “The opportunity has never presented itself?” Alyssandra asked.

All the humor that previously lingered had gone swiftly away, realizing that Alyssandra was indeed asking something so personal to her. “No,” She shook her head, feeling her face hot and red. “People don’t look at me as someone they want to be with. They’d rather be with someone exciting, adventurous, and outing. And I’m neither of those things. I’m a homebody who’s idea of fun and adventure is living through fictional books.” She answered truthfully, too truthfully.

Alyssandra watched her face transform into a deeper shade of red. “What is it?” She questioned, taking a hold of her hand, taking in the role of someone empathetic.

“I want my first time to be special. Like the fairytales I grew up reading about with the grand Prince sweeping the young maiden off her feet and taking her to his castle…” The way her eyes reflected small flashes of light made Alyssandra almost feel guilty for her true intentions once the repercussions of the tea ran out.

She remembers when she too wished for a dashing knight in shining armor to take her away, far away from the shit she had been through; the pain, the suffering, and the poverty. All of it. As Alyssandra grew well into her womanhood, she realized there was no knight coming to save her. Instead, there was a selfish Prince who spared her for his desires and her many talents beyond the acts of the flesh.

But Alyssandra needed her to go. She needed that piece that was stolen from her. She didn’t want the risk of going back and facing him again and repeating through the hell and agony he put her through. So sending her for it seemed like the better alternative.

“I know you probably think it sounds stupid–” She stammered, her face still beet red.

“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” Alyssandra softly smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze. Judging by the serene look upon her face, it was a good lie that she seemed to believe.

She smiled. Finally, someone who didn’t think of the idea of waiting for the right person was silly and unrealistic.

Her smile deterred, sensing something trickle down her nose, dropping against the skin of her hand.

Blood. Her blood.

Run!

“Alyssandra?” She whispered, puzzled at the sight of more blood spilling out of her nose. Every strand of hair in her arms stood, sensing a new type of alertness course right through her. She glanced at a very blurred Alyssandra with what looked to be a smirk written on her face.

“W-What’s happening?” She stood from the chair, but that soon turned out to be a bad idea as her knees gave out, sending her straight to the stoned cold floor. She glanced up, watching as Alyssandra sauntered in front of her, and as much as she wanted to crawl away her body was glued to the floor.

“Look,” Alyssandra said, crouching down at her level before she took her in her arms like a newborn baby, weighing little to nothing. “We don’t have much time. When you wake up, I need you to retrieve something of mine…”

She felt her back collide on top of the stoned table, “What was in that tea?” She questioned but Alyssandra was quick to shush her. “It doesn’t matter now. You drank it all willingly.” There was no argument there.

Alyssandra pulled out a jar with overflowing cempasuchil petals inside and circled the petals around her. Almost like a ritualistic circle she used to watch the brujas next door do. (witches)

“You need not to be afraid. You will not be harmed as long as you do what I say. Exactly as I say.” She gulped, nodding seeing as she had no other choice. “Bruja.” She spat but Alysssandra only chuckled, “I’ve been called much worse, little dove.” (witch)

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Alyssandra holding out a small knife. “I am in need of a sapphire. It was stolen from me many years ago. It is one of a kind, which is why when you see it you’ll know it is mine.”

She momentarily shut her eyes as the dark haired woman rapidly cut the middle of her palm spewing her blood on top of the petals. “Once you’re successful, you’ll come back here with the sapphire and gather some of my materials. The marigold petals with your blood coating them; The blood of whom you took the sapphire from and lastly you’ll lay on top of my precious table here to be transported back.”

There was an evil smile on her lips that she desperately wanted to punch it off. “And if I don’t get the sapphire?” She questioned.

Alyssandra combed away her unruly braided hair, “Then I won’t bring you back and you’ll be stuck there forever.”

Fuck.

“Stuck? Stuck where? Where am I going?”

Alyssandra clicked her tongue, “A place where fairy tales do not exist, my little dove.” If she wanted a Prince to sweep her off her feet. Alys would gladly give her one.

She attempted to wiggle herself out of this pendeja’s spell but whatever Alyssandra mixed in the tea it was compelling her body to still and her eyes to slowly falter shut in a peaceful sleep. (dumbass)

“However I should warn you, this spell is only valid until tomorrow. Until Dia de Los Muertos is over and even if you do achieve in retrieving the sapphire but it is after November second, you'll be permanently trapped with him.”

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#prince aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #dark aemond x reader #dark aemond targaryen

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arabellasleopardcoat · 5 months

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No masters or kings (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Aemond has issues around sex. The thought of being married to you, an angel, it's not helping.

Warnings: Angst (w/happy ending) Religious guilt, repression around sex. Kissing. Thoughts of sex, but no actual smut. Just angst and fluff.

Requested: Yup! Modern reader falls into Sept x Aemond

For as long as he could remember, Aemond had been alone. He had been an outsider to his siblings and nephews, all with a dragon. He had been an outsider to other noble children, marked apart by his distinctive features. He had been an outsider to his father's family, Rhaenyra and her children.

The loss of his eye had only exacerbated that. The girls at court were frightened by the sight of him, and he often worried about how he could secure a match. No longer activities he had found solace in, like studying and swordplay, came easily. Everything, from reading to being able to walk down the stairs without tripping, had to be relearned.

His faith in the Seven had permeated all of his childhood. His mother was the only person to pay attention to him, even if it was sometimes in a way Aemond could not appreciate. When he thought of her, his mind's eye always conjured her with a seven pointed star hanging from her neck.

Aemond had tried his best to keep her happy. She was all he had. So instead of running from his lessons and incurring on indecent behavior, Aemond had closely listened to the Septons that educated them. He had prayed daily. He had read the Seven Pointed Star and annotated its passages, committing them to memory.

Paradoxically, the time when he felt closer to the Gods was after the loss of his eye. It had been then he had truly understood what it felt like to be favored by the Seven. His faith demanded sacrifices, but always rewarded them. An eye for a dragon. The biggest dragon in Westeros.

Sacrifice will bring good things. It was a very simple lesson, but one he committed to memory regardless.

As a child, Aemond had not prayed for a dragon. Nor had he prayed to the Warrior to make him strong and able to defeat his enemies. When Aemond was a child, he had often prayed for a friend. Asking for the Maiden to send him someone kind. An angel. He had never spoken it out loud, afraid of appearing weak. Children were such cruel creatures, after all. But Aemond never forgot to ask the Maiden for it.

Aemond prayed. And suffered. And prayed, and suffered, and thought that at least this life he was leading, of loneliness and desperation and so much fear, would finally account for something. For the Gods favored those who suffered and sacrificed, and if his reward didn't come in this life, it would come in the next one.

His prayers were always the same. Each morning, before anyone else could rise except for the lowliest of servants, Aemond went to the Sept. He spent equal time in front of each of the Seven's effigy and lit a candle for them. He prayed in silence, asking of them simple things. Aemond knew he already led a privileged life, so he did not dare ask for more.

His prayers were so ingrained, he recited them with little thought. Yet, when he came to the Maiden, Aemond always fumbled. With the other Gods, he knew exactly what to ask for. But with Her, he only felt unease. So he rapidly mumbled his childhood prayer, and moved on. It had become a tradition, even if he was no longer the appropriate age to pray for friends.

Aemond knew it was the wrong thing to do. When you were praying, you were supposed to be present. To think of all the aspects of the Seven with the devotion they deserved. But when you are taught as a child to pray, it turns into instinct.

Just as someone who has trained enough with the sword barely thinks about his next move, someone who prays enough doesn't need to think about what they will ask next. It's too ingrained.

At this hour, the Sept is quiet. Aemond enjoys praying here instead of in the one inside the Red Keep. There are no court ladies around to bother him, nor an Aegon making mocking noises while he tries to pray. Despite wanting to join his mother in prayer sometimes, he just couldn't take the royal sept. It lacked the peace septs were supposed to make you feel.

He leaned down, lighting a candle before each effigy, and muttering his usual prayer.

“Warrior, give me strength.” Aemond whispered. He lit the candle and moved on. “Mother, protect my sister and my mother. Father, bring your justice upon my enemies. Maiden, bring me someone kind. An angel.” And as he kneeled to light her candle, something hit him from above.

The weight of the thing was too great for him to remain upright. Aemond was sent sprawling to the floor. His head slammed on the stone floor of the Sept, making him grunt. A woman screamed. Probably, one of the commoners visiting the Sept. They were few at this hour, most having already begun their labors. Her scream was echoed by one of another woman, and soon, hurried footsteps were nearing him.

Aemond tried to sit up, reaching a hand out to move the weight aside. What he gripped, made him fall back down.

Cloth. Cloth covering something soft, something that yielded under his hands. An arm. You. The Gods had answered his call. There was a woman right on top of him, eyes closed and expression smooth, as if in peaceful sleep. The Maiden had sent him an angel, after years of solitude and sacrifice. You were his reward.

Aemond lifted you and set you aside, on one of the benches of the Sept. A couple of the commoners hurried forward, to gape at you, but Ser Criston stopped them.

“A miracle! A miracle!” Someone was screaming, and you twitched. More and more commoners started to pour through the entrance of the Sept, all gawking and murmuring about the woman who had appeared out of thin air.

The people were bright-eyed, frenzied by the demonstration of the Seven's power. They started pushing at Ser Criston, and trying to touch Aemond and you.

Cole and Aemond exchanged looks. If no one controlled the crowd, they might very well end up being torn to shreds by them, in their frantic attempts of touching the holy being they were guarding.

Aemond unsheathed his dagger.

“I think… We need a Septon.”

You were being carried somewhere. You could tell because your head swayed with the movement, unsupported. It was giving you terrible neck pain.

“If she has fallen out of the sky, and there is no hole….”

“A miracle! A miracle! The Seven have…” Fuck, your head hurt, and the woman screaming was not helping things. You flinched, trying to curl into yourself. This felt like the worst hangover ever, and you had no leverage to avoid the noises, since you were hanging in midair.

“The Prince must be held in high regard, for clearly the Gods favor him. Thousands of people pray here daily, yet the Maiden herself answered his plea.” The man from before continued speaking.

Someone else scoffed.

“Surely, this is a bit much. The Prince is hardly…”

“Shut up, Cole.” The person who was carrying you barked. The movement his chest made when he was talking made you fearful of falling down. Despite the strength in his grip, you weighted more than a few sacks of flour or a gallon of milk. People were not supposed to carry other people for long, unless they were frat boys attempting to impress girls or some sort of soldier.

You tried to sit up, the movement making all your body ache. Where were you? Why were you being carried? The last thing you remembered was going into an occult museum with a friend.

Everyone has that one friend. The slightly witchy one who believes in ghosts and crystals and whose favorite month of the year is October. The one who likes terror movies, and scary podcasts and dragging you to haunted houses and escape rooms.

It will be fun, they said. It's an occult museum, what could possibly go wrong?

Where the fuck were they? You were so going to strangle them for getting you… Wherever you were.

“My Lady.” The man holding you said. You looked up and met a pale blue eye and an eye patch. You startled. He looked straight out of a low-budget pirate movie, all in leather. “Are you alright?”

“What happened?” You lifted your head, noticing everyone was cosplaying as medieval priests and knights. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach. The man holding you looked an awful lot like Aemond Targaryen. You would recognize that ensemble anywhere. You had read enough fanfics for it. “Is this a renaissance fair? A comic con?”

It was worth the shot. Perhaps something happened to you and you had stumbled into a comic con? But was it so easy to stumble into one? You thought the tickets for those were expensive, they surely wouldn't just let you in.

Something had happened to you and these kind cosplayers who were… Doing something decided to help you? That seemed more likely.

“No, my lady. This is Westeros. The earthly one.” The man dressed in the more expensive costume of a priest was speaking. He had an elaborate head accessory, billowing robes and some strange pentagram with way more points than usual. His voice was the one which had been muttering about a Prince, and being favored.

“What is a renaissance fair?” The man had the oddest combination of a white cloak and armor. You looked at the man and froze. He was… Oh, what was his name again? Oranges guy!

“Something they must have in the Seven Heavens.” The expensive priest answered, in a matter of fact tone. “Clearly. The Prince asked for an angel. Angels reside there.”

Your mouth was hanging open. They thought you were an angel. Holy shit. You looked down, at your scuffed sneakers and clothes. You didn't feel very angelic, but like hell if you were going to miss the opportunity of receiving royal treatment in Westeros. If you truly were here, you would rather not learn how the lower class lived.

Another priest turned to you. He was dressed as expensively as the first one, but he lacked the head accessory.

“Tell us, young lady. Were you an attendant for the Maiden? What are the Seven Heavens like?”

You panicked. Perhaps pretending to be an angel from a religion you had no clue about was not a good idea. These questions would continue, you knew it.

“Don't be ridiculous, Eustace. Everyone knows that angels can't divulge that sort of thing. It's basic theology. They come to fulfill their purpose, not to entertain fools.” The man with the head accessory spoke, as if talking to a child.

You did your best to sit up. Aemond held you more firmly, and raised his arm on your back, encouraging your head to loll towards his shoulder. You were moving inside a prehistoric looking building, corridors made from stone and decorated with tapestries. The Red Keep, perhaps.

“And what do you believe the being’s purpose to be?” Eustace asked. You did not like being referred to in such a manner, and you fought Aemond's grip a bit harsher. He merely settled you against him and kept walking, this time going up a stairwell. You squirmed.

“The Prince's wife. He prayed for a companion. That must be it.” The expensive priest, Septons they were called, now that you remembered, seemed to have become an expert on all things you. Wisely, you kept your mouth shut.

“Is that why her attire is so immodest?” The oranges guy spoke, reaching for you. He clearly noticed his Prince was struggling and hoped to relieve him of the burden. You clung to Aemond more tightly. You were honest enough with yourself to know you had many impure thoughts about him, and were not going to lose your chance.

Aemond grunted. Encouraging him to keep carrying you beyond his capabilities might not have been your best move.

“You can put me down. I can walk.” You spoke softly, trying to sound your most angelic.

“We are nearly there.” His voice sounded agitated from the physical exertion, but his tone screamed danger. It would wound his pride putting you down now, you realized. He wanted to look strong. “There is no need.”

“The Gods see all, and angels are pure beings. They do not know of such earthly concerns, for they have not been exposed to the sins of the flesh.”

“What the fuck.” You whispered to yourself, sure that you were dreaming. This was turning crazier by the second.

“That is a crass word here, my lady.” Aemond whispered to you. “You shall not repeat it.”

Safe to say, you were learning your lesson. When an occult museum artifact has a sign that says, “Do not touch” you DO NOT TOUCH.

Marrying an angel was not a part of Aemond's plans. Begrudgingly, he admitted he may have to reconsider his more violent revenge plots. Aemond had to prove himself worthy of you, and for once, worthiness did not mean prowess with a sword or riding a dragon. It meant piety.

Piety. Kindness. All the virtues that the Faith enforced and that you were made of. All the virtues Aemond felt he lacked, sometimes.

Taking his nephew's eye would not be kind. You had explained so, as if you could read his mind. You also said that Aemond should not attempt to force him to pay his debt. It had been an alarming show of clairvoyance.

That you were privy to his most secret inner thoughts should not have surprised him so. It was only further proof of your angelic nature.

Your arrival had the Kingdoms in an uproar. The Citadel had wanted to record the circumstances around your appearance, the Faith had made you pose for a portrait. Some even dared utter that perhaps Aemond was better suited to be King, since the Gods clearly favored him.

The King was displeased, but your miraculous arrival had been witnessed by too many to deny it. Aemond had been authorized to marry you, only out of sheer pressure from the High Septon. You were a hero to the man. Families who had been worshiping the Old Gods for generations now rushed to convert. Only House Targaryen remained stagnant.

Even after your marriage, Aemond struggled to catch a minute alone with you. Anywhere you went, people were currying for your attention. If it wasn't his other asking you to join her in prayer, it was some Septon asking you questions, or near mobs awaiting outside the Red Keep for you to appear on a balcony. People thought your touch was magical, that you could heal the sick and bless the innocents. Aemond had to fight to keep their hands off you.

As the wife to a Prince favored by the Seven, all thoughts of going back were stomped on. You had mentioned it once or twice, before he had married you. Going back home, you had said. Aemond understood that the earthly world was much different than where you had been from, and the homesickness that came with it, but he hoped you forgot such silly ideas. There was no way for you to go home, and if there was, he would not allow it.

In hopes of distracting you, his mother had suggested expediting the wedding. Aemond had agreed, but he had soon realized that it was not enough. While sweet and kind to him, and clearly loving, your mind still drifted to thoughts of your life before. Something stronger was needed. And there was only one stronger bond than marriage. He had to put a babe in you.

Such thing, unfortunately, was much harder than expected. To produce a child, a couple needed to lay together in ways Aemond and you had not. You were loving, pressing kisses to his lips and cheeks every chance you had, but it was a pure kind of affection. You had been told that you were his wife, and what that entailed, innocent being that you were. It didn't mean anything. You were only trying to do what you thought was needed.

Aemond didn't dare touch you. It was his right to do so, but he was unsure if it was the moral thing to do. You probably weren’t too sure of the connotations of the act and all that it entailed. Besides, was it really his right? You were no ordinary woman. You were an otherworldly being, an angel, a perfect woman carved out by the Maiden herself and sent to him to love and cherish. You were not meant to be hurt or tainted in any way.

Intercourse was dirty. It hurt maidens, and it was a sin when practiced outside the marriage bed. Despite always pleasurable to him, and sometimes to his companions, Aemond was not too sure he should submit you to it.

You were heavenly. Asking you to have intercourse with him would be asking you to roll around in the mud while wearing a white dress. It would make you earthly, change you. And you were perfect just the way you were.

Yet Aemond could not contain these… Urges. When you kissed the corner of his lips, all he could think about was grabbing you and deepening the kiss until he got to know every inch of your mouth. When you hugged him close, letting him curl around you at night and hide his face on your neck, Aemond thought of kissing and bitting and sucking the supple skin until you were writhing in pleasure. When your hand innocently grazed against his thigh, he thought of his hands squeezing your own thighs, pulling them apart to reveal your core.

It was a sinful way of thinking. He knew it was wrong of him, but he could not stop. He could not control it. If only his waking thoughts were sinful, things would be different. Waking thoughts could be controlled. Dreams could not.

Every night, without fail, Aemond woke up drenched in sweat, breeches uncomfortably tight. He saw you in his dreams, in all sorts of lurid positions. Your pretty lips parted, your thighs fluttering open and closed like the wings of a butterfly. You on your knees, back, your bosom spilling from your bodice, your pretty breasts, nipples puffy. His mouth, his hands, his cock, on you, in you.

The dreams were pleasurable while they lasted, but as soon as Aemond woke up and saw you sleeping peacefully next to him, the guilt returned. You let out the tiniest puffs of air when you breathed, and always chased his warmth on cold nights. Adorable being that you were, you curled into him, unaware of the turmoil you caused.

Aemond could no longer take it. At first, he tried looking for answers to his dilemma inside of books. He soon found out his studies of philosophy and history had not prepared him for the monster that was theology.

So he asked for advice. To the only person who had to be an expert on the topic. The High Septon.

By the end of the day, a panel with four Maesters and ten Septons had been formed to discuss the issue.

“She is a pure being. The Queen and a Septa have confirmed that she has female anatomy, but having it does not mean she should be defiled.” One of the Maesters spoke, frowning. Aemond nodded along. It had been like he thought.

“It's hardly defiling if the Maiden gifted her to the Prince. She blessed the union.” The High Septon argued, sitting straighter in his chair. He clearly was uncomfortable at the thought of Maesters, of all people, interfering in these matters. What Aemond could not figure out was why the man had invited them if they clearly ruffled his feathers.

“The Maiden is a maiden. That's the whole point.” Another Maester rolled his eyes. It was a sound logic. Aemond felt even guiltier after hearing that. Thinking about you in such a manner was impure. You were a representative of the Maiden herself, here on Westeros. Even thinking of such dirty things near you was disrespectful. It was as if he were thinking them about the Maiden herself.

“Well, yes, but if you ask for a wife, is it not implied?” Septon Eustace chimed in. Aemond had never particularly enjoyed the royal Septon, but he was proving to be very useful. “I do not presume to know how the Prince words his prayers, nor do I think I can know his intentions, but…”

A companion. Someone kind. The prayer had started innocent enough, a child asking for a friend. Aemond had kept it worded exactly as it had been back then, when he was eight years old and dragonless. But he had grown, and so had his intentions. When he spoke of a companion, did he still think of a friend? Or rather, a wife?

The word companion indicated someone that assisted, that served to cater to a necessity. Not quite a friend, but someone to ward off loneliness. A somewhat inferior being, even. It was a term used to refer to pets, after all.

Women were precious beings. Images of the mother, to be treasured and protected, but never equals. Wives were, after all, lower than husbands. It was why they must be obedient to them, why they should mind the children and the home. They were not made to stand on their own. Women were made to stand next to a man.

Besides, wasn't it interesting? The Gods could have sent him a man. A boy. A dog. But instead, they had sent him a woman near his age, with pretty eyes and a tempting mouth.

“Hardly.” A Septon interfered. “There has been precedent of marriages that…”

“Marriages declared null.” The High Septon snapped. His mood was a reflection of the room. The conversation was starting to turn more and more heated, murmurs breaking out among the gathered. It brought uncomfortable memories of the day Aemond had met you and had to fight a frenzied mob. He had the feeling this was going to turn into that quickly.

Perhaps sensing the same, another Maester spoke.

“Why don't we ask her? She must know the Seven's will in the matter.”

Neither of the fourteen other men in the room had thought of that.

When Aemond asked you, timidly, if you wished to consummate the marriage, you could have danced from joy.

You had decided early on that if going back was not an option, you were going to make the most of your stay here. You missed your family and friends, but your life here was so pampered that you didn't feel so bad. Any quirks of behavior that you had were excused as part of your angelic nature, and you had the biggest crush on the man who had married you.

If only Aemond didn't refuse to even touch you. So far, you have tried everything. You have kissed him. Stroked him. Cuddled far too close to him, so you are nearly on top of him. Groped his thigh, almost his cock. Your behavior has bordered on indecent even by modern standards, yet Aemond dismisses it all as innocent. He is either the most oblivious man on the planet or he doesn't want you.

That suspicion had given you pause. If Aemond did not want you, you weren't about to force him to do so. You had stopped with your insistent touching, and went back to light kisses on the cheek. Instead, you had made the mistake of looking around.

You are so horny it's driving you mad. Being married in Westeros is not what you thought it would be. You expected much more sex. Besides, everyone here was insanely good-looking, especially the man sleeping next to you and waking up every morning with a raging erection. Anyone with a sliver of a libido would be frothing at the mouth and clawing at walls from horniness.

In your other life, you had watched HOTD and understood the message clearly. Despite being a common occurrence, cheating was not a good idea. There were no reliable contraception methods and no way of preventing STDS.

Even if you were not aware of all the possibles consequences of cheating from your knowledge about the show, you now knew Aemond. He was terrifying, devout, and hated his bastard nephews. You did not want to see what he would do if he caught you cheating.

So here you were. Into forced chastity and perpetually horny, with your husband asking you if you thought it was a good idea to consummate the marriage.

You could have jumped from the bed in your haste to show him exactly what you thought. But you had to maintain your air of an otherworldly being. Which you technically were, since this was not your world.

“Whichever you think best, my Prince.” You answered, voice soft and patient. Just as you had always spoken in his presence. It had done wonders to make Aemond seek your company. He found you soothing, or so he said.

Aemond reached forward. His hand cupped your cheek, very gently. You looked up at him with your most innocent eyes.

He lowered his hand, shoulders slumping in defeat. You tried not to let it show how much it hurt you to have all you wanted dangled in front of you and then taken away.

“I cannot touch you. Nor should I lust after you. You are…” Aemond’s eyebrows pinched together. His face showed an inner conflict that made your own heart soften. Perhaps he had grown to care for you, in the ways you wished he did. He just didn't think it appropriate.

You stepped closer. This time, it was your hands that cupped his face. Aemond's eye closed, briefly. He seemed to be enjoying the touch, committing it to memory.

“Kiss me.” You whispered, pulling him close. Aemond went into the hug, nuzzling your hair. Despite the sweetness with which he responded, his frame was tense. “Please. I beg it of you.”

“I can't. I can't defile you.” He sounded truly strained. You rubbed his back, gently. “ A perfect being, such as yourself, does not deserve this.”

“It won't hurt. I know how to do it.” You explained, softly. Perhaps he worried about hurting you, you thought. You were no blushing virgin, but Aemond did not know that.

“Of course. You are an enlightened being. But it does not mean you have to put that into practice. You must know of the mysteries of death, yet you have not hurt anybody.”

“Because killing is wrong.” And truly, it was a ridiculous comparison. Sex had not killed anyone, at least that you knew of. It was not meant to hurt.

“Sex is, too. It's only for making heirs, and I am a second son. I don't need heirs.”

And by the look of his face, Aemond really believed what he was saying. The thought of him suffering, of being so deeply repressed, hurt you. You understood well how damaging thinking about sex in that way could be.

It hurts you more to think it might have been exacerbated by you. The thought of you being this perfect soul, someone so pure and easily hurt, and then the thought of tainting you. It said a lot about his mental health.

You vowed then you would aid you in any way you could.

“It's not wrong.” You whispered, and moved slightly back from his embrace. “Let me show you.” And you were kissing him, and Aemond was kissing back. His lips were soft, and he held you as if you were the most delicate glass vase he had ever held. You understood him now. And one day, Aemond would understand this too.

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oosleepyfaeoo · 2 months

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A Kiss Is All I Need

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader Chapter Three

Summary: 2 months ago, Alys, the love of his life, broke up with him. Their relationship of five years gone by a simple farewell note that she left on their, well now his, penthouse. 2 months crying and feeling like shit but that all stopped when he meet you on that dreadful clothing store.

Words: 2k A/n: Ok ngl i kinda hate this chapter T^T I've rewrite it so many times and i still don't like it but i think it's better than the other versions. Also the series will be bigger >.> I think i will add 2 or 3 more chapters.

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

Taglist: @zenka69@cryptid-l0ver@saelwen-shy-elf@aemondsdelight@shari-berri@kckt88@watercolorskyy @dae7tina@saturnssrings@dixie-elocin @arabis-world@tulips2715@reedmurdock@ladythornofrivia@tssf-imagines @eeeeeevesstuff@venmondiese@bellaisasleep@darylandbethfanforever9@snh96@liv-cole @a-beaverhausen

A huff fell from your lips as you walked up the stairs to your apartment. The moment you saw Aemond’s card, you ran into your office to reread his resume. Desperately to see if you maybe missed something but there was nothing that mentioned the famous Targaryen name.

The Targaryen family is one if not the only, most powerful House in all Westeros. They come from royalty, inherited with old money. You only knew the basics from this ancient family since you didn’t like to read or watch news or drama from celebrities. You think you only heard Aemond’s name once when the news of his relationship with an older woman came out.

Aemond seems a private person so that’s probably why you didn’t hear much about him.

Why would he give his business card if he didn’t want you to know who he was? It didn’t make any sense!

Because he knew I wouldn’t have hired him if I knew the truth before the interview.

You sigh, putting your keys on your door lock and opening it. You were greeted by the sound of your daughter squealing and laughing which made a smile grow on your face.

Putting your bag on a small table beside the front door, you walk into your small but cozy apartment, and you are met by the view of your daughter sitting on the sofa while Aemond sits in front of her on the floor. Letting the small girl play with his long hair.

A giggle fell from your lips as you stared at the ‘beautiful’ hairstyle that your daughter made. One ponytail on the right side of his head, which is held by a hot pink hair tie full of glitter, and two small braids falling on his shoulders.

Emily notices you by the door and jumps in excitement. “Mommy! Look! I tried to do a... val-valryian?” She tried her hardest to say the word but failed which made Aemond chuckle.

“Valyrian.” He corrects her.

“Yes! I tried to make a valyrian hairstyle... but I think it didn’t go well.” She pouts while looking at Aemond’s hair.

You walked to her and gently kissed her head. “It’s perfect, sweetheart.” You took a seat beside her on the sofa. “Did you have fun today?”

Emily nods and smiles. “Yes! We went to the park and ate ice cream there! And then Aem took me to a toy shop and bought me this plushie!” She grabs the green dragon plushie beside her and shows you. “Her name is Vhagar! Aem told me that he once had a BIG lizard named Vhagar so I decided to name it after her.”

“That’s a gorgeous name, Em. Did you thank Aemond for the plushie?” You raise your brow to your daughter as she hugs Vhagar.

The girl nods. “Of course, mommy!”

You smile and pat her head. “Good. Now go clean your toys so we can go eat dinner.”

Emily quickly stood up from the sofa and ran to her room, picking up toys and plushies from the floor on her way there.

Aemond also stood up, pulling down the side ponytail that Emily had done but left the two braids on which were hidden a little by the rest of his hair. He looks down at you and smirks.

“You have a lovely home, Y/n.”

A blush spreads on your cheeks. The way his voice sounds so husky and gentle. His little smirk and the way his eye trails down your form almost made your knees give up.

“Thank you.” You say while folding an orange blanket on the sofa, trying to distract yourself from the handsome man in front of you. “Look Aemond... We need to talk.” You sigh and take a seat on the sofa, Aemond following your lead.

“About?” He asks, frowning in confusion.

You took out his business card from your pocket. “About you being Aemond TARGARYEN! About you coming from a freaking famous and ancient family. And the fact that you left that part out of your resume.” You rest your head in your hands. “Why would you need this job, Aemond?... I doubt it��s because of money.”

He closed his eye and sighed. “I know I should have told you but to be fair, I thought you would notice... You know, the silver hair.” He says while pointing to his hair.

You look down at your hands and let out an embarrassed laugh. “You’re right. I should have noticed that obvious part but in fairness, I rarely watch news or drama.”

He hums in knowledge. “Look, this wasn’t my idea. It was Aegon.” He starts playing with his fingers as his nerves begin to spike up. “I’m in a really bad place right now and my brother thought that if he got me to babysit one of the sweetest kids in the world, it would make me feel better... And I think he was right.”

A smile appears on your lips as a soft smile forms on his thin lips when he talks about Emily. Sighing, you rub your hands together. “Will it be dangerous for Emily if you continue to babysit her?”

Aemond frowns at your words. “Dangerous?”

“Yes, dangerous... Paparazzies, media, etc.” You look into his eye, trying to see if there are any worries that he might be hiding. “I don’t want Emily or me to get unwanted attention.”

Aemond grabs your hand and rubs gently his thumb on your skin. “I swear you and Emily are safe. No media or paparazzi will find you.” He says with a serious face. “I’m a very private person and I have contacts that will keep your life private from the world... so don’t worry, Y/n.”

You nod and sigh in relief. “Okay... Alright, alright.”

The last thing you want right now is an army of paparazzi on your door or following you around and fake stupid stories about you and Emily on the news. You bet Nat would be thrilled and say that you should take this as an opportunity (or take advantage) to grow your business. But of course, you wouldn’t do that. You want your business to flourish on its own and by your work, not by 15 minutes of fame because of Aemond.

His hand squeezes yours gently. Your heart feels like it is going to burst from your chest at the tiny and sweet smile that Aemond gives you. The things you would sacrifice to taste his lips.

For fuck's sake, Y/n. Get a grip!

“All done, mommy!” Emily reappears in the living room, dressed in her pajamas.

You stood up and walked to the kitchen to cook dinner while Emily took a seat beside Aemond, wanting to show him her favorite cartoon show.

After a few minutes, Aemond stood up which made Emily pout. “Well, i think it’s time for me to go.” He leans down and places a kiss on the girl’s head. “See you tomorrow, little princess.”

Emily pouts and grabs his arm. “Please stay a little longer! Eat dinner with us. Mommy is a really good cooker!”

“I don’t want to bother. I-”

“Nonsense! Come, eat with us.” You interrupted him. “I hope you like pasta tho.” You the pot in the middle of the table as Emily went to grab her favorite juice.

Aemond took a seat at the table, humming in pleasure at the amazing smell of your cooking. “I love it.”

From that day, Aemond took the habit of eating dinner with you and Emily. Months go by and you three have got into a healthy routine. You would drive Emily to her school and go to work, and by lunchtime, Aemond would pick her up and take her to the park to play or to his sister’s apartment. Emily and Helaena’s kids become fast friends really quick and at least once a week, Emily goes to spend the night or day with them.

You and Aemond got also close. He would spend a few hours talking to you while drinking wine when Emily was in bed asleep. You two shared some stories from the past, him talking about how he spent the rest of his childhood isolated after the accident when he lost his eye. And you about how hard was to be a single mother at a young age, how Emily’s father just disappeared after her birth and never tried to know or pay child support.

Aemond was quite angry with your ex’s choice of actions, which was understandable, saying if he ever saw that bastard, he would show your ex the consequences of being an irresponsible bastard.

As days pass, you find yourself falling and falling for your daughter's babysitter. You can’t help but feel attracted to him. Aemond was everything a woman would want in a man. Handsome, charming, smart, and good with kids.

Your thoughts are always on him, and your dreams are plagued by his lips and hands. You know that you and he would never work, since both of you are from different worlds. Him being literally from royalty and you are just a simple common woman with a cute bakery.

////

“And then, me and Vhagar would fly away and explore the world!” Emily finishes her tale while showing Aemond her plushie dragon that was ‘flying’ in her hands.

Aemond just picked her up from school and took her to the park since it was a lovely day and she also begged him to go.

Aemond chuckles and gives her a sipping cup of apple juice. “And what about mommy and me? Would you leave us behind?” He faked a pout which made the girl’s eyes wide in surprise.

“Of course not! I would take you both with me!” She takes a sip of her juice and then grins at him. “We would fly to Dragonstone so you and Mommy could marry like the old Valyrian people did!”

Aemond almost chokes on his water. “W-What?” He coughs, trying to breathe normally.

Emily gives him a side-eye. “Oh please. I know you and Mommy like each other.” She takes another sip from her juice while Aemond just looks at her in shock. “You two are always sending weird looks to each other. And I heard Aegon saying that you are always eating mommy with your gaze... I don’t know what that means, but it must be good.”

“Emily!” Aemond was now red as a tomato. That’s it! That’s the last time he lets Aegon hang around with him while Emily is there.

The girl just shrugs. “Mommy likes you too, you know... I’ve never seen her so happy since you both met.” She gives her cup to Aemond and jumps down from the bench. “You should ask Mommy for a date!”

And with that, she runs off to the swings to play with the other kids in the park. Aemond just stood there with a cup of apple juice in his hand, his eye wide in shock at the small girl's words. She sounded so comfortable with the idea of him and you married.

Sighing, he puts the sipping cup on the bag and then looks back to where Emily was playing.

“Maybe the kid is right.”

#modern aemond #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction #aemond fluff #hotd aegon #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #masterlist #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd fandom

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 4 months

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Cozened Indigo - Part One

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of murder, dark themes. Word count: ~4k

Summary: Unhappy with the assignment she has been given to work on for the Duskendale Gazette, she opts to pursue her own story, not quite realising what she's getting herself into. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @humanpurposes. I have put my journalism degree to use here, to ensure as much accuracy as possible. However, as Westeros is a fictional place, I have warped certain laws and regulations regarding court reporting for the purpose of the story. Please suspend your disbelief for the sake of a fictional tale. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Chewing the end of her pen, she leans closer to the computer monitor as her eyes scan the Reuters website almost frantically.

Aemond Targaryen, son of late billionaire, Viserys Targaryen, charged for the murder of his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon. Case pending trial.

Nervous excitement swirls in her gut, as she leans back in her uncomfortable, creaky office chair. This is the first mention she has seen of such a scandal, unsurprising considering how high profile the Targaryen family are in Westeros. They’ll have worked hard to cover this up, however, with a court case imminent, the news is now public knowledge.

She knows that every media outlet from Dorne to Eastwatch will be all over this, but it will be nothing beyond surface level detail, the most basic of coverage. None of them will be able to get the family to talk, but she can, that is her specialty – was her specialty.

Essos Fraudster Glorified by White Cloak Magazine.

The headline passes through her mind like a stormcloud, a dirty mark upon her career that she can never scrub out. She had been duped, it was an honest mistake, but it had cost her dearly.

When whisperings began regarding an oligarch from Essos having shady business dealings in King’s Landing, she had set out to investigate, feeling it was a story worth telling. To her surprise, he had agreed to an interview, and she had been spun a tale of a man born into tremendous wealth, who was now looking to give back by setting up charitable foundations across Westeros.

She had done her due diligence, followed up on all of the sources at her disposal. Every phone call she made checked out, verifying his claims, and so the glossy double page spread had run in White Cloak Magazine, painting a picture of a misunderstood, altruistic individual who just wanted to share his wealth.

It had been the crowning achievement of her journalistic career, until two days later when the Blackwater Post had run their own story, utterly destroying hers. The oligarch was in fact guilty of tax evasion and money laundering, the charities he had founded mere fronts, empty shell corporations and hedge funds used to hide large sums of money that were never intended to be donated. The sources he had provided to back his claims had all been disreputable business associates of his, posing as bankers, accountants and employees.

He was jailed for his crimes and White Cloak was made a laughing stock for the piece they had run. As the person who had written it, it was her head that was placed upon the chopping block, a blunder of such enormity could not be overlooked.

Her humiliation had felt as though it would swallow her whole. She ought to have been more thorough in her research, but hindsight always possesses more clarity than what is right in front of you. She had considered just giving up and pursuing a different career path entirely, yet despite the shame that shrouded her, she had known that the urge to write would never leave her, an insatiable itch that must be scratched.

For a year she had looked for another job, had applied to just about every magazine and newspaper that existed in Westeros. If she had to relocate to Dorne, The Reach, or even The North then she’d do it for the sake of her career. Unfortunately, the blemish on her record was well known, and nowhere reputable would touch her.

That was until the Duskendale Gazette had taken a chance on her. The pet project of Royce Baratheon, it is a small, localised publication, a far cry from the nationwide reach of the high end White Cloak, but they were willing to hire her, the salary covers her rent, and it means not having to move away from King’s Landing.

For the last eighteen months she has occupied a desk in a darkened corner of the Duskendale Gazette’s offices, lovingly nicknamed “The Wall” by those that sit there - a place where writers at the end of their careers or close to retirement are sent to die.

It has been a slow, painful death, covering everything from disputes over fishing permits in Blackwater Bay to the implementation of a one way traffic system in Rosby. Discovering the news regarding Aemond Targaryen feels like the shot of adrenaline that her career needs to bring it back to life, provided he’s willing to speak to her – provided she can get sign off to write the story in the first place.

She sets down the biro she has been gnawing on and looks at the time on her computer. 9.02am. Glancing over her shoulder towards the big, glass walled meeting room that sits at the centre of the newsroom, she can see that Royce, along with the other editors and department heads are settling around the table, preparing to plan the next round of commissions.

Anxiously biting her lip, she considers her options. It would look bad to just walk in uninvited, however, if she doesn’t ask now then she’ll never get to do it. This is a story worth writing, surely they’d see that? Abruptly, she stands up, drawing in a steadying breath.

Fuck it, I’m going in.

She knocks at the door, not awaiting an answer before pushing it open. The men around the table furrow their brows, falling silent as they turn to look at her.

Royce shuffles the papers in front of him, sighing in irritation. “We’re in the middle of a meeting.”

Undeterred, in spite of the way her heart thunders in her chest, she steps further into the room towards the head of the table where he sits. “I know and that’s why I’m here. I saw on Reuters this morning that Aemond Targaryen has been charged with the murder of his nephew. I–”

“You won’t be covering that,” Royce interrupts, standing from his seat and lifting a sheet of paper from the pile. “I’m putting you on the upcoming curfew that’s to be implemented in Flea Bottom.”

“Royce, please, there’s something here, I know there is,” she presses, attempting to push down the anger that simmers hotly under her skin at his dismissal. “This could be huge for us.”

“You’ll write the story you’re assigned,” he insists, thrusting the paper towards her, “the last thing we need is a profile of some spoiled aristocrat, especially from someone with your track record.”

There it is. Someone with your track record.

“Just give me a chance–”

“You will write what I’ve commissioned, and be grateful you’re getting anything at all.”

“So you’re just going to ignore this?”

“We’ll place a court reporter on it once it goes to trial, but that is not your concern. Focus on your own assignment.”

She turns on her heel, storming back to her desk. Her skin burns with humiliation, tears blurring her vision as she sits down, slapping the commission sheet down next to her keyboard. Drawing in a steadying breath, she scrubs her hands over her face in an attempt to calm herself.

Scanning the assignment she’s been given, she scoffs. A curfew enforced by King’s Landing Constabulary as a means to curb the violent and drunken behaviour that’s rife in Flea Bottom. It's a soulless story, she knows she’ll be expected to simply present the facts, alongside a media ready quote from the police force, instead of addressing the rampant poverty in the area that is the catalyst for such problems. The final product will be better used as ad space.

It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, and wanting to prove Royce wrong, she decides to press ahead with the story that she wants to write anyway. Opening her internet browser, she searches the Targaryen name, presented with hundreds of links and articles regarding the family.

There is nothing she doesn’t already know; they’re from old money, own most of the banking and legal services from here to Oldtown and there is a rift that divides Viserys’ second wife, Alicent, and her children from his first daughter, Rhaenyra, and her family.

The remaining patriarch of the family, Otto Hightower, owns a law firm called Red Keep Solicitors which is based in the centre of King’s Landing. A good enough place to start for her background research. Scanning the office to ensure no one’s looking, she stuffs her assignment sheet into her bag and slips out unnoticed.

As she steps out of the taxi that has pulled up outside of the high rise office block, she is surprised by the lack of media presence. She had assumed that with the information that leaked this morning, there would be a line of news station vans parked along the pavement, with journalists all clamouring to get a vox pop from someone from either the Hightower or Targaryen family. Besides a steady flow of traffic down the street, it’s dead. Whoever is working to keep the media away is doing an exceptional job. For once, she is thankful she works for a small, local newspaper; no notoriety means being able to fly under the radar.

The polished black marble of the foyer floor causes each of her footsteps to echo around the lofty reception. The space is modern and minimalist; the reception desk placed at the far wall, the motif of a castle with the company name emblazoned across the wall behind it. A forest green, crushed velvet sofa sits off to the side, serving as the waiting area.

“Good morning,” the young woman seated behind the desk greets her. “How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Otto Hightower,” she says, smiling politely. The less she gives away, the less likely she is to be turned away.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m afraid not. I was hoping he might be able to squeeze me in for a quick consultation?” She asks hopefully.

“Hmm,” the receptionist’s eyes narrow, regarding her with suspicion, before she taps delicately at the keyboard of her computer. “I’m afraid Mr. Hightower is fully booked for today. Can I take a message?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll wait,” she replies, keeping her tone light, attempting to appear casual. She moves to the sofa, taking a seat and crossing one leg over the other. She ignores the receptionist, who is now eyeing her intently.

Plucking her mobile out of her bag, she pretends to look busy as the woman behind the desk picks up the phone and speaks in a hushed tone into the receiver, clearly alerting whoever is on the other end to her presence.

Thirty minutes tick by in uncomfortable silence, during which she has checked just about every app on her smartphone and read through most of her emails. Her head snaps up upon hearing the elevator ding. As the doors slide open she sees a tall, much older, bearded man step out. There is no mistaking that this is Otto Hightower.

Jumping to her feet, she follows him as he walks quickly past her, out of the building.

“Mr. Hightower, might I have a moment of your time?”

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t even turn to look back at her, his tone clipped as he tells her “I have no interest in speaking to the press.”

Undeterred, she lengthens her strides to keep up with him. “I understand your concern, but I’m not here to drag anyone’s name through the mud. I’d just like to understand more about what happened with your grandson.”

“No comment,” he says flatly, pulling open the rear door of a sleek, black Mercedes that pulls up to the curb and climbing in.

Before she has the opportunity to say anything else, he’s slamming the door closed and the car is pulling away.

She groans in frustration, walking back towards the entrance of Red Keep solicitors and leaning against the wall. She isn’t ready to give up, not when she’s had a small taste of what it’s like to work on something she actually cares about again. This is just a minor setback, she’ll find someone willing to speak to her. For now, she just needs to get back to the office and plan what the next step of her strategy will be. Pulling out her phone, she opens the taxi app, preparing to head back.

“You’re as subtle as a sledgehammer.”

The quiet voice pulls her attention away from her screen and she glances over her shoulder to be met by a dark, curly haired man, leaning heavily on a cane, an orthopedic shoe on his left foot.

“Excuse me?”

“You couldn’t really have believed that showing up here unannounced would get you an interview, surely?”

She scowls. “And who might you be?”

“Larys Strong,” he replies, eyes never leaving hers.

She turns fully to face him. “And how do you know what will or won’t get me an interview?”

His lips quirk into the faintest of smiles, eyes moving slowly from her head to her feet and back up again. It unnerves her and she can feel herself involuntarily shrinking away from him.

“It’s my job to know. The Hightowers are keen to prevent any unwanted…whispers from occurring, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“So, no one from the family would be willing to speak with me?”

“Absolutely not. But I might be.”

“You? How would you be able to help me?”

His eyes seem to glitter, almost malevolently, as he stares at her. It sends a shiver up her spine.

“Oh, I provide all kinds of help to all kinds of people.”

He produces a business card from his inside pocket, handing it to her.

Larys Strong, Harrenhal Associates.

She gives a quiet thanks, fishing around in her bag and handing him one of her own. He glances at it quickly, before slipping it into the pocket from which he’d taken his own.

“Come by my office around seven this evening,” he tells her. “I’m sure we have much to talk about.”

Watching in stunned silence as he turns and shuffles back inside the entrance of Red Keep Solicitors, she knows she should feel excited – she finally has her in, dubious as it may be – however, she cannot shake the feeling that she has just unwittingly stepped into the midst of something sinister.

She whiles away the remainder of the day back at the Duskendale Gazette, ensuring she knows everything there is to know about the Targaryen and Hightower families – at least everything that’s publicly available anyway. She also looks into Larys Strong; there’s little to be found about him, but what she is able to dig up is impressive. He’s a solicitor, and has seemingly never lost a case for any of the clients he’s defended. She has an eerie feeling that the means through which he achieves this are far from ethical.

By the time seven o’ clock rolls around, she’s stood outside of a dingy brick building, located off of the Street of Silk. It does not even come close to the grandiosity of Red Keep Solicitors, without even so much as a sign to indicate it’s a place of business.

Ignoring the voice at the back of her mind that screams at her to turn and run, she presses the buzzer, pulling the door open as it’s released and making her way up the rickety wooden staircase to the top floor.

The room is dimly lit, small and stuffy, worn out carpet lines the floor, complete with furnishings that are likely older than she is. What strikes her as most odd is the abundance of flowers, there’s a vase on every flat surface and they look strangely out of place, a lurid splash of brightness against their darkened surroundings. She wrinkles her nose, the cloying scent of patchouli is overpowering. It’s either being used to cover up the odour of something else or is a misguided attempt to suggest opulence, but instead comes across as tacky.

Larys hovers in the doorway to his own personal office, watching her as she takes in her surroundings.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he eventually says. “I appreciate that an out of hours visit is less than ideal, but I’m sure you understand the need for discretion.”

She nods, nerves swirling in her gut at the sudden realisation that no one knows that she’s here.

“My secretary has left for the day, so please leave your phone and any recording devices on her desk. I trust you realise that anything discussed this evening is strictly off of the record?”

“Understood,” she replies, deciding to just leave her entire bag on the desk as she follows Larys into his office.

It’s even smaller and more cramped than the tiny space that serves as the reception area. Overstuffed shelves of books line the walls, and the room’s only illumination is a lamp which sits upon the desk.

Larys settles into a leather armchair behind it, gesturing for her to take the seat on the other side.

“Can I ask what your involvement with the Targaryen family is?” She finally asks, once settled across from him.

He sits back, fingers moving absentmindedly over the grip of his cane. “I provide counsel to them. I will be acting as Aemond’s legal defense in the upcoming trial.”

She raises her eyebrows in shock. It’s surprising to know a family as wealthy as the Targaryens would be willing to trust such a delicate matter with someone who operates their business out of a seedy back alley. “You? Why?”

He huffs a humourless laugh, upturning the palm of his free hand. “Who else would? No one from Red Keep Solicitors could represent him, it would be a conflict of interest. And besides, I get results, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, I do, as I’m sure you know all about me. Which leads me to my next question, if the Targaryens don’t want the media involved in this then why have you agreed to speak with me?”

Larys is silent for a moment, fingers stroking delicately over the petals of a red flower that sits within a vase upon his desk. “My reasons are twofold,” he says, finally looking up at her. “First, both sides of the family have come to a mutual agreement that neither one will talk to the press. I feel that is a mistake. Aemond needs all the help he can get. I don’t necessarily mean starting a media circus to report upon his every move and dig into his past, just one reputable source to give him a leg up while he’s at a disadvantage. Second, I have chosen you because I’m aware of your past…indiscretions. The future of your career rests upon this, so I know you will treat it with the due diligence it deserves.”

She scoffs in disbelief, running a hand through her hair. “The guy’s been charged with murder, how much care could he possibly need?”

“The prosecution will be pushing for a sentence for murder, yes. I’ll be arguing for a lesser sentence of manslaughter.”

“So, he didn’t mean to do it?”

“I think it’s better said in his own words.”

“You can arrange an interview with him?”

“I can arrange a visit for you to speak with him where he’s currently being remanded in custody, at Dragonstone Prison, yes.”

She attempts to remain neutral as her excitement bubbles unrestrained internally. “When is the trial?”

“In three weeks, so we have to act swiftly. I believe this concludes our discussion. I shall be in touch regarding your visitation.”

She is taken aback by the abrupt ending to their conversation, rising slowly from her seat as she leaves his office and collects her bag. It’s unnerving that even as she descends the staircase she can still feel his presence, the sweet, heady aroma clinging to her clothes like an invisible fog.

True to his word, Larys gets her her visit, and two days later she sits in the ferry terminal for Dragonstone Prison. Having had her identification checked, and her details input onto the system, she is issued a number and has to wait for it to be called before she can board.

The wait is agonising, and a full hour passes before she is called forward, scrambling to her feet towards the boarding area. The grey waters are choppy, causing the ferry to rock slightly on its short journey across the Gullet, until the craggy isle that houses the criminals of Westeros comes into view. The high, cement walls of Dragonston Prison are imposing and bleak against the skyline.

Disembarking the ferry, she is guided through the visitors’ entrance and searched, her personal effects rifled through as she walks through a metal detector, and her electronic devices taken away, to be returned to her upon her departure. Her identification is checked once more, and her details input onto the system again. She is told to take a seat, her name will be called when it’s time for her visitation to begin.

The hard seat is uncomfortable, and without the distraction of her phone she is left to stare at the clock on the wall. Its relentless ticking is maddening, the minutes feeling as though they crawl past. So absorbed in watching it, she jumps when her name is finally called, struggling to compose herself as she’s ushered through into the visitation area.

A series of tables and plastic chairs make up the startling white windowless room, and she is led to one in the far corner. Unsure of what to do, she simply stands beside her seat, awaiting the man she is to meet.

From the photos she has seen, Aemond cuts an imposing figure, dressed all in black. She hopes that the softness of the grey prison uniform will render him less intimidating. However, those thoughts are dashed the moment she sees him walk slowly through the door on the opposite side of the room.

He is in no rush, his steps are methodical, unhurried, a predator stalking its prey as he moves towards her. The photographs do not do justice to his height, long and lithe, he towers over her, and she feels herself holding her breath as she takes in the sharpness of his features. His long, platinum hair is pulled back into an immaculately styled ponytail, giving her an unhindered view of his chiseled jaw, aquiline nose and prominent cheekbones, though spoiled slightly by the ragged, angry looking scar that runs the length of the left side of his face. The eye within the socket sits milky and lifeless, but it does little to lessen the intensity of the brilliant blue of his right.

She notices the slightest dilation of his pupil as he stares unblinkingly at her, making her heart race as the cold sweat of fear prickles the back of her neck. So preoccupied with simply getting her story, it has not occurred to her until now that she would be face to face with a killer.

Certain he senses her fright, she sees his lips twitch with the faintest of smirks. The fact that it does not reach his eye makes her blood run cold.

331 notes · View notes

sapphire-writes · 1 year

Text

Just Friends ~ modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: You and Aemond are just friends.....right?

word count: 3.6k

note: a request for some friends to lovers 🩷

rating: Explicit (see more descriptive warnings under the cut)

warnings: fingering, titty sucking, slight praise, semi-public, language, alcohol use

A group project with Sara, Jace, and Aliandra was perfect. All three of you had chosen History of the First Men as an elective this term for that very reason. Professor Karstark was known for his heinous group project that ran the entire semester. The four of you were great friends already, so when Professor Karstark announced you’d be picking your own groups, your heart leaped with joy.

Until he mentioned needing groups of five.

You had no choice but to add another person to your tight-knit group. Luckily, Jace’s cousin was also in the class. You’d seen him around campus before, but Aemond Targaryen often kept to himself. When he wasn’t studying in the library he could be found keeping his frat boy elder brother out of trouble.

The Targaryens shared a house on King’s Ave; a notorious strip of off-campus housing for those attending Westeros University. All four siblings attended currently, Daeron just starting his freshman year. You’d thought it was cute that they all lived together, and you’d told Aemond as much upon first meeting him.

After spending time together on the project, you and Aemond became fast friends. He now knew your coffee order by heart, often bringing you a steaming cup before class. You’d camp out with him in the library, show him new music, order your favorite takeaway and binge shows together. And when you couldn’t do that together, you’d be texting about it, like you were right now.

You giggle at your phone, and Ali lifts her head from her computer screen.

You’d been in Jace’s apartment, waiting for him to return with coffee for your group to continue working on the project.

“Texting loverboy?” she teases, pulling her dark curls into a messy bun on top of her head.

Sara walks into the room at that moment, a bowl of popcorn in her hands, her lips parting in shock.

“What did I miss?” she cries, hurrying forward.

You place your phone down, rolling your eyes.

“Nothing! He’s just funny, that’s all,” you tell them, trying to ignore the blush you know is blooming on your cheeks. Maybe if you concentrate hard enough, it’ll go away.

“Nothing my ass,” Sara says with a smirk, “That boy is sooo into you.”

“Will you stop it,” you tell her, “We’re just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at friends the way Aemond looks at you,” Ali argues, as the door to the apartment opens.

You shush your two friends as Jace walks in, his younger brother Luke trailing behind him. Jace holds a tray of iced coffees in his hand, causing Sara to squeal and press a kiss to his cheek before taking one.

“Sorry I’m late, had to pick Luke up from practice,” Jace says, throwing his bag down on the floor.

“Sup ladies,” Luke says with a grin.

“You smell like a wet dog,” Sara accuses, wrinkling her nose.

“Lacrosse season, baby!” Luke says, holding his arms wide. You and Ali pretend to gag and he lowers them.

“You guys are mean,” he pouts, heading towards the bathroom.

“Did you pick Aemond up too?” you ask, curious where the silver-haired boy is. Ali mouths the word subtle to you and you stick your tongue out.

“Don’t think he’s coming,” Luke calls from the bathroom, “Looked pretty busy on his date!”

It’s like someone slapped you. Ali meets your eyes, her own wide with shock.

“Date?” you ask, mouth suddenly very dry.

“We don’t know-” Jace begins, but Luke cuts him off, running shirtless out of the bathroom.

“He was at Stormy’s,” Luke begins, referring to the local coffee shop, “In a corner booth. You don’t sit with just anyone in a corner booth.”

“Okay Mr. Never-Had-A-Girlfriend,” Jace scoffs, sitting on the couch.

“I know what’s up!” Luke insists, though the tips of his ears turn red, “You sit in the back corner, that way if you want to put your hand-”

“Ew ew ew!” Sara says, covering her ears as she sits next to Jace, “Future brother-in-law, I’m begging you to shut up!”

“I know what’s up!” Luke insists, again, “I do!”

“Go shower!” Jace tells him, tossing a pillow at him. Luke mumbles something under his breath before heading back down the hall toward the bathroom.

“Who was he with?” Ali asks, sparing you the embarrassment of asking. Jace is clueless about your innocent little crush.

“Maris Baratheon,” Jace tells you all.

Shit. Maris Baratheon makes total sense. Another girl in your year who takes her studies very seriously, much like Aemond. It doesn’t ease your nerves knowing she’s stunning as well. Long dark curls, and sapphire blue eyes. It would only make sense that they get together.

“There’s a party at the soccer house tomorrow night,” Jace says, suddenly changing the subject, “I think we should go.”

“I’m in,” you answer, causing Ali and Sara to exchange a look.

“Jacey boy!” Aegon says, throwing an arm around his nephew, “So glad you could make it.”

Jace pulls Aegon’s arm off of him as you enter the soccer house. The music is blasting through the speakers, some trashy remix of No Hands. Aegon hands you a cup which Sara snatches from your hands immediately.

“First rule of uni, don’t accept a drink from Egg,” Sara says with a sneer. Aegon presses a hand to his chest pretending to be shocked.

“You’ve got me all wrong, love,” he teases, taking the cup back and taking a sip, “See? All clear.”

Sara takes it back, eying it suspiciously before taking a sip. You laugh and Aegon turns to you, a small smile on his face.

“My brother’s been waiting for you,” he tells you, fixing the backward baseball cap that rests on his head.

Your stomach flip-flops, though you try to ignore it. Aegon hands you another drink, which you sip gratefully.

“Oh yeah?” you ask nonchalantly, and Aegon nods.

“Haven’t seen you at the house in a while,” he says, as someone increases the volume of the music.

“What?” you call but Aegon waves you off, before disappearing into the crowd.

You take another sip from your drink, as Ali pulls you toward the center of the dancefloor. You don’t see Aemond, though Aegon said he must be here. You decide to spend some time dancing, trying to calm your nerves. You shouldn’t be feeling this way anyhow. Aemond is your friend.

Just friends.

You spot him across the room after a few songs play. He’s leaning against the doorframe talking to Cregan Stark. You can’t help the butterflies that fill your belly as he raises his eyes to meet yours. A soft smile appears on his handsome face at the sight of you, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up with attention. He looks good, though it's hard not to with that bone structure of his. Those pouty lips.

“I’m going to go say hi!” you tell Ali, nodding towards Aemond.

She gives you a look of warning.

“You sure?” she asks and you nod, “Okay girl, I’ll be here!”

You move through the crowd of people making your way toward him. You smile politely at Cregan before hugging Aemond.

“Hey Aem,” you say, the scent of his cologne making you dizzy as you press your face against his firm chest.

“Hey,” he answers, the vibrations from his chest making you close your eyes.

You wish you could just curl up with him here, leave the party and watch one of your shows together. You open your eyes. Can’t think like that, not if he’s seeing Maris.

You pull away from him a little too quickly, the beer in your cup sloshing out the sides and onto your hand. You force a smile on your face.

“Where’s Maris?” you ask, making a point to look around.

“What?” Aemond asks with a chuckle.

“Maris! Your date!” you yell over the music.

Aemond pouts, tilting his head to the side, confused at what you’ve just said.

“Maris is my mate!” Aemond calls over the pounding sound of the bass.

You can barely hear him above the loud house music, the floor vibrates with how loud it is. The liquid in the red solo cup you hold wobblies, waves rippling across the surface. It’s so loud, you confuse about what Aemond has said, though you’re watching his lips carefully.

“Maris is great!” is what you hear, causing your heart to drop slightly.

You force a smile on your face, nodding at him.

“I’m really happy for you two!” you yell back, taking a sip from the warming beer. Aemond’s eyebrows concave together in confusion and he shakes his head.

“Did you hear me?” he loudly asks, but of course, you can’t.

“What?” you yell, and Aemond sighs in frustration.

Suddenly, he wraps his fingers around your wrist, gently directing you down the hallway. You let him guide you, careful not to spill your drink as you trail behind him. You catch Sara’s eye from across the room and she purses her lips at you. Whenever she does that you can’t help but think of Florence Pugh.

He checks several doors until one to the bathroom opens, and pulls you inside with him. You enter the small space as he closes the door behind him. The music is muffled, making your ears ring as they adjust to the lower levels of sound.

Aemond stands in front of the door momentarily, before moving further into the bathroom, as though not to make you uncomfortable by blocking it with his tall frame. You lean against the sink as he places one hand on his hip, dragging the other through his pale hair.

“Why d’you think me and Maris are a thing?” he asks, faces scrunched in confusion.

You can feel your heart beating frantically in your chest, and you try to ignore the nausea that churns in your stomach, the sour taste that fills your mouth at the thought of their date.

“Um, Luke told me?” you tell him, as though it should be obvious, “Sorry if he put his foot in his mouth, but you were out in public! If you were trying to keep it on the low, you should’ve gone somewhere private.”

The corner of Aemond’s mouth ticks upwards into a slight smirk.

“On the low?” he asks, standing up a little straighter.

You place your cup on the edge of the sink.

“Well, it sounds like you were surprised I knew,” you tell him, feeling your face flush. You hope Aemond can’t tell, and if he can, that he simply thinks it's because of your drinking, not the feelings you’re holding back.

His eyes, blue and violet, roam your face, ceaselessly searching for any hint of jealousy or distaste. He’s been your friend for a while now, he can tell when you’re holding something in.

“Maris and I are just mates,” he tells you so you can hear him this time, “She’s been thinking of studying in Oldtown next term. She wanted some advice.”

Your lips part, shocked at what he’s saying before you feel the fire return to your cheeks with a vengeance. Fucking Luke, starting drama for no reason.

“Oh,” you say softly, curling your fingers against the lip of the counter, “Oh that makes sense.”

“Yeah, it does,” Aemond says, with a chuckle. He clears his throat suddenly, averting his eyes, “I um..sort of have a thing for someone else anyway.”

“Oh,” you repeat, “That’s cool.”

“But I’m kind of…nervous,” he admits, meeting your eyes once more, “I don’t want to ruin the friendship we have. But I can’t really ignore how I feel.”

You hold his gaze. He can’t be talking about you. Can he?

“What should I do?” Aemond asks, “What do you think?”

“I think…well..” you nervously wet your lips, “I think….you should tell her.”

Aemond takes a step closer, placing one hand on the sink next to yours. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, his tall frame leaning towards you.

“Yeah?” he says in a gruff voice, “You really think so?”

You nod, and he brings his opposite hand to rest on the counter on the other side of you, caging you against it with his lean form. He’s so close you can almost feel his body pressing against you. You can smell his cologne, as he leans his face closer to your height.

“I think you might be pleasantly surprised,” you tell him.

Aemond’s eyes widen slightly before they fall to your lips. Pushing up onto your tiptoes, you bring your lips to his, kissing him gently. You pull away for a moment, gauging his reaction, but Aemond chases your lips with his own, capturing them in another kiss. His hands slide along the counter, finding purchase on your hips. He lets them rest there a moment, squeezing your hip bones before lifting underneath your ass to place you on the counter.

You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss with a slight turn of your head as Aemond strokes the sides of your thighs. You can feel your arousal pooling in your underwear, and you clench your thighs together to no avail.

Aemond’s hands caress the skin of your hips that was exposed as your tank top rides up. His hands dance to your belt and you drop your hands to begin unbuckling it. Aemond’s eyes drop to your quickly working hands.

“Holy fuck… can I?” Aemond says between a kiss, “Can I touch you, please?”

“Yes, please, fuck,” you nearly beg while unbuttoning your jeans, “Please touch me Aemond.”

You slide the zipper down and feel Aemond’s hands on yours, hastily moving them out of the way. You wrap them around his neck as his slender fingers dip below the hem of the lacey thong you’d decided to wear. Sara has a very strict policy on party panties and demanded you wear your sexiest set.

“Just in case,” she’d told you with a wink.

You could kiss her, with the expression on Aemond’s face as he looks between your legs.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he whimpers, the pads of his fingers rubbing circles around your clit.

You bite your lip, holding back a whimper of your own as he dips his fingers lower, gathering your arousal on his fingertips before going back to circling your clit.

“Fuck-” you cry out as he lowers his palm, slipping a finger inside your clenching hole. Aemond swallows your cry with a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

He experimentally curls the long digit against your walls, preening with the sounds this elicits from you, and the way you claw at the back of his neck. His cock is straining against the confines of his jeans, but he can’t find it in him to care at the moment; completely focused on your pleasure.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you hungrily.

“Me too,” you whine, sucking on his lower lip.

Aemond pulls away slightly, a half smile decorating his face.

“How long?” he asks, a second finger teasing at your entrance ready to join the first. You buck your hips, desperate for him to fill you up.

“Since game night at Baela’s,” you gasp, as he sinks the second digit into your tight, wet heat.

“I remember. You’re such a sore loser,” Aemond teases, curling his fingers against the rough patch of your walls that has you seeing stars.

Your head lolls, tapping against the mirror before Aemond brings his free hand to rest on the back of your neck, propping your head up.

“I’ve liked you, ever since you met Vhagar,” he tells you, letting his hand trail from the back of your neck to your shoulder.

Warmth floods your chest at the memory. It was one of the first times you’d hung out with Aemond actually. You’d come to the house after class and met the grumpy old tabby cat. Aemond had been thoroughly impressed at how you were able to coax her from her hiding place under the sofa.

She’d only hissed at you once, before sniffing the tips of your fingers and rubbing her head against them.

Aemond brings his thumb to rest on your clit, circling the button in tandem with the thrusts of his fingers, tearing you from the memory and bringing you back to the present. The added clit stimulation has you clenching around his fingers, the small bathroom filling with the squelching sounds of your soaked pussy.

Your lower abdomen tenses, and you can feel the precipice of your orgasm creeping up on you, tingling up your spine.

“God you’re so tight,” Aemond moans, and you grab the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging harshly.

A whine leaves his lips as you do so, and you bring your lips to kiss his neck, sucking a purple lovebite onto the pale flesh. Aemond’s breathing is ragged as you do so, his fingers tugging at the spaghetti straps of your top, pulling it down to reveal your matching lace bralette. Aemond quickly works the front clip, letting your breasts spill free. Your nipples harden in the cool air.

He eyes them hungrily, as you pull away from kissing his neck, connecting your lips once more. Aemond’s hand moves to the side of your left breast, massaging the soft mound, just as someone knocks on the bathroom door. Aemond breaks away from your lips.

“Just a second!” Aemond yells, before latching his mouth to your tender nipple and suckling harshly.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him against you as he swirls his hot tongue around the sensitive nub. Legs locked around his slender waist, you pull him closer to you, arching your back to press yourself harder against his mouth, against his fingers.

“Aemond?” Aegon’s voice calls from outside the bathroom. The door handle jiggles. “You bastard open up!”

Aemond releases your breast with a wet pop, dragging his lips up toward your neck to kiss the sensitive spot beneath your ear. His fingers never stop curling into you, the pads of his fingers dragging against your sweet spot while his thumb plays with your clit. He drags his teeth along your earlobe, biting down as Aegon knocks again.

“I have to piss!” Aegon yells, banging on the door causing it to shake on its hinges.

“He said just a second!” you snap, voice several pitches higher than normal as Aemond tugs harshly your slippery, wet nipple.

“The fuck?” Aegon’s angry tone turns to one of confusion, “Yo is that Y/N?”

Aemond’s fingers slow as he pulls away from your neck, his hand still gripping your breast. The actions cause your imminent orgasm to begin to fizzle out and you whine in annoyance. You were so close.

Aemond’s eyes meet yours, pupils dilated as yours must be. His jaw is slack, face flushed as Aegon laughs from outside the bathroom.

“I didn’t know you had it in you!” Aegon calls, “That’s my bro, finally getting the girl! Sara is going to lose her shit when she knows I found out first!”

You stifle a laugh, bringing your hand to cover your mouth at Aegon’s words. Aemond’s cheeks are red as he smiles bashfully, as though he’s not knuckle-deep in your pussy at the moment.

“Have fun you lovebirds, I’ll piss outside,” Aegon calls, giving a final rapid fire of knocking before presumably leaving the door.

“Do you think he’s really gone?” you ask through a giggle.

“Honestly, I don’t even care,” Aemond says, kissing you once more and resuming the movement of his fingers thrusting and curling in and out.

“Fuckfuckfuck!” you cry, as Aemond works you towards orgasm once more. Your legs shake around him and he brings his mouth to your opposite breast, lavishing it with the same attention he did the other.

“Take my fingers so fucking well,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your breast, “Bet you’ll take my cock perfectly.”

“Yes-fuck yes!” you cry, nails digging into his shoulder blades through the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

You can feel how hard he is, how big his cock is concealed under his jeans. Your mouth waters at the thought of it replacing his fingers, pussy tightly clenching around him. Aemond feels you tighten, a smug smile creeping onto his face.

“You like that idea? Want me to fill you with my cock?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” you whine, looking up at him through your lashes, “Please I need it so bad.”

“You’ll get it, pretty girl,” he promises, “Come for me, darling, that’s it.”

“Oh oh- oh!”

With a strangled cry your orgasm crashes over you as you clench around his fingers. A rush of arousal drips down his fingers and between your thighs as he fucks you through it, prolonging your pleasure. As you come down from your high, Aemond’s mouth is on yours in another passionate kiss. You moan into his mouth, whimpering at the overstimulation.

Your hands drop to his belt and he chuckles, placing kisses down your neck.

“Can we go back to mine?” he asks, as you attempt to do the first loop. You pause looking up at him.

“I’d love to,” you tell him, as he kisses you again.

You spend the next several minutes reclipping your bra and fixing yourselves before opening the door. Aegon nearly falls on top of you both as he tries to pretend he wasn’t listening. Aemond smacks him on the shoulder as he tries to run away.

“Couldn’t hear anything over this fucking music!” Aegon calls, as he smiles cheekily and disappears down the hall.

Covering your face with embarrassment, Aemond loops his arm around you, placing a kiss on top of your head and leading you out of the party.

note: hope you liked it!!

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arcielee · 1 year

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The Past and the Pending

Summary: Aemond will find you and bring you the fuck back to Westeros. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count: 3790 Warnings: Smutty smut, possessive Aemond (you know you love it, I do too, no judgement) dubcon, oral (female receiving), fingering, p in v, all the goodies. Author's Note: We are coming to the end of this depravity and there is one last part after this. I cannot express enough thanks to @f4ll-for-you for all of her help! I literally posted, “Hey, this is my first ever Reader Insert attempt, does anyone wanna read it?” And she was the only one willing and the friendship that has blossomed has absolutely changed me for the better as a writer. Thank you from the bottom of my heart ♥ lēkia - brother Tags (kindred spirits): @glitterandgoldfinds @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @fan-goddess @welcometothelioncage @hueanhdang @sahvlren @heavenly1927 @missusnora @lemonivall (I have never had a taglist before, but if you are bold it is because Tumblr has betrayed me and it will not allow me to tag you, I’m so sorry) Series: Call It Dreaming

Prince Aemond Targaryen was a quiet force that would sweep through the Red Keep, his dark presence engulfing every room he entered into. His temperament would be described as obsessional, almost consuming, whenever his meticulous mind was set on something or someone. His traits and his drive would have been admirable in a firstborn son, but instead he learned early on his fate was predetermined, understanding that his title would forever be superseded by the fact he was only a second son.

On the night he returned from Storm’s End, he came to realize that his power dynamic had shifted. Aemond was ushered away into the small council chamber, not even able to change from his clothes that hung heavy from the rain. He saw the change in the expressions around the table, the disappointment in both his grandsire and mother’s expressions, but Aegon did not share their concerns and found optimism within his err, boldly stating how his brother had, “the true blood of the dragon.”

Aemond was grateful his brother stood at his side with the new alias Kinslayer tacking onto his legacy and, in return, he devoted himself to serve his king, no matter the personal opinion on his drunken addled reign.

He was a formidable ally to Aegon, quick to push his grandsire and his self-serving counsel aside, while suggesting for Daeron to return to the Red Keep at once, which would allow Tessarion to be added on the battlefront.

Aemond then turned his focus to the retaliation he knew would come from his sister, pouring over tomes and books to scrutinize battles past and best predict the impending. It did not prepare for the attempt made, but the gods showed favor as Daeron happened to be visiting with his mother when two brutes slipped into her quarters by one of the many ingresses that lined the castle walls. The prince’s yells were quick to bring the attention of Ser Criston Cole and together they were able to subdue the would-be assassins.

The two men with the monikers Blood and Cheese were beaten until they were unrecognizable, until the needed confession spilled from their broken teeth and bloody lips: that they had been sent by Daemon.

An eye for an eye, a son for a son.

The outrage for the attempt on the little Targaryen princes allowed the uproar needed amongst the seven realms to capture and bring Rhaenyra and their uncle to trial. They were convicted and their execution was a show for the smallfolk, thus ceasing any more murmurs of who Viserys had wished to be his heir.

This led to present day, with the seven realms now under the unquestionable rule of his brother, King Aegon II, who proved to be an insipid drunk with access to the royal funds, which was used to throw extravagant revelries that allowed him to wag his cock at every woman within Westeros.

Yes, he was the king and he was kin, but Aegon was still insufferable.

His brother’s incessant celebrations left Aemond numb to their victory, with an emptiness that replaced the consuming vengeance he had felt since that fateful night on Driftmark. He always assumed when it had been rightfully served, that a sense of peace would take over but instead he found a gnawing want for something more.

“You need a woman, lēkia,” Aegon had told him with a giggle.

In that regard, Aemond had an insatiable appetite but only once it had been awakened. The last woman he took to bed was when they first claimed Harrenhal and slaughtered every Strong within, save for a bastard who served as a wetnurse.

Their chemistry was explosive, burning bold and passionate until the inevitable end of the wick. Alys spoke often of her purpose, stating the gods have given her a new destiny to fulfill, whereas Aemond was respectful of the old gods and the new, but found he often preferred the process of coming to a conclusion with thorough research, as opposed to an unseen deity’s say-so.

When he told her this, she clucked her tongue and touched his cheek. “My prince, I know your destiny and you just need to find her.”

Instead, Aemond returned to the Red Keep and fell into the mundane routine of small council meetings, training with Ser Criston, and riding Vhagar. The only time he felt a sense of purpose was backside the massive she-dragon, allowing her freedom to soar over the seven realms and trusting the gentle pull of the reins and a word utterance would return them to King’s Landing.

To return to nothing.

He had always preferred seclusion, but it wore on him as of late. His sister was busy with the twins and her new babe, a young princeling named Maelor, while his mother was devoted to breathing down Aegon’s neck and upholding his royal reputation. Daeron found his purpose within the Citadel and was forging his chains and Ser Criston allowed time to train with him, but he was dedicated to the shadows cast by his mother and brother.

So when his day’s tasks were done, he would retreat to his room and allow himself to remove his eyepatch and the façade it held, choose a book from his growing collection and seat himself in front of the fire to read.

This was how you found him.

His agitation was apparent by the rush of color to his cheeks; he could not fathom how you managed to enter without him realizing. He watched as you made a soft noise of surprise, your backside was to him and he knew, from what you wore, that Aegon had picked some whore from the Streets of Silk and slipped her in.

His tone was sharp when he questioned what you were doing and he saw you jump. Aemond was in a sour mood and he knew he was projecting, but his temper flared and he glided across the room to take hold of you by the throat, though he was careful with his hold.

What he had not expected was the beauty that seemed to glow from you, your look so exquisite and unlike anything he had seen before within Westeros. The embarrassment of you seeing him so intimately tightened his expression and you returned his look with an unabashed regard that held no tremor of fear, but your eyes seemed to brim with a sort of adoration.

His gaze rolled over your shapely legs that peered below the hem of your queer clothing and the gnaw of lust began to form in the pit of his stomach. He watched with rapt attention when you removed that flimsy piece of clothing to show the small clothes that fit with your figure with the most delicious flattery to your curves.

His passion had been awakened; he had to taste you, he had to touch you.

His fingers trailed your skin, soft like silk to his touch, and your scent warm and subtle. Your body fit so well against him and the noises that spilled from your kiss swollen lips was a sound he always wished to hear. The moment he finally sheathed himself inside your wet warmth, you mewled so pitifully and he shuddered from how your cunt molded so perfectly around his cock. Aemond struggled to pace himself, but your tightness clutched so sinfully and he swore the world anew when he spilled inside you.

Aemond pulled you beneath the covers, unwilling to have you return from wherever his brother dragged you from. He loved curling against your soft backside and how you felt pressed against his chest; there was pleasure from watching you sleep, with the subtle rise and fall of your bare chest with your every breath, while cradling his arm between your breasts.

He regretted falling asleep, for when he awoke you were gone and all that remained was the queer clothing you had arrived in, your fragrance still lingering on the thin fabric.

Aemond went to find his brother and confront him about you, only to learn that Aegon had been bedridden since late the day prior with stomach pains. “You swear you have not left this bedchamber, lēkia,” he questioned.

“Speak softer,” Aegon moaned, dark circles that amplified the purple of his eyes. “I swear to you I did not leave my room for anything last night, save the bucket.”

But if she was not his, where did she come from?

He called for Ser Erryk and together they searched every brothel within the city, questioning every madam and giving the description of your beauty. There was no lead and they tried to entice him with what they had available, but Aemond did not want the touch of anyone but you and you alone.

You had become his new sense of purpose, consuming his every thought.

It was weeks before he saw you again; there was the familiar soft gasp falling from your lips and you were back, flesh and blood, in his bedchambers. His temper flared and you were coy with your reply. There was the question that had tormented him for weeks, “Where are you from?”

“I cannot say.”

He wished for an answer, but his body betrayed him and the ache he felt only began to subside once he grabbed onto you, feeling your soft flesh and enveloped in your warm aroma. He pulled you close, appreciative of the black, simple dress that complimented the curves of your body; your nipples peaked beneath the fabric and your body arched, the soft flesh of your ass pressing into his crotch.

You were intoxicating and he was mournful with his words, “I imagine you will leave me again.”

“I will need to,” you replied, your eyes doleful. “But I will stay as long as I am able to.”

As long as I am able to.

Your words remained with him, a soft echo in his mind as he returned to the monotonous tasks of his every day. They rolled away and one night, in the quiet of his bedchamber, he laid back and stared at his canopy above his bed. His gaze held nothing, but beneath his pillow he held a grip of his dagger, the fabric of your shirt touching his knuckles.

He ached for your touch, the clothing left behind had lost your smell, and he mourned that he did not hold onto you, refusing to allow you to return from wherever you had come from.

Aemond did not remember falling asleep, but he felt the shift at the edge of his bed and the realization he was not alone in his room. He had an automated response, only to fully awaken once he saw the hold he had around your neck and your wide eyes.

The passion remained the same and how perfect your body was against his own. A sense of ataraxia washed over him with you wrapped in his arms, a comforting calm until he felt your body tense every so slight. “What is it?” He was quick to ask, wanting to resolve whatever vexed you in this intimate moment.

You turned to face him, your eyes glassy and the tip of your nose red with your words, “I only wish I was able to stay longer with you.”

Morning came and his bed was empty again, but he now understood what must be done. He returned to Harrehal and sought out Alys. When he entered the throne room, he looked up at her and she wore a wicked smile on her painted lips, but her focus was on the mortar in her hand. “What do you seek, my prince?” She asked with the lilt of her Riverland accent.

“Who,” he replied, his gaze watchful as her hands continued the motion in front of her. There was a collection of mason jars, marble bowls brimming with herbs from all over Westeros, and the wispy smoke of sage hung heavy in the air.

Alys lifted her kohl smeared eyes, a twinkle to the blue that bore into him. “You finally found her,” her tone was playful, almost teasing. “You know that I need something of hers to locate.”

He handed over your vintage shirt.

“The White Duke,” she grinned. “Is this dear to her?”

“I hope so,” he answered.

She tsked and took just a shred of the fabric, dropping it onto the marble slate in front of her before sprinkling a powder on top. A flame sparked and it reflected in her eyes. “Fate is peculiar,” she began, her tone still teasing. “She is not of this world, my prince.”

Aemond remembered your reply, I cannot say, and he asks, “Am I able to get to her? Would I be able to bring her back here?” He swallowed. “She has visited me before.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Alys continues. “I can create an access that will allow you to retrieve your destiny, as well as a potion that you must give her so she can return with you, with whatever she carries.” Her eyes focused on him, her lips drawn into a thin line. “We cannot traipse back and forth this plane of existence, my prince. I can give you two days, but after that the portal will be closed so on one else can cross.”

She paused for a moment. “This, of course, will cost you, my prince.”

But no cost could compare to the opportunity to see you again. Aemond returned that evening and noticed a chalk symbol on the cobblestone. Alys handed him a small vial with a soft purple glow emanating from the glass. “This is what she must take to be able to cross over and stay within Wetseros,” she instructed. “Where you arrive will be the same way you must return.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched.

“I will close this portal in two days, whether you return or not,” she repeated and she gave him a kiss. “Good luck, my prince.”

Aemond Targaryen found himself in your room.

Where he stood was a soft, iridescent glow beneath where he stood and it faded away. A purple lucent light remained, casting from your bedside and allowing enough light for him to look around. It was apparent the space was intimately yours, an almost chaotic cleanliness and your fragrance touched everything. He noticed a velvet chair with clothes folded on top and to his right, by the door, were your shoes neatly lined up. Aemond bent over and removed his boots, placing them alongside.

He saw a shelf that stretched from the ceiling to the floor, littered with literature and small trinkets; on the wall were pieces of artwork that hung. His gaze then fell towards the bed where you were sleeping; you were wearing a thin, white tank top and the blanket was halfway down your hips, your lips slightly open with the soft breaths of your slumber.

There was the curl of his lips as Aemond took slow steps around your bedside, his eye taking in your relaxed form in the sheer top, and he reached to gently pull the quilt back further to show the black cotton underwear that hung on your hips. His hand reached out to you, his fingertips pressing into your soft skin and his touch elicited a sleepy moan from your lips, your nipples pebbling in response.

He felt the tightness in his trousers and he pulled back to remove his tunic before moving to climb into your bed, pressing closer, his nose trailing from your collarbone to the curve of your neck, his mouth opened slightly as he took in your smell.

You shift beneath him with a sigh, goosebumps spreading over the skin that shows, and he was quick to place his palm to cover your mouth; your eyes widen and it takes a moment to recognize it was Aemond Targaryen, bare chested and pressing up against you. He relaxes his grip and your hands move to touch his face, your fingers soft on his jawline, “Aemond-?” Your voice is a harsh whisper and he moves forward to take your mouth with his own.

You moan into the kiss as his tongue massages against your own, shifting himself to move on top of you and brace his elbows on each side of you, caging you in. You move to open your legs and cradle him against your hips, your hands tangling in his silver hair.

His lips move downwards, tracing your jawline to your neck and kissing your chest. He shifts his weight to one side, reaching to grab your neckline with one hand and pulling to allow your breast to spill. His hot mouth suckles and bites into your soft flesh and you moan louder, grinding your hips upwards for friction.

You see the curl of his lips as he reaches for your stretched neckline and tears it down the center. “Hey,” you push to your elbows, your voice low. “I would have taken it off if you just asked.”

“I do not ask for what is mine,” he replies and pushes you back into a bed with a kiss that removes the air from your lungs and all thoughts from your mind until all you can think is the sensation of his lips trailing lower, his kisses sprinkled over your chest, your breasts, your ribs and lower.

You lift your hips and peel off your underwear that is soaked with your anticipation; Aemond moves to your center with a greedy lick of your silky folds, the sensation sending shivers throughout and your clit blossoms in response. “Vok,” Perfect, he praises into your cunt and you shiver again with his Valyrian.

You feel his slender finger curl into you, a tentative touch to your velvety walls until you clench in response. He hums his satisfaction before adding a second finger for a come hither motion to massage that spot within you; you mewl pitifully and bring your hand to your mouth to smother your noise.

He pulls back to look at you and you are quick to whisper, “I have roommates,” he probably does not know what the fuck that is, “I live with others here, they have their own rooms… I-I don’t want them to hear me.”

“I do not fucking care,” he growls and he dips lower until his mouth is on your cunt. You gasp at the simultaneous ministrations of his mouth and his fingers within you; your thighs begin to shake and you nearly cry when he quickens his motion, the pleasure crashing over you and your cunt clenching desperately around his fingers as he coaxes you through your orgasm.

There is a wet squelch when he pulls his hand back and you weakly look, face flushed, as he brings his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean, his grin wicked. “As sweet as last night,” he says and he moves to unlace his trousers before returning to nestle in the cradle of your hips.

Your eyes are glazed and you sigh with the pressure of his chest to your own, his hard and warm and still somehow molds so perfectly against you; he moves his hips and you feel his cock pressing against your slick slit, tantalizing your swollen lips. “Aemond, please,” you beg, your nails biting into his toned shoulders.

He reaches his hand to line himself with your entrance, the gentle thrusts of his hips to fill you and you moan at the stretch of your walls as his cock sheaths into you. He begins to rock against you, hitting deeper within, and the soft pants of pleasure spill from your lips with his every thrust.

Aemond leans forward, his mouth finding yours with a gentle kiss that does not match to the powerful pace of his hips. “Wait,” you breathe and he pauses, his expression curious as you push him back and he follows you lead to lay back onto your bed.

You take care to prop your pillows behind his back and his gaze watches as you climb on top, your touch gentle to guide his tip between your wet folds. He reaches to grip into the softness of your hips, lifting to ease the entirety of his length into you; your head tilts back with a cockdrunk grin to your lips and you slowly begin to rock against his hips, while Aemond presses to meet your motion.

You look down at the prince and his gaze is intense in return, one sapphire eye and one lavender eye that bore through you. The lighting of the room gives him an ethereal beauty and your eyes admire how the shadows spread across the rivets of his chest and abdomen when he flexes to meet you with the motion of his hips. His silken hair spills on both sides, a contrast to your dark sheets, like a silver halo for this deity clenched between your thighs.

“Aemond,” your voice is so low, but he is rapt to your attention. “Jenigon nykēla.”

Touch me.

He releases one hand and reaches between your thighs, his thumb gentle with his touch until the slick on your cunt coats his tip. He finds your pearl and moves in circles to match the rhythm of his hips, his touch igniting the passion that coils in the pit of your stomach. Your nails bite into his chest, leaving creases of red crescent moons on his pale skin; you bite your bottom lip, quickening the movement of your hips.

Aemond returns your passion, rutting upwards until your breath hitches and your velvety walls begin to clench around him, coaxing his own release with a guttural groan from the back of his throat; his arm pushes himself upright and the other moves to slip around your waist, burying his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, soaking in your scent.

He falls back and pulls you with him, his arms wrapping around you and you nestle against his chest; your smile is unable to leave your face as you press a kiss to his chest, moving to press your lips to his neck. He hums, his cheeks dimpling with a closed lip smile, and you whisper, “Aemond, how did you find me?” Your voice is soft. “This has to be a dream.”

He hums again, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “I will tell you everything in the morning,” he promises, nestling with you beneath the quilts on your bed.

Your fingers trace the hard planes of his abdomen, the softest touch to test if he was really there. But in the morning you will be gone, you don’t say and, instead, his steady breathing lulls you to sleep.

#the past and the pending #Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x modern!reader #hotd fanfic #aemond smut #thanks for reading #and thanks for all the love #♥

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gwenllian-in-the-abbey · 2 months

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To piggyback off of @shunnedmorlock's post here about the relative justification for both the black and green causes, and how the show presents Rhaenyra's cause as sympathetic.

The in-world choice of who to support in an internecine conflict is, for a lot of lords, ultimately going to be based in self-interest rather than legal, ideological or moral justifications. This fandom fixates a lot on who is in the "right," but the houses that throw their support behind Rhaenyra or Aegon mainly do it for self interest or self preservation. Every lord is going to have multiple literal dragons breathing down their necks, many lords are going to be offered enticements from one side or the other, and some will be considering their own personal circumstances and the precedent their choice sets. A great number of the houses seem pretty determined to stay out of the conflict altogether, even several of the houses that pledge their support in theory, wait until the risk of being caught up in a dragon battle has passed to take any action.

For viewers, our reasons for supporting one side or another are different. Strictly speaking, looking at things from a modern framework, no one has a "right" to the throne. Usurpation is not a human rights violation or even a crime by our standards. Imagine fixating on women being unable to own slaves and thinking that a woman fighting for her right to do so is an expression of feminism. Ridiculous! Certainly it is bullshit within an already bullshit system that a woman comes after her brothers in a hereditary monarchy, but in a just system this conflict wouldn't exist in the first place, not because Rhaenyra would automatically be queen, but because Westeros wouldn't have a king or a queen at all. Liberation doesn't start at the top and trickle down, but rather the opposite.

That said, to modern viewers, Rhaenyra's cause is sympathetic because it feels like an injustice. Most of us don't live within a feudal system and do not have the framework to understand why it's not a form of oppression to be denied the throne. We see it more like a presidential race, in which Rhaenyra is the Hillary Clinton who might have defeated Trump in 2016 if not for misogyny, in which even if we didn't particularly like her, we were disgusted by the fact that that man beat a woman who was at worst no different from many of the men who had occupied the seat before her. To the average vaguely liberal American watching the show, it's insane for fans to support Aegon and the greens and clearly you'd only do it for horny or antifeminist reasons. And you see that a bit in even the showrunners' comments on Alicent being a "woman for Trump," how both they and much of the audience fail to fully understand the historical framework, but in a way that's kind of understandable, because while what happens to Rhaenyra might not be injustice, it is unfair.

If you're looking at things from a historical in-world framework, this is a world in which stability takes a higher priority than equality. Inequality is everywhere, completely baked into the system. If you want to bring about gender equality in a feudal monarchy with a large agrarian population, you have to have first the stability necessary for the rise of an urban middle class which allows for more women to move into the trades, you need the printing press for widespread literacy, which means that more women are getting educated, you need movements such as the reformation to challenge the divine right of kings, and you need to reform the political structure so that leadership is not based on birthright in the first place, because that concept inherently reinforces patriarchal norms even in modern countries that allow women to become queens regnant. So making one woman queen is not going to make things better for women across Westeros, but that woman going to war to reclaim her "stolen" birthright could make things a whole lot worse for a pretty much everyone. This is why you see a lot of history nerds on this site going well, yes but Rhaenyra does have the weaker claim because common law was a big deal in the medieval world and her becoming queen is going to lead to long term succession crises due to the circumstances of her children's birth, so the thing to do would be to take the peace deal. Because while on an emotional level you can understand why she doesn't, it's not the choice that prioritizes the good of the realm.

I think on some level Condal understands (and I think GRRM probably hammered this point home) that you can't really grant anyone the moral high ground in a war of succession if you want to approach the issue with any level of nuance; Rhaenys' speech in the previews for S2 seems to indicate as much. The problem with HotD is that it wants to have its cake and eat it too. It wants to say war for the throne bad, but HBO also wants to make up for the way GoT fumbled the ball with Dany and give the people their likeable dragonriding princess triumphant.

Except Rhaenyra isn't triumphant, she is felled by her own Targaryen hubris and belief that nothing could possibly overcome the might of dragons. It's not Aegon that defeats her, truly, it's the people emboldened in various ways to act against Targaryen interests. It's the dragonseeds she hands dragons to who wonder why they have to take orders from a queen or king when they have control of the kingmaking weapons of mass destruction, it's the smallfolk who face down dragons with pitchforks because they've had enough. They've backed themselves into a bit of a corner with what @shunnedmorlock called the "engoodening" of the black faction, but they can turn it around by showing that it's not enough to be nice to your family, you have to actually care about the people and at the very least (the bar is on the floor, it's fuedalism!) not throw them into chaos, famine, and war for no reason. Give us payoff for Rhaenys' dragonpit scene, have Mysaria and Alys Rivers play a role in their sides' downfalls, show how resentment on Dragonstone allows Aegon to infiltrate. And yes, show Rhaenyra losing herself and becoming a worse person, but in ways that the audience can't excuse as justified. This is how you sow the seeds for that actual progressive change that people seem so desperate to find in the dragonshow, you show how the Dance emboldens the regular people who for the first time realize they can slay dragons, dovetailing into the new show, which stars Dunk, a commonborn man from Fleabottom, and Aegon V, the only Targaryen who ever cared about the smallfolk.

Can HBO pull it off? Ehh. But I remain eternally hopeful, against my better judgement.

#hotd critical #hotd meta #anti ryan condal #team smallfolk

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dwellordream · 10 months

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female adultery in ASOIAF and why it's not akin to modern day cheating

frequently fans insist on treating adultery within the world of ASOIAF as it it were the same as modern day infidelity. this, of course, ignores the fact that most marriages among the nobility of Westeros are arranged.

this does not mean every marriage is miserable, of course, but there is significantly less emotional attachment between the couple beforehand, unless they have known one another since childhood.

with that said, fans quite often do use this argument in defense of adultery- not for wives, but for husbands. a frequent claim put out is that men like Rhaegar, for example, don't owe their wives any loyalty because the marriage was not their choice. while technically, yes, no one is mandated to love their spouse or to respect an inherently broken marriage system, this ignores the fact that a woman like Elia is not free to carry on an affair the way her husband would be. women's bodies and sexualities are far more policed than men's in Westeros.

even with her husband's permission to take a lover on the side, most women would face extreme social ostracization and scorn if they were found out to be having affairs. and especially for the wives of princes and kings, this carries the weight of treason, because it puts into question the parentage of any royal heirs. Elia could have been outright killed if she was found to have a lover, regardless of Rhaegar's personal feelings on the matter.

the vague exception to this rule would be in the case of a woman like Genna Lannister, who is considered to have been forced to marry 'beneath her station', to a Frey, and thus, the jokes and insinuations that she may be cheating on Emmon do not carry quite the same weight. yet even so, I doubt Genna Lannister would ever openly announce she had a lover or directly discuss having an affair with her husband.

to go back to my original point, I am far more interested in female adultery than male. this is primarily because one of the few ways most Westerosi noblewomen can fight back against a forced or arranged match, or against an abusive or neglectful husband, is to secretly pursue their own pleasure and ambitions with a lover.

that is not to say that I think cheating is moral in these situations, but it is certainly not the same as a modern day woman having a fling while her husband is oblivious. a woman like Cersei, for example, did not choose to marry Robert. she was initially happy to become queen, but she quickly became disillusioned with her marriage, and Robert proved an extremely abusive and contemptuous husband.

Cersei cannot divorce or leave Robert, and even if she attempted to, would likely lose all contact with her children. nor does her family support the idea of her ending her marriage. given these parameters, Cersei cheating on Robert is simply not the same as it would be in a modern AU.

similarly, Rhaenyra is often bashed by the fandom for likely carrying on an affair with Harwin Strong during her marriage to Laenor. while there is zero indication in F&B or HOTD that Laenor was ever abusive or cruel to Rhaenyra, we know she did not freely choose to marry him. while HOTD presents the match as something Rhaenyra accepts and tries to use to her advantage, in F&B, Rhaenyra initially strongly protests the marriage until her father threatens to disown her if she does not accept Laenor as a husband.

in F&B, Laenor and Rhaenyra's marriage is depicted as stable but distant. the couple does not spend much time together and while Laenor appears to have tolerated Rhaenyra's relationship with Harwin, and to have had his own lovers, he obviously expected Rhaenyra to still have children who would be publicly presented as his offspring.

outside of any arguments over Rhaenyra's actions during the Dance or her time as reigning Queen, was Rhaenyra wrong to pursue a relationship outside her marriage, and to claim the children from that relationship as legitimate? I don't think so. 'legitimacy' is a construct of the feudal system in ASOIAF. while this doesn't mean it doesn't cause real trauma and pain, both to children raised knowing they are bastards, children who are accused of being bastards, and women who are expected to silently tolerate their husbands potentially pitting their own children against one another, it is not, actually 'real'.

Rhaenyra's sons are still her sons. her sexuality and personal autonomy shouldn't, outside of the context of the story, actually be something she is judged on. so it is strange to me when people insist that Rhaenyra having an affair or claiming her sons as legitimate is openly tyrannical or malevolent. there is plenty to criticize her character on- much as there is plenty to criticize Cersei on- but choosing to defy the institutions around her is not one of those critiques that should be valid.

#valyrianscrolls

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towriteloveontheirarms · 8 months

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Think I need someone older (modern!Daemon Targaryen x reader)

synopsis: Your friend wants to drag you out to a club and then ditches you. Turns out the evening has even better company in store for you anyway.

warnings: drinking, age difference, smut, oral sex (f and m recieving), fingering, p in v sex, orgasm denial,slight daddy kink, afab reader

word count: 3.5k

taglist: @urmomsgirlfriend1, @hopelesswritergall

(If you want to be tagged in the `kissing booth AU´, for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Stepping outside the fancy club you are currently at, you put a cigarette between your lips. One that you desperately need now. It´s usually not your scene. But when you go to turn on the lighter, it doesn´t work. You sigh frustratedly, trying it a few more times, before giving up and throwing it in the nearby trash can. And before you even get the chance to look around for someone to lend you a working one, someone already holds an engraved, golden zippo lighter out to you. Holding the cigarette into the flame you take a deep drag of it, slowly releasing the smoke from your lungs and turn around to look at the person that fancy lighter belonged to.

Turning your head to the side you come face to face with a linen shirt, paired with denim jeans and dress shoes and as you take another drag of the cigarette you tilt your head up to see the amused smile of Daemon Targaryen. It was widely known that the brother of the head of the biggest law firm in Westeros enjoys a good party, but still you never thought it possible that you would meet him some day. Nevertheless, here he was, smoking a cigarette with you while his lilac eyes, wandered over your scarcely clothed body.

“Thank you…” You thank him quietly. Shrinking a bit under his intense gaze. You were usually quite confident, but the way he eyed you so flirty made even your face heat up with a shy flush.

“No problem at all. What are you doing out here all alone?” His voice is low and rough. His breath fanning over your ear as he leans down ever so slightly to talk to you over the loud music from inside and the people standing and talking around you.

“I um… I just got ditched my friend, so I came out here to smoke a quick cigarette before going home.” You shift your weight from one foot to the other. The heels slowly beginning to hurt already, despite only having arrived an hour ago.

“Or…” He says in a suggestive tone. “You could forget about your friend and come back inside with me. We dance, have a drink and when we are done I´ll drive you home.”

Daemon looks at you with an expectantly raised eyebrow.

You think his proposition through for a second, while you finish your cigarettes. On one hand you didn´t know anything about the man. On the other hand he was rather stunning and it would be a shame to waste the evening sulking alone at home.

“Alright. I didn´t put myself into this dress for nothing after all.” Throwing the cigarette stump onto the side walk, you let one hand wander over his chest as you walk past him to get back inside. Daemon follows close behind. His hands rest firmly on your waist to guide you towards the bar, where he orders each of you a drink and two shots. Both of which get downed rather quickly. The liquor burning down your throat and warming you from the inside, before you toast your cocktail to his glass of Gin and tonic.

“To us having a fun night and to hell with my friend?” You propose.

“To a fun night.” He replies clinking your glasses together.

The beverages empty quickly and once they are gone, you lay your hand in Daemon´s for him to pull you onto the dancefloor with him.

The music is so loud you feel as if your heart is beating in the same rhythm as it, while your back presses against his chest. Hands crossed behind his neck and his hands caressing your arms and guiding your hips once more. This time to grind against him. You wantonly follow his lead, allowing yourself to get lost in the music and the hot trail his touch leaves wherever it meets your skin.

You press yourself closer to him, feeling his already hardened length press perfectly between your lower cheeks as you dance on him.

Daemon´s watchful eyes rest on you all the while. Not a single one of your moves goes unnoticed. The way you sway your hips or grind them against his, the way one of your hands strays from his neck to run through your hair. Once you turn around to press your chest against his, your hands instantly tangling in his hair, his gaze falls to your lips. So full and soft and perfectly painted in a shade of red, that could only be described as scandalous. His nose teasingly rubs against yours. Unable to stay further away any longer and to test the waters. A motion that is met with you responding to it in kind. A lazy smile on your lips and your eyes fallen half close in anticipation of what´s to come.

An anticipation that, though it lasts only mere seconds, feels like it lasts a lifetime. But then, with one more blink, both your eyes close just as your lips meet. Through the heated caress the rest of the world gets shut out of the little bubble the two of you share. His lips hungrily nip at yours, locking them over and over again. Stealing your breath and breathing it back into your lungs with every new kiss. The beat of the music that previously ran through your body is now replaced by the thrumming energy and burning need you feel from the softness of his hair, the warmth of his skin, the softness of his shirt under your fingers and the roughness of the pads of his hands that tightly hold your face.

Daemon´s tongue swipes out to press against your lower lip soon after. Licking over them to silently ask for entrance. To which your lips readily part, your togue entering a passionate dance with his that allowed you to explore each other´s mouths. Pulling each other impossibly close, he pushes you against the nearest wall.

“I think we should get out of here. Now.” You breathe heavily as you part from him, barely enough to speak the words. The look in his eyes tells you that sentiment is enthusiastically returned.

“Yes. Yes, we should.” He concurs.

Despite you only living only a few minutes away from the club, the drive there feels just as endless as the second before your first kiss. Your hand rubs restless circles into Daemon´s thigh. Your fingers venturing dangerously close to his crotch, as he speeds along the streets. Your kisses to his neck making the air in the car is so thick you could cut it and maybe it is just your fantasy running wild, but you think the windows are foggy from the heat between the two of you and the heavy breathing.

When he parks in front of your place, you all but jump out of the car. Barely even waiting until he walked fully around the car, before your hands are all over each other again. Daemon messing up your hair with one as he grabs your chin with the other. Your hands caress his strong chest through the unbuttoned top of his shirt. At the same time the two of you stumble over to the door. Your hands only let go of him to fish for the keys in your purse. Which all in all could have taken a lot shorter if you would have been able to peel away from each other, but alas. You finally make it inside where, as soon as the door closes, you start to lose your clothes, starting by kicking off your shoes, the mix of fabric ends up forming the beeline to the bedroom that you take.

There, he pushes you onto the mattress, climbing on top of you. Trailing sensual, but impatient kisses down your chin, stopping to nibble and suck some marks into the soft skin at your neck, to then continue their way over your collar bones to your breasts. Closing his lips around one nipple, took the other between two fingers. Sucking and twisting on them until your back arched off the bed and your mouth fell open in a silent scream. Only then he trails further down, pausing here and there to suck more marks into her soft flesh. Laving some extra attention onto your hip bones, until he reaches your thighs.

In one swift motion he pulls your legs over his shoulders and settles down so his lips press right up to the lips between them.

“Please, Daemon…” You let out a shaky plea, pressing your body closer to him.

Daemon presses countless little pecks all around your core, everywhere but where you need him most. Pulling more insistent pleas from you. The way he blows air onto your now near dripping core doesn´t do anything to soothe the fire in your veins either. Bucking your hips once more, with another whimper of his name, but all that did was bring his hands to your hips to hold you down firmly.

“Patience.” He reminds you with an amused tone while clicking his tongue.

It´s hard to stay patient though, when his tongue laps at your core so deliciously and yet torturously slow. It has you whimpering and whining uncontrollably. After a few more minutes of teasing he finally lets his tongue dive deep into your pussy. Licking a big stripe up until it reaches your sensitive clit. The action pulls a moan from you.

“Oh gods you taste so sweet…” He groans. After that Daemon is unstoppable.

He laps at you like a man starved. Drinking in every last drop of your sweet juices, just as he does your sounds of pleasure. Suckling on the small bundle of nerves, he brings two of his fingers up to your entrance. With how wet you are already, they slide in without any problems.

“Fuck…” You curse under your breath.

“You´re so wet, princess. All for me.” He whispers against your heat.

“Feels so good, Daddy.” The word just slips out in the heat of the moment, but by the looks of it, he doesn´t seem to mind it much. In fact he really seems to like it. Pumping his fingers in and out of you even faster and deeper than before. Pulling the most lewd sounds from your core.

Daemon soon adds a third finger, stretching your tight walls even further. The feeling so delicious it has you writhing underneath him and with how deep his fingers reach inside your cunt, they are bullying your sweet spot. Dancing black dots cloud your vision. Your eyes shut tightly, your hands desperately grabbing at the sheets and his hair in an attempt to ground yourself. When he moans against your clit you feel closer to the edge than ever. You barely even feel your toes curl. However you very much feel your orgasm subsiding right before it crashes over you.

“Nooo…” You let out a long drawn whine. Earning yourself a slap to the inside of your thigh.

“Be patient now. You will come around my cock. Can you do that?” He rasps.

“Yes, daddy.” You nod quick.

“Good girl.” Your eyelids flutter at his praise.

Then he shatters your hope of reaching your peak any time soon, by going back to pressing his lips to your wet heat. His fingers find their way back into your entrance and with that familiar stretch and the bullying of your sweet spot he brings you close to another peak. By now a thin sheen of sweat had settled over your skin and you were panting, struggling not to just stumble over the edge of pleasure that he brought you to. It was so close. So easy to take and yet it got taken from you every time. You are barely able to count how many times he has given you this treatment when Daemon removes his fingers from your cunt to lick them clean with a hum of satisfaction. Your brain is foggy with want and need, desperate for release. He can see it in the way your eyes, which never leave his, glaze over.

One more time the promise of coming gets into sight. This time, destroyed by his tongue entering your pussy. Fucking into you deeply, creating the lewdest noises yet.

You writhe on the bed, trying to get away from him in overstimulation and get closer to him to finally finish at the same time. Pleading with Daemon to slow down, but he continues devouring you, his fingers flicking at your fucking you with his tongue. Tears of pleasure and overstimulation stream down your face as he continues his ministrations, moaning against your cunt. The vibrations only serve to tease you further and right when you feel like you truly can´t take it anymore and he is finally have some mercy and is going to let you come on his tongue, he pulls away once more. Patting you on your core as you cry out. To say you are desperate is an understatement. A sentiment which he revels in. The sight of you so blissed out and incoherent for him even though he had just started made him beyond proud. Crawling back up on top of you, he presses a kiss to your cheek, right beside your ear.

“You´re doing so well for daddy. Such a good girl.” He whispers in your ear, before rasping into the other. “Are you ready for your reward?”

You hear the words, but are too far away in your mind to understand most of what he is saying.

“Please, daddy…” Are all the words that are left on your mind.

His chuckle sounds rough against your lips and he smirks into the sloppy kiss with which he seals your lips. One that you barely possess the strength to reciprocate.

And before you have time to come back from the world you are currently in, he enters your wet core.

A long gasp leaves you as he knocks the air out of your lungs again. You never thought it was possible for him to stretch you out more than he did with his fingers, but here you were. Undoubtedly he is the biggest you have ever had. Easily filling you to the hilt before he bottoms out. You are unable to lie still beneath him. Your back lifts off the mattress until your breasts press against his strong chest tightly. Your hands let go of the sheets to find his back. Nail raking red streaks on his perfect skin, before they dig into his shoulders, in an attempt to ground yourself even the tiniest bit. Though that gets thwarted by your own legs. On their own accord they move to wrap around Daemon´s waist to pull him impossibly closer. Your moans raising from quiet sounds to almost scream, that if you would be coherent enough to care, you would be insecure about that the neighbors would hear. Daemon´s own groans grow louder as your walls begin to flutter around his cock. And when he brings his hand down to rub small and fast circles in your oversensitized clit, you can hold it no longer.

“I´m so close. I can´t… I can´t…” You stutter between whimpers and gasps.

“It´s okay, baby. Let go for me. Soak my cock with your sweet juices.” His words sent you flying over the edge with one last scream of his name. The waves of your orgasm crash over you and pull you under with an intensity you had never felt before. Your cunt clenches around his shaft, pulling the most heavenly sounds from him. He follows you off the cliff of pleasure very soon after.

His thrusts becoming even deeper and sloppier as his groans grow louder. And then stills as he buries himself deep inside of you to paint your inner walls white with his hot cum. For a moment you just lay there. His weight is near crushing you underneath him, yet you don´t care. All you can focus on is the gentle touch of his sweaty forehead on yours and the way your chests heave against each other from the previous exertion. Yet, when he rolls off you, you are still not entirely back to reality. An incoherent whimper leaves your lips at the loss of contact.

“Shh. I´ll be right back, but we need to get you cleaned up.” He coos.

Once the two of you are all cleaned up and he got you something to drink, Daemon lays back down beside you. He pulls your half asleep form into his arms with your back to his chest. Reveling in his warmth you slip off to slumberland in a matter of seconds.

The next morning you woke up with your head laying on his chest. His breath making it rise and sink evenly. And as if he wouldn´t have looked like royalty before, in the golden rays of the sun, he looks even more so. You get overcome by the tingling feeling of needing to bite him and so you softly nibble on the muscle above his heart. The action gets him to stir in his sleep, before he wakes up with a surprised moan.

“Good morning…” His voice is gravelly from being unused for so long.

“Morning.” You smirk up at him as you kiss your way further down his body.

“What… What are you doing?” With him clearing his throat, you mentally bid farewell to his morning voice. Which had desire pooling between your thighs. Aching thighs as you only now realize.

“Just wanting to make you feel as good as you did me last night.” You again stop to nibble on his thighs. The muscles there tense under your doings, making the grin on your face grow wider. Daemon lets out a shaky breath, leading one of his hands to your head. Grabbing your hair to get it out of your face. In the process he manages to tug on it slightly. The dull pain on your scalp making you bite your lip. In his eyes you can see an amused twinkle at the sight. Yet you notice his cock already standing at attention all the same. After a few breaths you lower your head back down to place a few soft kisses down his shaft, to his balls. There you proceed to kiss and lightly suck on the sensitive skin until his dick twitched. Laving some more attention on them, you lick a stripe up the underside of his shaft until you reach the flushed, weeping tip.

You go to lightly suck on it and in a reflex Daemon´s legs flex once more. Placing some kitten licks on his hardness that have his breath catching in his throat.

“Fuck, don´t tease...” He pants above you as you take his length in slowly, bit by bit. Flattening your tongue and hollowing out your cheek you do as he says. Coaxing a breathy moan from deep inside his chest.

Beginning to bob your head up and down in a slow, steady rhythm you bring on of your hand to his stones. Massaging them with feather light touches. The hand on your head pushes you down further and you let him guide you to a faster pace. Unable to hold back a moan as he hits the back of your throat. The vibration pulling a groan from him in return. You hollow out your cheeks once more, focusing on your breathing and your hand playing with his testicles and your tongue swirling around his length, which twitches again in your mouth as he takes over guiding your head up and down.

With every time he brings your head down on his cock he pushes it deeper into your throat, making you gag and bringing tears to your lower lash line. The sight is so pretty to him. Like nothing he had ever seen. Daemon´s head falls back onto the pillow behind him, yet his eyes never leave yours. Too taken by you. The sounds coming from so deep within him countless and like music to your ears. On instinct you rub your legs together feeling a sharp sting from his previous night’s activities.

Too soon you see him suck in his stomach and hear him let out that telling groan of your name. Hollowing out your cheeks one last time, you take his cock in as deep as you can, letting him spill his climax down your throat.

Letting his dick out of your mouth with a pop, you swallow all his seed. Opening your mouth and stick out your tongue to show him that nothing had gone to waste. Daemon gives you a satisfied smile and then pulls you up to meet your lips with his in a passionate dance of tongues. Tasting remnants of himself on yours, he moans into the kiss, letting his hands wander over your breast.

Another sharp pain surges through your core and you pull away slightly.

“Still sensitive?” He asks with a chuckle.

“Yeah.” You smile.

“Alright, come here…” Daemon pulls you close to his chest again. Cuddling up close to him, you pull the blankets over you and rest against him.

“You know…” He speaks up again, nuzzling his nose into your cheek. “I could almost get used to getting woken up like this.”

You lower your head in laughter, biting his chest once more. “Is that so? Well, maybe you should ask me out on a date then…”

“Yeah. Maybe I should.”

#daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon x you #daemon imagine #daemon targaryen imagine #modern hotd au #modern hotd #modern house of the dragon au #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fic #house of the dragon fic #hotd x reader #hotd x you #house of the dragon x reader

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queenvhagar · 2 months

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"Average Team Green fan is bastardphobic" "Team Green thinks irl bastards are worse than other people" "Team Green fans are bad people because they actually don't like bastards"

Not sure if y'all know this but... fiction is not real life, and recognizing or discussing the actual dynamics of a cruel and unjust fictional world as it is written by the author does not equal an endorsement, promotion, or adoption of those elements or beliefs as they exist in that fictional world or in real life.

In real life, I and likely most if not all Team Green supporters could care less about the institution of marriage as one of making legitimately born babies. Personally I don't care if your parents were married to each other. Many people don't get married and still have families together. Children are children, people are people. Luckily in the modern world, in many places, having children out of wedlock is not really even that much of a taboo anymore. People can do what they want as long as they're happy. If I get married and/or have kids ever, that's my own business. I have no specific duties expected of me by my family or the world and the messages coming from society that I as a woman need to be married and make babies before I get too old? I can just ignore that. Nothing happens if I do.

In the fictional world of ASOIAF though, this is very clearly and unequivocally not the case at all. Westeros is obsessed with blood and bloodlines. Blood brings power. Blood continues power. The blood and the name together bring power. Great houses intermarry to bring themselves more power and alliances, under the agreement that the next generation will share the blood of their parents and families and that blood will preserve their power and status as it has for generations. This is essential to feudalism and the way that power and inheritance works (in Westeros and in the real-life history upon which it was based).

This is why it's such a taboo to have or be a bastard in Westeros, and why it's illegal to try to place a bastard in the line of succession. Marriage alliances are built on the principle that the trueborn children made from those matches will come from those particular parents and pass down that particular family's blood. If someone without that blood tried to claim that name and power, people would view that as the family losing the power they've held for generations. They would see it as an injustice. Wars would be willing to be fought over it. It's an indisputable fact that in this world trying to place a bastard in the line of succession will lead to bloodshed. This is especially the case for the Iron Throne. If you don't agree, read the source material and rethink how this world views women, bastards, bloodlines, and the right to the throne.

I'm not sure when people started thinking that the discussion of in-universe conflicts and issues as they exist in fictional worlds actually reflects on an individual's real life personal values or feelings. People knowledgeable of the world of ASOIAF criticize the character of Rhaenyra for birthing three obvious bastards (while she is already on rocky political ground as the first woman named heir) and then attempting to unsuccessfully gaslight everyone into thinking they are legitimate heirs despite the opposite being so clearly true. This criticism stems from knowledge and awareness of the world, beliefs, and laws of Westeros (that Rhaenyra herself also knew but believed herself to be the exception to). Yet when people point out how dangerous or stupid it was of her character to do this, knowing everything that is known about the world of ASOIAF and this specific conflict, suddenly stans feel the need to defend the vision of her that exists in their heads (one incorrectly furthered by the show's adaptation of the character as a modern feminist girlboss who can do no wrong) and make up fake scenarios or claims about the world of ASOIAF or about the critics to support their incorrect takes.

Saying Team Green fans, those who are not a fan of Team Black, or those who criticize the show's adaptation are bastardphobic in real life is similar to those Team Black stans who claim that Aegon's actor is a morally corrupt rape apologist because he plays a character who got written to be a rapist (likely after he was cast, by the way) or people who say authors shouldn't write a scene about murder or murderers because it endorses or promotes such behavior. Y'all really out here rewriting the Hays Code and essentially campaigning for censorship of media because you can't distinguish between real life and fiction. It's crazy that media literacy is at such an appalling state, though unfortunately it's clear that certain forms of internet fandom have really exacerbated issues that have already existed. Now, any character can be shoehorned into specific categories or types or memes that fit their understanding of media and those who disagree or desire actual thought, complexity, and analysis to go into stories or characters apparently shouldn't have a voice or platform to express their point of view, or if they do, it means something about them as a real-life human beyond this person is interested in discussing the story.

I've previously expressed that despite the fact that I love this story as a truly a morally gray conflict with gray characters that tells a rich sociopolitical story of a family tearing itself apart for power, and despite the fact that there are no winners, heroes, or correct sides to this conflict, I would call myself a Team Green supporter. And largely this is due to the lack of media literacy and understanding of the source material that the writers and general audience (see: uncritical Team Black fans) seem to have and the absolutely insufferable ways that they seem to constantly want to demonstrate to everyone that actually they're right and correct in their surface-level takes.

#hotd critical #anti team black stans #team green #media literacy

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arabellasleopardcoat · 6 months

Text

Wolf (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon inherits the Red Keep. He turns it into a sex club. You know, as one does.

Warnings: Modern Daemon x Hightower reader. Smut. Dom/ Sub dynamics. Overstimulation.

A/N: Daemon's views do not represent my own! Pt 2 to this. There is no need to read pt 1 to understand it, though. Also, do not learn BDSM from fanfic.

You sighed. You dropped your head, smashing the keyboard. This was unbelievable. Had your CV always looked so bland?

You erased the keysmash, and put instead, five years of experience as an CDO.

The door to your office was slammed open, making you jerk in your seat. You looked up, an annoyed remark already on your tongue, and froze. Daemon. Because who else would barge in so rudely?

“Your whorish sister is suing me.” He sat down, dramatically slumping down on the chair. “Make it stop.”

Your eyebrows raised.

“Good morning to you too.” You closed the tab you were browsing in, job offers in King's Landing, and looked up at him. It was the first time you had seen each other since the elevator incident. So far, you were unimpressed with his opening gambit. “Alicent is the most monogamous person in Westeros.”

“It was a figure of speech.”

“Whatever. I am busy.” You typed even more furiously. You had all tabs closed, but Daemon didn't need to know that. It gave you an excuse to avoid looking at him. After that afternoon in the elevator, you were too embarrassed to do so.

Despite having been the one in control the whole time, you were the one who felt more ashamed of your encounter. Once the power trip had worn off, and you had faced reality, embarrassment had started to creep in. Sitting in your father's car with a bruised throat and soaking wet underwear had been humiliating enough. Just thinking of it made you hot under the collar, and not in a good way.

Daemon, instead, had the shamelessness of a porn star. To him, it hadn't been a big deal at all, and it showed. He strutted around the building, giving you naughty little grins every time your paths crossed. The only change had come, oddly enough, from following his real Instagram. You had been added to his Close Friends and now endured the terrible, inhuman torture of watching his selfies. If his mirror pics showed any more skin, they would be dick pics.

“You won't even ask why I am being sued?”

You sighed. You stopped feigning typing.

“I don't need to ask. I can guess it has to do with the contesting of your brother's will.”

Good Gods, you had heard enough of that. Alicent was clawing at the walls and frothing at the mouth that she was getting evicted from her home. Viserys had left her a considerable amount of money and properties, just as he had done for their children. But the Red Keep, the ancestral home in which she had lived ever since they married, was going to Daemon.

Your father was impossible, too. The majority of Viserys' share had gone to Daemon and Rhaenyra, which meant they could easily kick him out of the company. If they managed to agree on something, of course.

“It does.” Daemon kicked his feet up, placing them on your desk. He made a show of getting comfortable.

“There. Out of my office. I'm working” You slapped what you could reach of his feet and calves, until he had no choice but lower them.

“Fuck, you are so…” Whatever Daemon was going to say, he didn't get the chance. You slammed your laptop closed with much more force than necessary, making him wince. “Stop that. Seven Hells, you are so uptight. Relax. It doesn't matter. It’s not like you will hold this job much longer.”

“Is this my notice?” Your eyes narrowed. “Because you need to present it written, and I have to…”

“I just mean, when Rhaenyra gets the…” Daemon started saying, but once again, you did not give him the chance to finish. If he was going to interrupt you, you were going to interrupt him too. Petty as it sounded, it brought you great satisfaction to see him squirm.

“When Alicent, Aegon, Aemond, Helaena and Daeron, you mean.” You smirked.

“God, what a mouthful.” Daemon laughed. It was annoying. His laugh was so loud and unashamed. You wanted to punch him. Or, at least, shake him and see if his only two neurons made synapse.

“Whatever.” You started to get up, grabbing your coat. Where were you going? Not even you knew, but it would be fine, as long as it was away from him.

“They could fire you still.” Daemon got up as well, blocking the exit. There was no escaping him, it seemed.

“I'll take my chances.” You snarled. Fuck, you didn't even mind Rhaenyra that much. It was the principle of the thing. What had she done for the company? Both she and Daemon just rode Viserys and Otto's success, spending money like it grew on trees and causing so many PR scandals they could as well be a controversial rock band. “Move.”

“It's still going to Rhaenyra.” Daemon placed a hand on your shoulder, holding you in place. His grip wasn't harsh, but rather, a warning. It made you think of the way he had tugged your hair, when you were on your knees… “Your sister is suing me because I want to put a sex club on the Red Keep.”

You choked on air.

“You want to do what?!”

“It's an historical building. Or so she says.” Daemon ignored you completely. To him, apparently, filling one of his ancestral properties with a bunch of naked, drunk people, was the new normal. You know, just what one does, if one is filthy rich and bored on a random Tuesday.

“It is one.” You said, a bit perplexed. The Red Keep was more than a hundred years old. Alicent had taken great care to restore the place, bringing experts from all over the world to ensure the best care for the building. You could not even imagine the look on her face when she realized that not only was she being evicted, but that also, Daemon intended to use her home as his sex dungeon.

How would that even work? Was it legal? Tourists visited the Red Keep, you knew. The place was nice, but it was a castle. You could not picture it as a club, or anything more than the home it had been for your nephews.

“The inauguration is on Friday. See you there.” Daemon clapped your shoulder, oddly sheepish. He seemed to actually want you there, which threw you for a loop. He kissed the corner of your mouth, and left, leaving you stunned in the middle of your office.

It ate at you the whole week. A few discreet inquiries confirmed that yes, Alicent sued Daemon. And then, Daemon sued back.

His official Instagram says nothing. His secret one, though, has it plastered all over. You make a note of it, sure that it will leak before the week is over. You get it right. The week passes in a flurry of desperate interns and phone calls, trying to calm down outraged members of the board. His face is all over the news, and the stocks drop. Again.

Your father is furious. Positively seething. Alicent is no better, especially the more Friday approaches. Each day that goes by, it’s one closer to losing her claim on the Red Keep altogether.

It had been a foolish choice, choosing Aemond as a lawyer. He was precisely the kind of man who never knew when to negotiate. If it had been up to you, you would have hired his associate, Alys Strong. Now that was a woman who you could respect.

You tried pretending deafness and blindness, clinging to the idea that out of sight was out of mind. It didn't work whatsoever. You couldn't stop worrying about what would happen if anyone found out about your rendezvous with Daemon last month.

Death, surely. Either throttled by Alicent, or out of sheer embarrassment of your father learning you had sex.

You should stay away from him. It was the reasonable thing to do. A one-night stand didn't mean anything. Everyone had those. Daemon was trouble. But gods, the look on his face when you had left him wanting. How powerful you had felt. Anyone would have trouble letting that go.

Friday dragged by, and you still had not made your choice. You agonized over it all day. It was only when you got off work that you made your choice. You were going, if only to see the clusterfuck with your own eyes.

Daemon had that kind of effect on you. It reminded you of the magicians at the birthday parties you used to attend as a child. He made you recklessly curious, always wanting to see what would be his next trick.

Deciding what to wear was another agonizing choice. Overall, it didn't matter. You realized as soon as you entered the Red Keep that you were overdressed. If you had shown up only in your panties, perhaps you would have blended right in.

It was tacky. It was tasteless. It screamed Daemon.

The Red Keep layout was kept the same, probably because it was an historical building and anything but would go against the conservation’s laws. All the furniture had been removed, making you barely recognize the rooms you passed. This was no longer your sister's home, but a den of sin.

The rooms were only lit by red lights, the heavy bass of some song that was probably in the Fifty Shades of Grey soundtrack echoing in the stone walls. You made your way to what used to be the dinning room, and walked towards the bar.

Tonight was meant to be a soft launch, and you intended to take advantage of the lowered prices. You asked the bartender to bring you a cocktail, but much to your surprise, the cocktail did not come alone. Instead, it came with a pamphlet and a small basket, filled with colorful bracelets.

“You have to wear one, Miss.” The bartender said. You stared.

When you were confident about what they each meant, you grabbed a purple one and placed it on your wrist.

“Switch.” Daemon whispered in your ear, startling you. “Are you sure about that?”

“Good Gods! You frightened me.” You complained, clutching your chest. To be able to speak to him over the loud music, you had to lean into his space quite a bit. By the smirk on his face, he was clearly enjoying it.

“I live for that. Frightening naive little girls.” Daemon gave a tug to the bracelet, letting it snap against your skin. “Sure about the color?”

“I am.” You moved back, scowling. You hated that he always wanted to command everything around him. The bracelet on his wrist was dominant red, making perfect sense.

“I would not say you are.” His hands were quick to catch you, one at your hip and another at your nape. Daemon ran a finger down your spine, making you shiver. “I think you are a little princess who loves submitting.”

“I am not a sub all the time.” You pushed his hands away. If anyone saw you practically on his lap, there would be hell to pay. Alicent would throw a fit, and so would your father. Besides, you didn't fancy ending up in the tabloids. “And get your hands off me, we are in public.”

“Look around, you prude. Practically an orgy.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, and gently tilted you to face some couches in the other room. There were two women kissing, while a man was kneeling between their spread legs. None of them were wearing any clothes. You swallowed. You had been carefully avoiding looking at the others in the room. “And you are a submissive to me. You know what they say…”

“And what gave you that impression?” Your tone was sharp, but you were not as invested in the conversation as you once were. No. Because your eyes were fixed on a younger man, lingering by the corner of the room. A very familiar one, with silver hair. Was that..?

Whoever caught your attention, he was not allowed it long. Daemon stepped in front of you, blocking your view of him. One of his hands went to your face.

“Looks like one.” He pressed a kiss to your neck, open-mouthed. You hated your treacherous, treacherous body for reacting to it, a moan escaping your mouth. “Sounds like one.” Daemon kissed you, exactly at the pace that you liked. For some bewildering reason, that not even you could fathom, you kissed back. “Tastes like one. Must be one, don't you think?”

Daemon grinned at you, superiorly. Irritatingly, and just like that time in the elevator, you weren't sure if you wanted to slap the smile off his face, or kiss it away.

“I do not look submissive.” You bristled. “What in the Seven Hells gave you that impression?”

“Your eyes are all glazed over. You look fucked out and I haven't even touched you. And of course…” Daemon brushed the slope of your nose with a finger and gave it a boop. You batted his hand away, annoyed. “The fact that you were practically drooling to suck my cock a month ago.”

“First of all, that is not even a word. And you said it yourself. A month ago.”

“What? Glazed over or fucked out?”

“You sound like a bad porno.”

“A bad porno you like, little brat.” Daemon nosed along your shoulder, making your knees feel weak. He had the face of a man experiencing heaven, as if the tastiest delicacy was just there, for him to consume. “Lucky you, I love brats.”

“As if I care.” You did, but Daemon didn't need to know that. Part of you felt strangely pleased at being his type.

Daemon laughed. He kissed the tip of your nose.

“You owe me a punishment. Up for it?”

And again, contradicting all common sense, you nodded. Daemon grabbed your hand and brought you to a closed door, but before you could get in, someone pressed into your side.

“Aunt. How lovely.” Aegon said, smiling like a shark. You felt so embarrassed that you felt as if about to spontaneously combust. Daemon's arm around your waist tightened.

“Dear nephew!” Daemon smirked. “Fancy meeting you here. Tell me, how did you get in? Fake ID?”

Aegon was well over legal age, but he glared at Daemon regardless.

“With the invitation you sent me.” He then waved a hand towards you. “Does Mother know about this?”

“Well, yes. But I wasn't expecting you to show.” Daemon said, casually. Your mouth fell open.

“You sent him an invitation? Are you insane?” You shouted, turning towards him.

“I take it Mother doesn't know.”

“I wasn't expecting him to come! How would I have known?” Daemon shouts right back.

“You are mad.” You detangle yourself from him and ask the bartender for a shot. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

You down the shot so fast, you barely feel the sting of alcohol in the back of your throat. Aegon watches, amused, and asks for a drink of his own. When faced with the basket, he immediately picks a submissive bracelet and slips it on casually.

“Nice place you got here.” He complimented. Daemon ignores him, choosing instead to grab you by the arm.

“I can explain, little Hightower.”

“Fuck, you call her that?” Aegon whistles, delighted. His voice has a hint of awe. “That's dirty.”

“Shut up!” You glare at Aegon. Daemon falls quiet. “No, not you, fool. Explain.”

“I sent one to your sister, to Cole, to your father, to that boy with the stick up his ass, to Harwin and Nyra, to Helaena, to…” Daemon was counting with his fingers, and it seemed like he wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

“I get it, I get it.” You interrupted. “What for?”

“To piss them off, of course. Gods know, some of those cunts need loosening up.”

“And Rhaenyra? Is she happy with what you have done with the place?” You snarl, a bit of jealousy creeping in your tone.

“Very. In fact, I saw her disappear over there with that Cole guy.” He pointed towards one of the rooms.

“Criston? Didn't think he had it in him.” Aegon comments idly.

“He is dornish.” Daemon interjected, as if it made perfect sense. But it didn't because being dornish didn't equate with wanting to receive whatever Rhaenyra had in mind. You certainly wouldn't be up for it. Your paths had crossed with hers enough times to know that, just as Daemon, she demanded worship.

Whatever Criston was doing here, you hoped he didn't regret it in the morning. Or else, you would have to explain to Alicent why her bodyguard was moping around and hungover.

Alicent. Fuck. Criston wanted to fuck her so bad it made him look stupid, and so did Rhaenyra. Perhaps that was it. Neither of them could have her, so they settled for each other instead.

“And heavy on the guilt.” Aegon muttered.

“Well, dear nephew. As lovely as it was meeting you here, and as touching as your show of support for my fine establishment was, I have business with your aunt.” Daemon's hand presses against your lower back, urging you forwards. You give Aegon a wide-eyed look. He is not the sort to care where others stick their cocks, and you are on relatively good terms, but he could still tell.

“Gross. Does Grandfather..?” Well. No one said Aegon was the paragon of intelligence. It is for the best that you didn't answer his question. Plausible deniability and all.

Daemon and you exchange a look. Your eyes, pleading. His, annoyed.

“Anything he drinks is free.” Daemon grumbles to the barman. He knows as well as you do that Aegon is easily distracted.

“What? For real?”

Neither of you answered. Daemon kept moving, and so did you. He led you towards one of the locked doors, deftly pushing a token inside a slit, and the door opened for you.

Your expectations for what was inside were high. Needing a token to open a door must mean this place is something special. A dungeon, perhaps, or a room filled with chains and leather. Maybe even a bedroom.

But as you have often come to realize with men, having high expectations is a terrible idea. The only thing inside is a cozy-looking couch and a small table that holds a bowl full of condoms and lube. You are unable to keep the disappointed little frown from your face. Daemon had talked such a big game, you had expected something different. Something more.

“This is it?” You say, trying not to sound as disappointed as you feel.

“Yes.” Daemon sits down on the couch. You stare. You must be pretty obvious because he gives you a lazy smile. “Not what you were expecting?”

“No.” Entranced by the way his lips curl, you step closer to him.

“What were you expecting?” Daemon’s hands go to rest on your hips like it's the most natural thing in the world.

“I don't know. Whips, chains?”

Daemon chuckles.

“Oh, sweetling.” He kisses between your collarbones, mouth leaving a trail of scorching heat on its path. You gasp, feeling weak at the knees from the simple touch. Your hands go to his shoulders, clenching and unclenching on his shirt to try to steady yourself.

Thing about Daemon? He is not polite. He kisses your chest and shoulders as if he wants to devour you. Daemon is messy with it, too, leaving you covered in hickeys and saliva. It should disgust you, but it only manages to turn you on more.

The bass pounds outside the room, mixing with the heavy pulse of your blood in your ears. You could swear you can listen to your heartbeat, with how fast your heart is going. Little pants escape you, only encouraging Daemon to get wilder.

He mouths at your throat. He takes off your top, sliding it down your shoulders. You cling to him, trembling and feverish. Your nails dig into the skin of his back, you feel as if about to fall over.

“Please.” You say, and you don't even know what you are asking for. Daemon, though, seems to know exactly what you need. His hand sneaks into your trousers, finding you wet and willing. Your knees buckle.

“Shh.” His voice is soothing. “Straddle me.”

So you do. His mouth goes lower, taking one of your nipples inside his mouth. You give a small, keening sound.

“Daemon…”

“I'm on it.” He smiles against your skin and slowly starts to suck. His fingers move upwards, after collecting some of your wetness. He locates your clit with deadly accuracy and starts rubbing soft little circles.

You mewl. Your hand goes to his neck, holding him as close as you can to your chest. It's not hard for him at all to bring you over the edge. You fall over it embarrassingly fast, muffling a moan on his shoulder.

Daemon lightly bites around your nipple, making you jolt. He keeps stroking you through it, pleasurable circles on your clit turning into painful oversensitivity. You cry out, legs trying to close, but finding there is no way for you to do it with how you are straddling Daemon.

“Hurts. Stop, Daemon.” You complain, trying to get away. Instead of complying with your request, though, Daemon only holds you tighter.

“Now, little brat. Where do you think you are going?” He smirks. Alarmed, you try to break his grip, pushing at his shoulders and even attempting to cup a hand over your cunt. “I have not forgotten what you did.”

You bite at his shoulder, hard. Daemon laughs, and keeps abusing your poor clit. His fingers pinch around it, exposing more of the bead.

“What's your safeword?”

“Safeword.” You mutter back, too distracted to try to be creative. The burning sensation on your clit keeps you from it, rising and rising and making you think you are about to come again. Soon, the pain changes from a bright flame to tiny embers, making your hips chase his hand once more.

“Good girl. Clever.” He kisses your forehead. “If you don't say it, I won't stop, no matter how loud you scream.”

Your mind is at war with your nerve endings, and it's steadily losing the battle. No matter how hard you try to focus on the thought of being unable to come again this fast, your body seems set on proving the contrary.

You want to give Daemon a witty retort. Perhaps, say something about the lines of how he will disappoint yet again. Yet, you are unable to because a shrill moan is leaving your lips, and you are falling over the edge again.

Daemon, though, is relentless. He pushes a finger inside of you, searching for the spot that will make you scream. You try to close your legs, shield your body from him. It’s pointless. He has too good of a grip on you, one hand holding you open and teasing your clit, and the other fingering you.

He definitely knows what he is doing. You are suffering too much to enjoy it.

Your body jerks as if you have touched a live wire, stomach’s muscles quivering with the effort of holding you uprights. Sweat is starting to ruin your hair, making it stick to your nape and temples.

“No, no, no.” You push at him, trying to get away. This time, you half manage, falling off his lap and into the couch instead. Daemon just looks amused, and leans down to nuzzle your belly.

“Thank you.” He lifts your hips slightly, even as you start to try to kick him off. He removes both your trousers and underwear with a swift tug. “This will be so much easier.”

And so, he licks a long stripe through your folds. You moan, half pleasure, half protest. Daemon wraps his arm over your hip and pins you down. He then takes your clit into his mouth.

The feel of his warm mouth around your clit eases a bit of the soreness there. The pleasure has made you stupid, so you open your legs to give him better access. You can feel the smugness radiating off him as you submit.

He is a dragon, he will tell you later. And dragons eat naive girls like you for breakfast, dinner and supper, if they are stupid enough to let them get close.

Daemon pushes another finger inside you. The stretch feels unbearable, making you try to squirm once more, but he is moving his fingers in a come and hither motion; your body is going rigid, and you are screaming and falling and—

You lose count, after that. Your body feels abused, there are tear tracks on your temples. You feel feverish. You go in and out of consciousness, as Daemon laps at you, fingers you, rubs at you.

Time turns liquid. It slips through your fingers, moments at a time. You are not very conscious of your body, or of what Daemon is doing. There is only hot, molten pleasure and burning pain.

How much pleasure can a body take? Your hands push weakly at his head, moments later, you beg for him to use his tongue instead. He gives you a last one, forcing your body to arch and twist and making you sob desperately, before scooping you up in his arms.

Daemon's hands go to fix your top. You shake, afraid that he is going to continue and torture your nipples instead.

“No, no, no, no.” You chant. “Please. I am so sorry. Please.” You are barely aware of what you are saying. If you could hear yourself with a clear head, you would scoff at this pitiful woman who bends for the simplest things. You would scoff at her, just as you had scoffed at Daemon for being made into a slave to his pleasure.

“You won't do that again, will you?” Daemon licks your tears, and you cling to his shirt in desperation, willing to keep begging if necessary. Pleasure is as devastating a weapon as pain, you have found out. The line between the two blurs until you are not sure if you need his mouth on you again to soothe the pain, or if you need him to never touch you to stop hurting.

You shake your head. You would do anything Daemon wants.

He grabs you by the jaw, roughly.

“Say it.”

“I won't. I promise, please.”

Daemon hugs you to him. You melt, mind and body exhausted.

“You were good.” He tells you, after a while. You are not sure how much time has passed, but your head feels much more clear. “My brave girl.”

You cling to his reassurance. You tell yourself you have done good, that you endured and never even thought of the safeword. That your body was pushed to its limits, and that you were able to conquer them. Still, you ask.

“Was I good?”

“The best.” Daemon caresses your hips, drawing nonsensical patterns on the side of them.

“Thank you.” And you pull yourself together, one piece at the time. Your eyes focus, you can feel the way his chest constricts and expands with his breath. You righten yourself. “Water. I want a water.”

“You are back, I see.” He stares at you with none of the contempt he had displayed a month before. “Cunty little Hightower that you are, used to the lush life.”

“I do not think it too much to ask.” You scowl, more than ready for another round of banter. No matter how tired your body is, your mind is still sharp.

Daemon laughs.

“Get down from my lap and I will get you one.”

You do so, on shaky legs. You sit. Primly, as if not sitting naked in a sex club, but rather at the table of an important restaurant.

Daemon laughs at the sight you make, thoroughly fucked out but so damn composed it's nearly irritating. It almost makes him question if he has fucked you well enough. The tear tracks on your face seem to say so, but your demeanor says otherwise.

He comes back with your water, and you straighten a bit more. Your hands give you away, though. As sharp as your posture is, you are still shaking.

“You could come with me.” Daemon opens the bottle for you. “I would pay you.”

You feel as if you have been gutted. You are more than this, you think. A Hightower, an heiress in your own right. Not a trophy wife, not someone to be used and paid. You have a degree, you are smart. And you have sworn not to become like Alicent.

Viserys had been a kind godfather and mentor to you. He had not been a good husband to her.

“Be your sugar baby?” Already, you feel your walls rising back up. Why would he ask this of you? It must be a mockery of some sort, perhaps he has not forgotten how cutting your barbs to him once were. This must be Daemon getting his revenge.

Your mental retreat must be paired with a physical one, even if you do not realize it. Because Daemon is coming after you, his hands on your hips, pulling you back into his lap.

His face changes to something more serious. He rubs his nape, and you know, only by that gesture, that what comes next will be good. Daemon Targaryen does not do sheepish, you would say if asked. Yet here he is, blushing like a schoolboy. It makes something roar in you.

“While that sounds tempting, I like you too much for it. Respect you too much for it. But the club needs a presence on social media…”

You nearly smile. But you are a Hightower and you enjoy making him grovel. Daemon calls you a cunt for a reason, after all.

“Everyone would say I fucked the owner.” You whine, hiding your face on his neck so he doesn't see the ferocious smile on your lips. He must feel it against his skin, the most beautiful of curves, sharp teeth at his throat.

“So? Did you not?” Daemon asks because he is also an annoying asshole. The remark, even if teasing, makes something painful tighten around your chest. As much as you can pretend not to be bothered by it, this getting out would end you. Your father would die of a fit of rage, your sister would never speak to you again, not when the man you are fucking and working with is suing her to the Seven Hells and back.

Rabbits and other small prey animals freeze to avoid detection. You do the same. As if standing still may make you escape notice, will make Daemon unable to read the lines of your face and body.

“You don't have to say yes right away. You can think it over.” His hand rubs the small of your back, soft and sweet.

He can tell. Of course, he can, if the truth is written on your features so well, you might as well be shouting it from the rooftops.

Daemon smiles. He helps you dress, tenderly.

“Come. I'll drive you home.”

250 notes · View notes

k4marina · 2 days

Text

— 𝙞𝙞𝙞. 𝙎𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣 || 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣

synopsis: as plans to conqour westeros begin, daenerys and i are met with an unknown visitor

warnings: got cannon violence, war, battle nothing super graphic. this chapter follows the storylime of Stormborn (S7 Ep2) so spoiler warning ig

a/n: all dialogue italicized is in Valyrian & important note at the end!!

series masterlist

4.9k word count

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif found on pinterest]

“Your Grace summons you to the Painted Table.” The servant had said after I had gotten back to my room from my morning training. Daenerys had gotten busier in the last few weeks as she planned ahead for the upcoming war.

I found her standing by the fireplace with her back turned towards me and the table that was in the shape of the Seven Kingdoms. A few figurines of different houses of Westeros were laid out in their appropriate places.

“You called?”

She takes a moment to turn, collecting her thoughts.

“In a few days Olenna Tyrell, Ellaria Sand, and Yara Greyjoy will be here to pledge their allegiance to me and further discuss our plans to take the Iron Throne.” She rounded the table, walking closer to me. “But before they arrive is there anything I must know?”

I furrowed my brows, thinking back or ahead in the future? Nonetheless, I wracked my brain for anything that would be useful.

“Oh,” I remembered. “An ambush. There’s going to be an ambush.”

A flash of concern comes across her face. “Who?”

“Euron Greyjoy. After your meeting you ordered Yara to escort Ellaria and their troops to Sunspear. But along the way Euron ambushes them.” The whole ordeal was hard to read. Daenerys’ campaign was going so well until that point.

“It was catastrophic. So many died and so many ships destroyed they were still finding wreckage when I was born.” I turned towards the map, thinking back to where we were told the ambush had taken place.

“Here. 50 miles north of Sharp Point in Blackwater Bay.” I pointed out. “That’s where they were ambushed.”

“The damage?”

“Significant. Euron, Yara’s uncle, takes her and Ellaria Sand and her daughter as hostages for Cersie and imprisons them in King's Landing. And, his ships are equipped with Scorpions.”

She takes in a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. Her eyes look down at where I’ve pointed just a moment ago, weighing her options and thinking of a new plan.

“So what do we do?”

I smile. “I have a plan.”

—

Rain had been pouring down for the past three days and it showed no signs of letting up all while the entire castle prepared for the arrival of Houses Greyjoy, Martel, and Tyrell. I sighed, walking away from the floor to ceiling windows of the library and back to the roundtable full of books. With the rain getting heavier Grey Worm had decided to postpone my lessons which left me in the library of the castle, hunched over a mountain of books.

“Not very fond of the rain?” Missandei asks from the table, peering over a book. “I am. Just not very fond of the dreariness of it.” I reply, sitting down across from her. “It’s interesting how something as simple as the weather can change a person's entire mood.”

She nodded, setting the book aside. “In Essos it barely rained. Whenever it did, the sky would be clear and the temperature hot. Here, the rain is so…”

“Heavy.” I finished off. “Whenever the weather gets like this all I want to do is sleep.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Missandei beams. “I just want to curl up under the hearth with a cup of tea and a good book.”

I laughed, “after all the reading I’ve done, it’s the last thing I’d want to do when I’m relaxing.”

We both shared a laugh before falling into a pregnant pause. I could tell that she was still apprehensive about me. When she came to me this morning, asking to join me in the library, I was shocked. Out of council meetings and occasionally bumping into each other we had barely talked.

“You don’t trust me,” I said.

She watched my expression as she replied. “Can you blame me?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m glad that you are, though. I’d be more concerned if you’d blindly trust me. Especially with my.. sudden appearance.”

Out of everyone in Daenerys’ council I knew from the start that Missandei would be the hardest to build a relationship with. She’d been with Dany for years. She’d seen her at her lowest and highest. Which is why she would be one of my most important allies, other than Daenerys.

“You also don’t trust us,” Missandei says.

“Wrong,” I correct. “I trust Daenerys. You. Grey Worm, and Tyrion.”

“Not Lord Varys?” She asks.

“No. Varys is… different, in a lot of ways.” I needed to tread carefully. I couldn’t just outwardly say that he would betray Daenerys and be the reason why Misssandei would die. But, I could sew in the seeds of doubt.

“He’s.. somewhat unpredictable.” I pursed my lips. “His origin and journey is admirable, don’t get me wrong. It’s just his methods and means and history that are a bit questionable.”

Everyone knows that Varys has his “little birds” but they don’t know the truth behind them. Missandei didn’t say much after that, letting my words sit in her mind for the rest of the day. I knew what I had said had left her stumped and that she would tell Daenerys of our conversation. I just hoped that the seed had been planted deep enough.

—

The storm had raged on into the night. I was getting ready to turn into the night when a servant informed me of a small council meeting at the Painted Table. Quickly, I made my way over, seeing that everyone else was already there.

“I hope I’m not late.” I say to no one in particular. Missandei and Grey Worm give me a few nods while Tyrion and Varys watch Daenerys who had her back towards us, deep in thought.

“On a night like this, you were born,” Tyrion remarks.

“I remember that storm. All the dogs in King’s Landing howled through the night.” Varys adds.

“I wish I could remember it.” Daenerys says, finally turning around. Her face was somewhat stoic as she walked over to the table. “I always thought this would be a homecoming, this doesn't feel like home.”

She’s upset, I noted. Did Missandei and I’s conversation work?

“We won’t stay at Dragonstone for long.” Tyrion reassures.

“Good.” She says, looking at the figurine on the table. “Not many lions.”

“Cersie controls fewer than half of the Seven Kingdoms. The lords of Westeros despise her. Even before your arrival, they plotted against her. Now…” Varys says. I don’t know why but the tone of his voice makes me want to jump into the sea.

“They cry out for their true queen? They drink secret toasts to my health?” Daenerys walks closer to Varys, almost as if she were sizing him up. “People used to tell my brother that sort of thing, and he was stupid enough to believe them.”

Everyone in the room watches carefully as she picks up a dragon figurine from the table. “If Viserys had three dragons and an army at his back he’d have invaded King’s Landing already.”

“Conquering Westeros would be easy for you. But you’re not here to be the queen of the ashes.” Tyrion interjects.

“No,” Daenerys puts down the dragon figure.

“We can take the Seven Kingdoms without turning it into a slaughterhouse,” I say. “We already have three great houses supporting your claim.”

“I agree,” Tyrion nods my way. “With the Tyrell army and the Dornish on our side, we have powerful allies in the south.”

Daenerys looks at Varys. “I never properly thanked you for that.” Though, her voice lacked any bit of gratitude.

“They joined our side, my queen, because they believe in you.” Vays says.

“You served my father, didn’t you, Lord Varys?”

“I did,” He replies.

“And then you served the man who overthrew him?” Her tone shifted.

“I had a choice, Your Grace– serve Robert Baratheon or face the headsman's axe.” Varys says defensively.

“But you didn’t serve him long. You turned against him.”

“Robert was an improvement on your father, to be sure. There have been few rulers in history as cruel as the Mad King. Robert was neither mad nor cruel. He simply had no interest in being king.” Varys countered.

“So you took it upon yourself to find yourself a better one.” She pressed further.

Tyrion, feeling the tension in the room, comes to Varys’ defense. “Your Grace,” Daenerys turns towards Tyrion. “When I was ready to drink myself into a small coffin, Lord Varys told me about a queen in the east who–”

“Before I came to power,” Daenerys turned back to Varys, “you favored my brother. All your spies, your little birds, did they tell you Viserys was cruel, stupid, and weak? Would those qualities have made for a good king in your learned opinion?”

“Until your marriage to Khal Drogo, Your Grace. I knew nothing about you, save your existence and that you were said to be beautiful.” Varys deflects. Daenerys looks past and towards me.

“Are you sure?” I hummed, catching everyone’s attention. Varys’ face hardened and he glared towards me. “Because from what I remember, you’ve always known about Daenerys.”

I stepped forward, standing behind Daenerys. “Matter of fact, you were the one who planned Daenerys’ marriage to Khal Drogo with Illyrio.”

Varys opened his mouth to speak, but Daenerys beat him to it.

“You and your friends traded me like a prized horse to the Dothraki.”

“Which you turned to your advantage.” He was starting to panic. It was clear the Varys didn’t like to have his back against the wall.

“Who gave the order to kill me?”

“King Robert.” He replies quickly.

“Who hired the assassins?” She steps closer to Varys. “Who sent word to Essos to murder Daenerys Targaryen?”

“Your Grace,” you could hear panic set in his voice. “I did what had to be done–”

“To keep yourself alive.” Daenerys says firmly.

“Lord Varys has proven himself a loyal servant.” Tyrion says, trying to calm the situation.

“Proven himself loyal?” I scoffed.

“Quite the opposite.” Daenerys, turned towards her hand. “If he dislikes one monarch. He conspires to crown the next one. What kind of a servant is that?”

“The kind the realm needs.” Varys says firmly. “Incompetence should not be rewarded with blind loyalty. As long as I have my eyes, I’ll use them. I wasn’t born into a great house. I come from nothing. I was sold as a slave and carved up as an offering. When I was a child, I lived in alleys, gutters, abandoned houses. You wish to know where my true loyalties lie? Not with any king or queen, but with the people. The people who suffer under despots and prosper under just rule. The people whose hearts you aim to win. If you demand blind allegiance, I respect your wishes. Grey Worm can behead me or your dragons can devour me. But if you let me live, I will serve you well. I will dedicate myself to seeing you on the Iron Throne because I choose you. Because I know the people have no better chance than you.”

Silence lingers in the air as Varys’ words settle into the room. The rest watched the three of us carefully, holding their breaths.

“Swear this to me, Varys.” Daenerys’ voice is calm, and no longer holds any edge. “If you ever think I’m failing the people, you won’t conspire behind my back. You’ll look me in the eye as you have done today, and you’ll tell me how I’m failing them.”

Feeling satisfied that he’s in the clear, Varys stands straight. “I swear it, my queen.”

“And I swear this– if you even betray me, I’ll burn you alive.” She quickly warns.

Varys smiles. “I would expect nothing less from the Mother of Dragons.”

Amidst back and forth a servant had entered the room, informing Grey Worm of a visitor.

“Forgive me, my queen. A red priestess from As’shai has some to see you.”

––––

The doors to the throne room open, revealing a woman in red standing alone. She had red hair and dark red-ish eyes. Could this be?

The woman bows, her eyes linger on me before addressing Daenerys in Valyrian. “Queen Daeneys, I was a slave once, bought and sold, scourged and branded. It is an honor to meet the Breaker of Chains.”

“The Red Priests helped bring peace to Meereen. You are very welcome here. What is your name?” Daenerys replies.

“I am called Melisandre.”

“She once served another who wanted the Iron Throne.” Varys says from behind us. “It didn’t end well for Stannis Baratheon, did it?”

“No, it didn’t” Melisandre replies with no emotions.

Not only did it not end well for Stannis, but it also didn’t end well for his daughter who he burned alive under Melisandre’s orders, but if you ask her it was the “Lords” doing.

“You chose an auspicious day to arrive at Dragonstone.” Daenerys turns to look at Varys. “We’ve decided to pardon those who served the wrong king.”

Varys doesn’t reply and just bows his head, thankful that Daenerys hadn’t fed him to Drogon.

Daenerys turns back to Melisandre. “The Lord of Light doesn’t have many followers in Westeros, does he?”

“Not yet. But even those who don't worship the Lord can serve his cause.”

“What does your Lord expect from me?” Daenerys questions.

“The Long Night is coming. Only the prince who was promised can bring the dawn.”

I sucked in a breath through my nose. We were getting closer to Jon’s arrival and everything else that would follow suit.

“The prince who was promised will bring the dawn.” Daenerys repeats. “I'm afraid I'm not a prince.”

“Your Grace, forgive me, but your translation is not quite accurate.” Missandei corrects from the side. “That noun has no gender in High Valyrian, so the proper translation for that prophecy would be the prince or princess who was promised will bring the dawn.”

“Doesn’t really roll off the tongue, does it?” Tyrion comments.

“No, but I like it better.” Daenerys turns back to Melisandre. “And you believe this prophecy refers to me?”

“Prophecies are dangerous things. I believe you have a role to play, as does another. The King in the North, Jon Snow.” Melisandre explains.

“Jon Snow?” Tyrion says, shocked. “Ned Stark's bastard?”

“You know him?” Daenerys asks.

Tyrion nods. “I traveled with him to the Wall when he joined the Night's Watch.”

“And why do you think the Lord of Light singled out this Jon Snow aside from the visions you’ve seen in the flames, that is?” Varys inquired.

“As Lord Commander of the Night's Watch he allowed the Wildlings south of the Wall to protect them from great danger. As King in the North he has united those Wildlings with the northern houses so together they may face their common enemy.”

Even after hundreds of years after the events of this time, Jon’s heroism is still marveled upon. The North still remembers the King in the North.

“He sounds like quite a man.” I say.

“Summon Jon Snow. Let him stand before you and tell you things that have happened to him, the things that he has seen with his own eyes.” Melisandre urged Daenerys.

Tyrion nodded, “I can’t speak to prophecies or visions in the flames, but I like Jon Snow and I trusted him, and I am an excellent judge of character.”

“If he does rule the north, he would make a valuable ally. The Lannisters executed his father and conspired to murder his brother. Jon Snow has even more reason to hate Cersei than you do.” Tyrion added.

She glanced up from Tyrion to me, asking if it were true. I gave her a subtle nod and she turned back to Tyrion, smiling.

“Very well. Send a raven north.” She says. “Tell Jon Snow that his Queen invites him to come to Dragonstone… and bend the knee.”

–––

Our new allies arrived early in the morning, just as the sun rose over the horizon. I wore a black dress with a wool outer layer with silver clasps running from my collarbone to above my navel. The shoulders, forearms, and collar had a dragon scale pattern. It was simple, but still full of detail, but most importantly it kept me warm in this dreaded weather.The rain had stopped overnight, but the clouds had stayed, blocking any sunlight.

Everyone was gathered at the Painted Table, all ready and waiting for Daenerys to make her entrance. As I entered the room, conversation between our guests dulled down as they couldn’t look away. I didn’t have to look to know what they were thinking.

Another Targaryen?

The room was cold from the night's rain and the cold sea so I threw more wood into the hearth and stood by Missandei as we waited for Daenerys. I glanced around the room, watching as Yara, Ellaria, and Olenna talked but occasionally glanced towards me.

“They seem to be interested in you.” Missandei comments.

“I thought they’d have a bigger reaction,” I say. “Maybe a few jaw’s on the floor, or a few gasps of shock.”

Missandei chuckled. “I’m afraid all you’ll get is a few stares and gossip.”

“I guess I can take that.” I hummed.

The doors swung open as Daenerys entered. Everyone stood at attention as she made her way to the front of the room.

“I want to thank you all for making the journey to Dragonstone. Now, let us begin.”

Yara was the first to speak. “If you want the Iron Throne, take it. We have an army, a fleet, and three dragons. We should hit King's Landing now. Hard. With everything we have. The city will fall within a day.”

“If we turn the dragons loose, tens of thousands will die in the firestorms.” Tyrion shook his head.

Ellaria looked towards him with disgust, which was noticed by all. “It's called war. You don't have the stomach for it, scurry back into hiding.”

“I know how you wage war. We don't poison little girls here. Myrcella was innocent.” Tyrion bit back.

Ellaria scoffed. “She was a Lannister. There are no innocent Lannisters. My greatest regret is that Oberyn died fighting for you.”

“Oberyn was a grown man. He made his choice, no one can change that. Myrcella was a child, she didn’t do anything. I think we all here know that a child isn’t responsible for their fathers sins.” I said from the sidelines, giving her a pointed look.

“That's enough. Tyrion is the Hand of the Queen. You will treat him with respect.” Daenerys reminded. Both Tyrion and Ellaria backed down, Ellaria giving me one last look. “I am not here to be the Queen of Ashes.”

“That's very nice to hear.” Olenna said from across the table. “Of course, I can't remember a queen who was better loved than my granddaughter. The common people loved her, the nobles loved her. And what is left of her now? Ashes. Commoners, nobles, they're all just children really. They won't obey you unless they fear you.”

“I'm grateful to you, Lady Olenna, for your council. I'm grateful to all of you. But you have chosen to follow me. I will not attack King's Landing. We will not attack King's Landing.” Daenerys says, genuinely.

“Then how do you mean to take the Iron Throne? By asking nicely?” Olenna asks. I smiled at the older womens sass.

Daenerys looked towards me and I stepped forward. “We will lay siege to the capital, surrounding it on all sides. Cersei will have the Iron Throne, but no food for her army or the people.”

“But we won’t use Dothraki and Unsullied.” Tyrion adds. He walks around the carved table, “Cersie will try to rally the lords of Westeros by appealing to their loyalty, their love for their country. If we besiege the city with foreigners, we prove her point. Our army should be Westerosi.”

“And I suppose we’re providing the Westerosi?” Ellaria clarifies.

“You are.” Tyrion reached down, picking up a figurine that resembled a Kraken in a longship. “Lady Greyjoy will escort you home to Sunspear and her Iron Fleet will ferry the Dornish army back up to King’s Landing.” He walked over to the south of the map and picked up a figurine that resembled a sun. Taking both figurines, Tyrion places them at King’s Landing. “The Dornish will lay siege to the capital alongside the Tyrell army. Two great kingdoms united against Cersie.”

“So your master plan is to use our armies? Forgive me for asking, but why did you bother to bring your own?” Olenna asks Daenerys.

Tyrion reached down, picking up a figurine that looked like an Unsullied helmet. He walked around the map. “The Unsullied will have another objective. For decades House Lannister has been the true power in Westeros. And the seat of that power is Casterly Rock. Grey Worm and the Unsullied will sail for the Rock and take it.”

He stops in front of Casterly Rock, a lion figurine sitting on the Rock. Tyrion takes a moment before knocking over the lion with the Unsullied figurine to everyone's pleasure.

A clam settles and Daenerys addresses the room. “There is another matter to discuss.” Everyone looks at her, caught off guard. “I’ve come to learn that there will be an ambush in Blackwater Bay led by Euron Greyjoy under Cerseis’ order.”

“What?” Someone says.

“Your Grace,” Varys steps forward. “Forgive me, but I’ve heard no such thing to take place.” He eyes me suspiciously. “Perhaps you’re mistaken.”

“There have been no mistakes, Lord Varys.” Daenerys says. I moved to stand on Daenerys' side.

“Euron will strike at night.” I explain. “His ships are equipped with Scorpions, they’re deadly and will tare your ships to shreads.”

Yara’s face drops. “What the hell do we do? Our ships aren’t fully equipped to take on his.” Theon, behind her, is equally terrified.

“We know,” I say, calmly. “That is why I’ll be escorting you.”

“Forgive me, my dear, but what can you do?” Olenna asks.

“I’ll be on dragonback. I’ll be flying high enough to go unnoticed, but close by to help when the attack happens. There will be casualties on our end, that's certain, but this is war.” The others look at Daenerys and I in shock as they try to find the words to speak.

“But you’ve never flown into battle.” Tyrion says.

“So?” I shrug. “I’ll have to fight at one point, might as well start now.”

“My Lady, you’ve never flown out that far, you’ll be all alone.” Missandei says.

“No I won’t. I’ll have my dragon and I’ll have our new allies besides me.” I say, nodding towards Yara and Ellaria. “When I bent the knee to Daenerys and promised to get her the Iron Throne, I meant it. This is what I have to do.”

Daenerys gives me a reassuring look. She turned towards the room. “Do I have your support?”

Yara glances between Daenerys and I. “You have mine.”

“Dorne is with you, Your Grace.” Ellaria says.

Lady Olenna nods her head in agreement.

“Thank you all.” Daenerys says, somewhat relieved. “Lady Olenna, may I speak with you alone?”

Everyone bows and leaves the room. Before leaving I turned towards Daenerys, “I’ll go get ready for my departure.”

She nods. “Stay safe, sister.”

I smiled. “I will. When I’m back I’ll let you put a braid in my hair.” I say, leaving.

I stepped out into the hall and down to where my room was where everything was already ready for me. When I first had my conversation with Daenerys about the ambush I had also asked for some armor to be made for me. And with the help of the servants I was able to get into it quickly. It was simple but protective and it allowed me to ride my dragon without hurting either of us. I took two daggers that I’d also had made and placed them into their places on my hip.

Afterwards I headed to where the ships were docked and where Viserion was waiting for me. I stepped outside and saw everyone getting ready to leave. I spotted Yara and Theon were still on the docks giving orders to their crew.

“Is everything ready?” I ask.

“It is, My Lady. We’ll be leaving shortly.” Yara says.

“Good. You’ll leave first and I’ll be behind you not far off. We need to make it look like you’re alone and unsuspecting.” I explained. I glanced back at Theon who still hadn’t said anything, but had something on his mind. “Is something bothering you, My Lord?”

Theon looked taken aback, surprised that I was talking to him. “I’m not a lord.”

“You’re not?” I repeat. “You are Balon Greyjoy’s son, are you?”

He nods, not fully looking up at me.

“That makes you Lady Yara Greyjoy's brother, yes?”

He nods again, still not looking up.

“Then that makes you a Greyjoy, an Ironborn. You are every bit of a lord you are now and when you were born on Pyke, do not forget that. What’s happened has happened, no one can change that. All we can do is move forward. We Do Not Sow, yes?”

He nods, finally looking up at me.

––––

The ships had cleared out of the docks and were making their way into Blackwater Bay. I stood near the cliffs, ready to leave, when Tyrion came to stand beside me.

“What you’re doing is heroic, My Lady.” He says.

“I guess it is. I’ve never done anything like this.” I flexed my fingers. “My entire body’s buzzing. Was this what you felt before the Battle of the Blackwater and defeated Stannis’ army?”

Tyrion nodded. “It did. I felt like throwing up and shitting the floor at the same time.” We both laughed. “I had to drink a few glasses of wine to calm myself down. Perhaps it would help you, My Lady.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No, I’m fine. I need a clear head. But, you can save me that glass for when I get back. Then we can talk about everything that needs to be talked about. Don’t you agree?”

“I do.”

––––

It was pitch black and cold. The heat from Viserion’s body was still keeping me warm, but the cold wind blowing past my face was getting to me. Even from up there I could hear the waves crashing down which meant that I’d be able to hear when Euron’s fleet attacked.

“How you feeling, big guy? Good?” I asked Viserion. He let out a small purr, his entire body vibrating. I sighed, looking up at the sky above. The stars and the mood were my only light as we flew further out.

“Okay,” I say out loud. “Let's go over our plan. When they attack our ships we fly down and torch them, but we have to be careful not to get too close or else we’ll be caught and we have to watch out for the Scorpions. One hit with that and we’ll be recreating Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes. And keep your eye out for Euron, we need him alive.”

Viserion purrs again and I take that as a sign that he agrees with the plan. The last few weeks I’ve flown with him were good, we’d stay around Dragonstone, the furthest we’ve been was Driftmark, so this was a huge risk.

When I had explained to Daenerys my plan she was apprehensive. It was clear that she didn’t want either Viserion or I to get hurt, but she knew that we also couldn’t risk our fleet and our army.

A loud crash brought me out of my thoughts, and a glow erupted from below. The steady waves of the ocean now clashed against one another as Euron began his assault.

This was it.

“Now.” I command.

In an instant Viserion flies down past the clouds and we’re met with Eurons fleet fighting against Yara’s. Almost instantaneously my body and mind knew what to do. Without a word Viserion flew down and prepared himself.

“Dracarys.”

Fire erupts out of his mouth and lights the enemy ships below us ablaze. He lets out a loud scratch, gathering everyone's attention below before striking again. It takes them a minute before they aim their Scorpions up towards us. The massive arrows fly past us as Viserion weaves between them while burning Eurons fleet.

It doesn’t take long for the battle to die down, the air filled with the smell of burnt wood and flesh. Our fleet was damaged but Eurons was completely destroyed. Anyone who could have survived the dragonfire were either killed or taken hostage. Like planned, a Targaryen flag is flown under the Greyjoy’s on Yara’s ship, Black Wind.

–––––

Once I’d landed back on Dragonstone I quickly said goodbye to Viserion, letting him rest, and made my way down to the docks where everyone, minus Grey Worm, would be waiting for me.

Daenerys was first to see me, giving me a tight hug while the others nodded my way, smiling.

“Well done, My Lady. You’ve done well.” Tyrion says.

“Thank you, but we’ve still got work to do.”

Right on que, a ship comes into the docks. The crew works quickly to anchor down and disembark. The Ironborn and a few Dornish step off before Theon and a few of his men step off. He’s a little bruised, and he’s got dirt and ash on his face, but overall well. He bow’s towards Daenerys and I, giving me a small smile before he steps aside and allows his men in front who are dragging a beaten up Euron Greyjoy.

“We’ve got him, Your Grace.” Says Theon.

“Good,” Daenerys’ eyes never left the unconscious Euron. “Bring him to the dungeons.”

The men hull him off and everyone makes their way back into the castle. I turn over to Tyrion.

“Let’s have that drink.”

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!! A/N: I will be going on a hiatus for a few months. I've got some personal stuff going on so I won't be updating any of my series including this one. I don't know when I'll be back, but when I am I'll get you guys a new chapter so hang on tight. Thank you for all the support you've given so far. I know thing are only just getting started story wise but I have a lot to do and I'll make it up to you all when I'm back.

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isntitdelicatevivi · 1 month

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﹙𝓙 ﹚𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 ! 𝐀emond | Modern AU.

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♡ ◟𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 : You are a rock star. You, Aegon and Aemond are part of a band, and Aemond discovers that you are having sex with Aegon too, and he wants exclusivity. Chapter 1 (?).

♡ ◟𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 : 18+, rough sex, jealous sex, dirty talk, rage sex, fingering.

English is not my first language, sorry.

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It all started when she was fifteen. When her parents told her she would be a failure, and then, suddenly, as if her subconscious wanted to play a trick on her, she put her insecurities aside and began to work on herself. "I've never heard a voice like yours," was what her first singing teacher had said to her. "It's the kind of voice that deserves to be heard," was one of the comments from one of the vocal coaches who had examined her. And then, everything seemed to make sense. Even when she played alone in the empty parking lot of a shopping mall, or when she played in a bar, to a unique group of drunk men. Part of her was there just for the music, but the other part wanted more. She also wanted fame.

"You've got an email," said her roommate, in the first month of college, close to her seventeenth birthday, when she had almost lost hope that music would really work out. And that she would have to convince herself that the covers for the internet were nothing more than just fun. She clung to the thought that not every artist makes it to the top and becomes the bright star everyone wants to see. But... Her feelings weren't buried that deep, not at all. And she only realized this when she read the email. It came from a discreet agency, an email dictated and sent personally, to the next toy of two Targaryens.

The fusion of Aegon, Aemond, and her occurred like the awakening of a future in music, of course, initially there were those who said that real talent was not the band's strong suit, that Aemond and Aegon, the two brothers; sons of the most powerful man in Westeros, were there only because of nepotism and the name they carried, and were using a promising and innocent young woman to divert the spotlight from their own lack of humility. Whether that was the case or not, people cared little after the first album. Obviously, money is power, and influence as well, some strings were pulled, but it became undeniable that they were indeed artists. And it all started with an email one April afternoon. And after that, she finally got what she wanted, the fame. Which, coincidentally, was one of the ways to prove her worth to her own family.

Being a rock star always meant a lot to her, it wasn't just about getting on stage, holding a microphone, and rocking out. There were also sore throats, calluses on the vocal cords, rehearsals, constant visits to doctors, singing teachers, and vocal coaches, hours on the treadmill, singing and running at the same time to train her breath, the exhaustion of always being in the camera's crosshairs, and a newly discovered lack of peace, but somehow, she survived all this, because deep down, she liked it.

The credit, however, was not solely in the peculiar ability she had to deal with fame, it was also in Aegon, and Aemond. At the beginning, when they met, there was a period of awkwardness between them, after all, it’s not every day that two "heirs" send you an email with a job proposal, which besides, was the realization of your dreams. But as the days passed, the pieces fell into place.

Aegon was funny; he was always cracking jokes in the studio, he was the one who would finish off the donuts, and who frequently fell asleep in the middle of a recording, with a cigarette between his fingers. He was the one who was always late to appointments, and somehow, he managed to make the situation funny.

He was also the one who dragged them to the most expensive clubs, to strip clubs, and other unhealthy places, where drugs became common. Aegon was like the sunshine, warm; cheerful, vivid, even with his negative sides, such as the obvious substance abuse, mommy issues, and depression; which turned into a joke for him. But within him resided a certain grace. Which was the perfect opposite of Aemond.

Aemond was cold, and distant. He hardly ever spoke, preferring to let the perfect sound of his guitar speak for him. He plucked the guitar strings like no one else, and was strictly professional when they were in the studio. He rarely smiled, not at Aegon's jokes, nor when she looked at him and stuck out her tongue, a common playfulness between the two; he was reserved, quiet, and yet, she could read him like a sad and somber book.

Aemond was like the midnight rain, cold, dark, frightening. And yet, beautiful. Perhaps it was Aemond's austere personality, or the way Aegon showed up high in the studio every day, or how Aemond liked to flick his fingers in the air, as if his muscle memory didn't want to stray from the guitar, or how Aegon was responsible for making her smoke her first joint, or how Aemond looked much more handsome without the patch over his glass eye, or how Aegon's stubble pricked her cheek when he kissed her... It was something between that, which made her fall deeply in love with them. And as the wise Katherine Pierce once said, "It's okay to love them both."

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The flashes hit her face non-stop, so much time had passed since the first time she had to face the paparazzi, and yet, she never got used to it. The published photos always left her a nervous wreck, capturing her grimaces, or her face missing; she always told herself she would try to smile next time, but she never could. The car smelled of cheap cigarettes and sweet, exaggerated feminine perfume; it was always like this when she entered the car, the odor of smoke and sex greeted her much better than Aemond.

─ How did the photos go? ─ Aegon asked, sitting on the left side, his legs spread as if he owned the car, his silver-white hair was disheveled, and he held a glass of champagne in his hand, it was always a day for toasting for him. Hickeys were spread across the milky skin of his neck; it wasn't a surprise, and no one needed to know that those marks were actually hers.

─ I kind of had to wear a weird outfit. ─ She replied, sitting in front of them. She pulled down her skirt because the fabric insisted on riding up, and she was almost certain that it was intentional.

─ I saw. You looked like a slut. ─ The voice from the right side echoed. Aemond. His legs were crossed, and he held a book resting on his knee, not looking at her, not needing to and not even bothering. His long hair was tied up in a sort of messy bun, and the fringe fell over the patch on his eye.

─ Thank you? ─ She asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise, unsure whether that was supposed to be a compliment or an insult. ─ I'm going to be on the cover of KL Magazine. ─ She added, a smile spreading across her plump lips. Being on the cover of a magazine as prestigious as KL was like receiving a handshake from a king; she was so radiant that her glow spread throughout the car.

─ Fuck, wow! You're hot, this is going to be a hit. We should celebrate. ─ Aegon winked at her. His tongue gently passed over his lips, and she was almost certain she knew what kind of celebration he was talking about.

─ I'd rather throw myself in front of the nearest car than have any kind of 'celebration' with you guys. ─ Aemond replied, his sharp words cutting through her mood. He didn't even compliment her, and that definitely upset her. For a moment she even forgot Aegon's teasing, and how his tongue had passed over his own lips, which reminded her of how that same tongue so deliciously passed over her clit.

─ Gods, what's gotten into you today? Need a lay? ─ Aegon asked, a sarcastic laugh coming from him as he topped up his alcohol reserve with another bottle of champagne.

─ As you and her have been doing? No, thanks. Besides, you don't moan as quietly as you think. ─ For the first time since getting in the car, Aemond looked at her. That single shining violet eye, which seemed to hunt the secrets of her soul, pierced her reddened cheeks before shifting back to the page of the book.

An awkward silence echoed in the car, the sound of the wheels sliding on the streets, and the traffic seemed much louder now. She didn’t know what to say because she knew exactly what that meant. Aegon didn’t know she was also sleeping with Aemond. And Aemond didn’t know she was sleeping with Aegon. Well, apparently he knew now.

She always tried to maintain a relationship with both; it was common sense that a woman like her couldn’t ignore them. Each had their own charm, their foolproof method of seduction, and each had managed to take her to bed. In the beginning, it was easy to hide one from the other; they never even suspected that she was involved with both at the same time.

But Aemond, unlike Aegon, wasn’t so foolish; she should have foreseen that he would find out sooner or later. Aegon wouldn’t have the capacity to notice the tension between them after Aemond’s remarks, but she knew that the way he spoke indicated indignation and jealousy. A lot of jealousy.

─ Tsk. Jealous, Aemond? I bet you would like to make her moan too. Don’t be dramatic. As if you don’t ruin the mood everywhere you go as it is. ─ Her heart froze when the words "I bet you would like to make her moan too" came out of Aegon’s mouth. And mentally she cursed him for saying that so deliberately.

─ If it were with me. I bet she’d moan louder than with you... ─ Aemond murmured, and she saw him focus his eye on her again, like a subliminal message of what was true. Her hands began to sweat, and looking through the window, a sudden urge to throw herself from the car crossed her thoughts.

─ Can you stop talking about me as if I'm not here? Thank you. I think I have the right to do certain things, since as far as I remember I'm not committed to anyone. But, thanks for the heads-up, Aemond. ─ Although it wasn't a lie, she knew this would be held against her later. She didn’t have a serious commitment with Aemond, but they had spent so many nights together that it felt as if they did.

The journey to the hotel was uncomfortably silent after that. Nothing more was discussed among them, but she could almost read Aemond's dark thoughts and Aegon's lascivious ones. The elevator felt as hot and cramped as the car after what happened; for the first time, she felt claustrophobic and all she wanted was to throw herself on her soft bed and sleep until it was time to catch the flight the next morning. However, things never go as she wants, why would today be different?

─ I’m hungry. Anyone want to order something? ─ Aegon announced, as he threw himself on the nearest sofa, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a cheap lighter from his pocket.

─ Ah... I’ll take Dornish food. ─ She said, trying to sound casual; she wasn't, however. Not at all.

─ I don’t like Dornish food. Can we order something from the cuisine of Essos? ─ Aemond replied with a sarcastic snort. His fingers stuffed in his pants pockets as he leaned against the wall. She looked at him, one eyebrow raised, trying to understand his argument, since she knew he did indeed like Dornish food.

─ I like Dornish food, I thought you- ─ Her words were cut off when she felt Aegon's firm hands pull her by the waist, dragging her in a quick motion onto his lap. Her cheeks burned instantly, not because she was embarrassed, but because she knew this would increase the jealousy and anger that Aemond must have been feeling.

─ Relax, babe. We can order both Dornish and Essos food, I don't mind. ─ Aegon said, his fingers sliding down to her hips, pulling her deeper into his lap. His right hand rested on one of her thighs, gently caressing the area. Although she wasn't looking directly at Aemond, she could feel his gaze piercing through them.

─ Great. Just don’t start making out while I’m still here. ─ She heard the loud snort that came from Aemond's lips. Of course, that was the reason for all the bad mood. And Aegon being far from discovering it made everything worse.

He stood up, leaving her seated on the cushion, a bold slap on her thigh made her shiver, and she had to look away to not see the expression on Aemond’s face when Aegon did that.

─ I'm going to the restaurant downstairs. Try not to kill each other, and don't light up any joints without me. ─ Aegon's footsteps echoed out of the room. Her body tensed on the upholstery as the door closed, and she knew she was alone with Aemond. The silence was beyond uncomfortable, it was torturous.

─ Aren't we going to talk about the elephant in the room? ─ Aemond finally said something. But she still couldn't look at him. ─ Fine, then I'll talk. What the fuck is this? You're sleeping with my brother? ─ His tone of voice wasn't the friendliest. She had witnessed it a few times, when he and Aegon would argue over the lyrics of a song, and she had to intervene before they started hitting each other.

─ Aemond... I— She was interrupted. Her bones trembled when she felt his hand grab her by the jaw, forcing her to look at him. His fingers were pressing, and she couldn't resist the thrill that ran through her when he did that.

─ Look at me, damn it! ─ He said, pushing her face back as soon as their eyes were fixed on each other. She felt her adjacent jaw ache, but it was the kind of pain she liked.

─ Aemond, I'm not going to be the 'I can explain' type of person, but... I don't know, it just... happened, the same way it did with us...

─ It happened... You blinked and suddenly you were with your legs open on his bed?

─ Aemond... I... What do you want me to say? Do you want me to apologize? I will, but I don’t understand why you're acting like we had something serious. ─ She stood up from the sofa, slowly making her steps toward him. His figure seemed imposing there. So tall and serious.

─ Was it just once? ─ He didn't even need a verbal answer; the way her lips tightened said it all. ─ How long? ─ She stayed silent, she didn’t know what to say, or rather, how to say it. ─ How fucking long?! ─ He shouted this time, his loud voice made her knees tremble, and she felt her clit throb; it was strange, but the way he reacted turned her on.

─ It was before you... ─ She finally answered, biting her lips nervously. She would probably leave there without Aemond, or maybe without both if he told Aegon too. But now the damage was done. She heard him snort.

─ What the hell... You were already with him when you slept with me for the first time? What are you? A whore? Are you so selfish and greedy that you needed both of us? What the fuck... I don’t even know what to say because now all that comes to my mind is you fucking with Aegon and then coming to fuck with me! ─ His voice was so loud, she thought maybe they would receive a call from the hotel reception, asking if everything was okay. She clenched her fingers, and crossed her knees softly, trying to contain the wetness that began to form in her pussy. ─ Fuck... You’re turned on...

─ What? ─ She looked up at him, shaking her head in denial as she watched him approach dangerously.

─ You cross your knees when you’re turned on. I know that because I always leave you like this. ─ His fingers grabbed her jaw again, pulling her closer to him. She could feel his hot breath against her face, he was fuming with anger, his eye closed over that proximity, and she felt his forehead pressing against hers as he squeezed her harder. ─ You’re such a whore...─ He whispered. Before kissing her. His lips pressed so hard against hers that her lower lip hurt. She could feel his tongue pushing into her throat violently, and yet, it was an exciting kiss.

Aemond's free hand clutched the hem of her skirt, and he used the fabric to pull her closer to him, pressing her small body against his aggressively. His lips devoured hers mercilessly, her jaw was weak from the grip and how he forcibly kissed her, the sensation was pleasurable, and she could already feel her panties wet, and her clit throbbing with such suggestively violent interaction. Aemond pulled away, his lips moist with saliva, as were hers, she supposed, he looked her deep in the eyes before gently pulling back.

─ Is it Aegon you want? You can have him as many times as you want... But first, I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll remember me when you're with him, you little slut. ─ His hand slid from her jaw to her nape, and he pushed her aggressively onto the coffee table in front of the sofa. His fingers dug into her skin, making her lean against the cold glass, her cheek stuck to the table, as well as her stomach, her knees were forced to bend, and she found herself completely vulnerable to him.

And this excited her even more. Without any care, Aemond pulled her skirt down, the buttons broke with the force he used to strip the clothing from her body, leaving it tangled at the bend of her knees. His fingers gently brushed her ass, like a gentle caress, before he gave her a strong slap on one of the cheeks. A soft moan escaped her lips, her fingers clutched the edges of the table as she tried to look at him from the corner of her eyes.

─ What's the matter? Prefer it when Aegon is slapping you, whore? I bet he doesn't even know how to do it the way you like...─ Another strong slap burned her ass, making her moan again. She could hear a soft laugh escape Aemond's lips, the way he was enjoying this only drove her crazier.

─ Aemond... ─ He pushed her harder against the glass before she could speak, squeezed her ass tightly, almost burying his fingers in her soft skin.

─ No 'Aemond' bullshit. I don't want to hear you say anything unless I tell you to, got it? You only speak when I tell you to. ─ He said, delivering another slap, even stronger on her ass. ─ Did you fucking got it? ─ She nodded immediately, making him release her just a bit.

He grabbed the start of her panties and pulled them down, making them slide down her thighs. A sigh, leaning more towards a moan, escaped Aemond's lips, and his fingers slid up to her tight pussy.

─ Your panties are soaked... Is this how Aegon leaves you? Or is it because of me? Or maybe... You're such a greedy slut that you're thinking about both of us fucking you at the same time. ─ At the end of the sentence, Aemond slipped a finger inside her, she was so wet that his finger was swallowed by her cunt, her walls tightened around his finger, prompting him to insert a second finger. Hearing her moan from this, he began to thrust his fingers rapidly inside her.

─ Aemond... Please... ─ His hand moved from her nape to her hair, he wrapped her strands around his fist and pulled hard back, making her cheek lift off the table.

─ What did I say about you speaking? I said you speak when I tell you to, bitch. I'm not fucking Aegon, if you don't obey me, there will be consequences. ─ His fingers began to move faster inside her, the sound of the thrusts caused by her wetness became audible in the room, along with the whiny moans escaping her lips. His other hand tightened around her locks, pulling her hair even harder.

Aemond pulled his fingers out of her after a few more thrusts, soaked with her juices, he knew they were sweet, he loved her smell, her taste, but now, he was too angry to focus on those details. His wet fingers passed around her lips, before he pushed the two fingers into her mouth, down her throat, making her softly gag.

─ Now. I'm going to fuck you. And I want to hear you moan loud. ─ He said while swirling his fingers inside her mouth, pressing his own body behind hers. She could feel his erection rubbing against her ass through the fabric of his jeans.

Aemond released her hair, also removing his fingers from her mouth. His hands moved to the buttons on his own pants, and he quickly opened his jeans, pulling them down just enough for what he wanted, along with his boxers. His hard cock freed from the fabric prison it was in, and she could already feel the tip touching her wet cunt. His fingers embraced his own erection, and he gently stroked it while looking at her ass, and the few red marks he had already left there.

─ Does he fuck you with a condom? Or are you so slut that you ask him not to use one?... Either way, I'm going to fuck you without one today, and I'm going to cum inside you until every drop of me is buried in your pussy. ─ Using his own hand, he dragged his cock across her pussy, making the length rub against her lips, brushing her clit, moans returned to the room, each time he rubbed against her, and only the tip of his cock bumped into her cunt. Finally, Aemond positioned himself at her, pushing everything in all at once. Her fingers gripped the edges of the table more firmly, and a louder moan escaped her lips, feeling him hit the right spots inside her on the first thrust. A pleasurable sigh escaped Aemond's lips, and he stayed still for a moment.

─ So tight... You got me addicted to your pussy... ─ He thrust hard at the end of the sentence, stopping again. ─ Made me fuck it every week... ─ And then another thrust, and another pause. ─ And I find out you were doing the same with that jerk... But even he won’t fuck you better than I do... ─ And finally, his hips began to move, thrusting several times inside her, the sound of his skin slamming against hers soon became audible, along with his panting breath and her moans. His hips moved faster and harder, hitting the pleasure spots inside her, making her tighten around him, which resulted in soft grunts from him. His fingers grabbed her hair again, holding it like reins in his hands, and pulling harder as he fucked her.

─ Who’s fucking you now, bitch? Speak! Say my name. ─ He said between pleasurable sighs, delivering another hard slap on her ass, his cock burying deep inside her with each thrust. But it wasn’t enough for him; he went faster, harder. The sounds became louder, as did his hunger.

─ Aemond! It's you... Gods... Aemond! ─ She moaned pleasurably, her teeth sunk into her lips, trying to control the loud moans that escaped because of the series of violent thrusts he was giving her, but it was impossible.

─ That’s right, little slut... I’m going to make you scream my name... ─ He released her hair, placing both hands on her shoulders, and using them as leverage to go even deeper inside her. She felt her womb being destroyed with Aemond's strong thrusts, every part of her body ached in pleasure with what he was doing. Her legs were already trembling and her knees hurt from being propped on the hard floor, but she didn’t care, she wanted this. She deserved this. The sound of their skin colliding filled the room, her moans were as good and pleasurable for Aemond as her music, her voice was absurdly perfect in every aspect, but he should have been the only one to appreciate her moans like this. Or so he thought.

─ Aemond... I’m almost... I’m close... ─ She whispered, her voice hoarse with pleasure, she tried to cling to the table, but her fingers were too trembling for that. Her eyes were already closed and she allowed herself to be guided to heaven, when she felt the climax on the edge of her senses.

─ What did you say? Did I just hear you're going to cum? That’s right... Cum, bitch... Cum on my cock while I fuck you... ─ His voice was as pleasurably suggestive as hers, he bit his lower lip while squeezing her shoulders, the sensation of her walls crushing him with each thrust was incredible, and he would never admit it out loud, but she was the first woman who made him feel so alive.

His hands moved down her back, grabbed her hips, and in a swift movement he pushed her to the floor, placing her back on the carpet, and her eyes fixed on him. It hardly seemed humanly possible that he could switch positions like that without coming out of her, but he did, as if his own body refused to let her go.

─ I want you to look at me while you’re cumming... I want to see your face when you get there screaming my name... ─ His hand circled her throat, squeezing excitingly while he used the other hand for support on the floor, continuing the firm thrusts, her parted lips left moans behind, as she did everything to keep her eyes fixed on him, but it seemed almost impossible, especially when her body trembled intensely, and the orgasm arrived.

─ Aemond! ─ She shouted, exactly as he said she would, the spasms hitting her in an extremely pleasurable way, her fingers clutched the wrist of his hand on her neck, digging her nails into his skin, her back arched and she made clear how intense that orgasm was. Aemond's hips continued, moving violently inside her, deeper and harder each time.

─ Yes... That's it, slut... ─ He whispered, feeling the juices of her orgasm soak the carpet and his pants as he continued thrusting hard into her. The grip on her throat tightened, and he let the full weight of his body fall on hers, burying his face in the strands of her hair spread on the floor as he also came. His lips were glued to her ear, and soft moans escaped his mouth, making her shiver even more. The thrusts slowed down in rhythm, and she felt every drop of his seed fill her.

His breathing was panting, just like hers, both seemed to have run a marathon, their bodies sprawled on the floor, him on top of her, still buried deep inside her, but with his hips now stopped. His fingers did not release her throat, but she no longer cared. Her mind was smoke, she could only focus on the intoxicating sensation of post-orgasm, and remember everything that happened there. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and with her eyes open, she watched on Aemond's face, the most cruelly victorious smile she had ever seen.

─ You're mine... This pussy is mine... Understand? ─ He whispered, his warm breath on her ear, making her shiver. She closed her eyes again, and nodded gently, trying to swallow her own saliva, with his hand pressed on her throat.

─ Good girl... I hope this doesn't happen again... It's me or him. ─ It sounded authoritative, it sounded serious. Part of her wanted to accept the terms, but another part did not. What harm was there in having both? She loved them equally, there was no room for doubt, she had spent time getting to know them, on and off stage, she knew she liked them, and she knew she couldn’t lose either of them.

But she also knew that it would be a tough time trying to convince them of that. She chose not to respond, but Aemond couldn't tell if it was because of exhaustion, or not. So he let it go. In a sweet gesture, he kissed her lips softly, releasing the fingers from her neck and taking them to her cheek, which he caressed gently. It seemed like a good moment, it was romantic, his lips on hers felt right. But... It all ended when...

─ What the fuck is this?! ─ Aegon arrived.

To be continued?

#aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #fanfic #modern #rockstar boyfriend #aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney

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unicorncornflakes · 10 months

Text

Dark Desire - Modern AU! | Chapter 13

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Summary: Aemond doesn't know how he feels every time he sees you. Neither do you when you look at him. Your father Aegon has always been absent from your upbringing ever since he divorced your mother. That role has been filled by Aemond until last summer, when everything changed.

Tags: Alternate Universe – Modern/ Setting Emotional Hurt/ Comfort/ Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: This fic includes manipulation, violence, death, and inc3st, at some points. Reader has purple eyes and her mother is from Dayne House, the rest is complete free :D

Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know): @thedamewithabook @afro-hispwriter @chainsawsangel @thetrueblackheart @atherverybest @itsabby15 @boundlessfantasyjournal @partypoison00 @glame @tempo-rary-fix @tssf-imagines @aaaaaamond @imaloserbby @youngcomputerpuppy @aemondsfavouritebastard @cloudroomblog @queenofshinigamis @bluevxnus @wooya1224 @serving-targaryen-realness @darkenchantress @padfooteyes @mariannnavao @moonlightfoxx @jennifer0305 @ammo23 @iloveallmyboys @tempt-ress @bellameshipper @okfashionista @shelbyteller @dahlias-and-marigolds @the-knights-of-ne @bellaisasleep

Author´s note: Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome! And sorry for the delay theses weeks, I will try to be faster in next chapters.

Acknowledgment: To @ammo23 for the brilliant corrections and the wonderull work as beta reader, for all the patience and the love that always shows for my writing. Thank you so much for all the time that you spend with this. Thank you so much. i really aprreciate it :D

Word Count: 7.4K

“I know you don't want to see me, but could you at least take my call? We need to talk about what happened.' You deleted the message again almost automatically. Cregan had texted you almost every day that week and had called you at least five times. It wasn't like the harassment of a jealous or insistent boyfriend but more like the calls for attention from a man worried about you. You turned off the phone screen while having breakfast with your grandmother and Aemond on that Saturday morning.

You sighed in defeat, and Aemond looked over the top of the newspaper, wanting to know what was wrong with you. Alicent went on to talk about the benefit gala she did every year to raise money for the Faith of the Seven. It would be that night, and it would also coincide with being the first year that you would attend.

It was a gala dinner where the most influential personalities from all over Westeros gathered because Aemond brought them there simply to make his mother happy once a year. It would be your first time attending because you were already of legal age. Before, the agreement your parents had signed prevented any public exposure you might have. They both wanted to protect you from belonging to two of the most influential families in the seven kingdoms, but now it was different.

Aemond insisted that you would have to start participating in the few public events in which he also participated. While your father was making a weekly cover of the gossip magazines, the rest of the Targaryen brothers kept a discreet distance in the background. Understated, but not non-existent, and that was Aemond's idea for you; let the world know that you were a dragon, with the importance and responsibility that it entailed, but that you would not lose yourself in the world of luxury and pleasures in which Aegon seemed to be immersed.

The phone rang one last time, and you picked it up, annoyed. You ran your finger across the screen, ignoring the last notification of what you knew would be the only call Cregan would attempt that day, or so you thought and took a small sip of your coffee. Aemond raised an eyebrow. He knew you were hiding something from him, but making a scene in front of his mother wouldn't help you hide something you thought was too obvious, but no one seemed to notice.

"This year, I have put more desserts on the menu", your grandmother smiled at you, bringing you back to reality. "A very good selection. I know how much you like desserts," she explained sweetly and sympathetically. Your grandmother had always been quite lax with you, removing the prefects of faith, but after your birthday and what had happened, she seemed even sweeter, as if she didn't want to offend you in anything and to please you in everything. From what Aemond had told you, it was quite similar to the attitude she had taken towards him when he lost his eye.

"Thank you, Grandma." You smiled shyly at her, and Aemond smirked. The truth was that you had become even more aware of the strong bond that united Alicent and Aemond, and it seemed that the new status of your nameless relationship with him made things change between you and your grandmother. She wasn't just your grandmother anymore, at least from Aemond's perspective. On the other hand, her gesture touched you, but desserts had ceased to fascinate you since you had turned seven years old. "Who's going to the gala?" you asked curiously, not wanting to show your concern about meeting Cregan there. You couldn't face it, at least not at the time. It wasn't a question of love but because Cregan had been good to you and that, in the end, you had disappeared from his life without a trace. You were ashamed of your behaviour, but you were even more ashamed of the fact that you had changed him so quickly for the one you truly loved.

"Anyone who can afford it," Aemond replied, closing the newspaper. "The 300 kindest people in all of Westeros, but this is according to your grandmother," he chuckled, playing a joke on his mother that she reluctantly scolded, slapping her son on the arm. Alicent didn't know what was wrong with her son, but lately, he seemed happier, more cheerful, more human. Aemond had always been rigid in his convictions and behaviour. However, in recent weeks he had a behaviour similar to being in love. Your grandmother had no idea what this meant, but she was just happy for her son. She believed that he was seeing someone and that sooner or later one of her children, whom she thought would always remain sad, would give her grandchildren. Alicent had no idea how little of this happiness was left for her son, but at that breakfast, she thought that everything would be fine in the life of the most battered of her children.

"They are very important people, of that we can be sure," your grandmother smiled radiantly. She was about to start talking about her project again when your phone vibrated on the table again. Cregan was being really insistent that morning, perhaps because you suspected that he would also be attending this famous event, and he wanted to spare you the embarrassment and discomfort of meeting each other after you had ignored him, if only for your sake and Aemond's. You were beginning to see how jealous he could get over almost anything. He thought he hid it well under hisserious facade, but you were beginning to know the way he clenched his jaw, which seemed to break the teeth and bones that made it up.

"Why don't you take it?" Aemond tried to sound casual but failed in his attempt. You knew that he only demanded to know who it was, who called you so urgently on a Saturday morning. You saw him take a cigarette out of a fresh pack that he just opened at that moment. He brought it to his lips without losing sight of you, but you didn't look at him. You didn't want to talk to him about how Cregan was calling you to fix things. The old wolf was simply saying that he needed to talk to you. You heard the Zippo click and how he took a puff and then quickly blew smoke out of his nose.

"It's nothing important," you told him as you tried to continue eating breakfast. You picked up a piece of fruit and began to peel it in silence under the watchful eye of Aemond, who knew you were lying. However, this time it was not jealousy. It was just a worry that had been on his mind lately more than he wanted to admit: You didn't trust him. Or at least not to tell him everything that happened to you. It seemed as if there was some kind of barrier between you that you had built up in a way of protecting you both. For Aemond, it was beginning to be a concern. Where was all this leading you if you couldn't trust him?

"Good morning", your father appeared just then, stretching and with a tired face as he took his seat next to you at that garden table. At least he had managed to break the tension that had existed up to that moment and of which, as always, your grandmother seemed unaware. Your father ruffled your hair again, and you smiled at him. It was one of those things he should have done when you were little, but at least tried now. That was the only consolation you found. "Don't eat fruit for breakfast. That is only done if you are sick," he joked as he took a Croissant, and you laughed. Aemond looked at the two of you disapprovingly.

"Are you going to go to the gala with that face?" Aemond spoke unlovingly to his older brother, taking another drag, nearly draining the cigarette to the end. Aegon always managed to get under his skin. However, it was his brother. He had to protect him. He should always protect his family.

"It's my usual face," your father replied as he poured himself coffee under Aemond's watchful eye. That one-eyed look that always disapproved of him. His younger brother looked at him disapprovingly, having almost forgotten you at once.

"It's your face from having been partying days in a row", Aemond said as he stubbed out his cigarette, ready to scold Aegon, as always. You had rarely seen it because the three of you had met a few times in time and space together, but you were beginning to realize that it was a bit of a regular occurrence.

"Well, that's the same thing. My usual face." Your father shrugged and dunked the croissant into his coffee, ready to ignore his brother. He winked at you, and at that moment, your phone rang again. Aegon cheekily stared at your phone screen. What neither your grandmother nor Aemond dared to do, your father did shamelessly and was simply angry. "What is Cregan doing calling you?" he asked you, visibly angry. You did not answer, knowing that not telling him would anger Aemond.

"That man doesn't seem to understand endings", your grandmother spoke, worried about you. Everyone fell silent afterwards as the phone rang. Aemond's jaw clenched as if he was going to break it, and your grandmother gave you a worried look. However, it was Aegon who crossed all the lines of your privacy. After all, your father thought that Cregan was ultimately responsible for that anxiety attack that had landed you in the hospital.

"Fuck", your father picked up the phone. You tried to stop him almost desperately, but he simply took the cell phone and picked it up in an aggressive way, grinding his teeth and losing his mind for the simple fact that his puppy was suffering. Aegon was not violent. That attitude involved too much work, and he was not used to work. But, he was just starting to freak out lately under a desire to keep you safe and happy. That was all that mattered to him. He brought the phone to his ear, under the watchful eye of Aemond, who leaned back in his chair to watch the spectacle. “Listen to me well, old wolf. I want you to leave her alone,” you heard Cregan yell on the other end of the line.

"Dad, give me back the phone", you yelled at him as you followed him around the garden after he got up. You didn't want to put on any show. It wasn't your style or your ways, but it was partly your father's. Aegon, at that moment, only cared about you.

"If you don't stop calling her, believe me, there will be consequences, and I think you know very well what kind of consequences there are when you mess with dragons." You saw him sigh heavily as you tried to take his mobile while you chased him through the garden, where he was pacing nervously, trying to avoid you. Hewas going to protect you. He would do it like he hadn't in 17 years.

"Dad, please", you yelled at him again, but then you felt a hand grab you and pull you away from your father. You saw Aemond walk up to his older brother and take the phone away from him while yelling a thousand expletives at Cregan. After all, Aemond was stronger and taller than your father.

"You're an asshole.” your uncle spat on your father. At first, it had been fun to watch. "What the hell are you threatening him for? We can send whoever you want, but don't threaten him, okay? Don't even think of doing it again," he told him as he handed back your mobile. Now he was worried about what could happen. He could send a thousand guys to beat up Cregan, but he couldn't do what your father had done: yell it out in front of everyone through a phone that might be recording. He couldn't afford to be associated with acts of violence like that. Not him, not his family, or they would have problems.

“He said he had to talk to her. I won't have it after what happened,” your father yelled, now turning his anger on Aemond.

"Alright. I don't want him to talk to her either, but let me handle it." Aemond took your father by the arm and whispered in his ear. Aegon just nodded his head, and your uncle's face grew grim. You ran to talk to Aemond. You didn't want anything to happen to Cregan because you knew that nothing that happened to you was his fault. It had only been a determinant, not a cause. However, your grandmother arrived first.

"Don't even think about doing anything. I know you too well. Both of you.” Aegon ran a hand over his face in despair, but Aemond ignored her.

"Hmmm", was all he sighed as he sauntered past you. You had never seen that side of your family, but it was something that scared you. You didn't feel comfortable, and you really began to fear what might happen to Cregan, just as you saw Aemond walk away to make a call that you never knew the content of. Alicent looked worriedly at her son. He had always been protective of you, and that was already too much.

Lya had always liked flashes, cameras and glamour. Those three elements had undoubtedly been determining factors in opting for that stable relationship with your uncle Daeron. The lawyer had remained for a couple of photos with his girlfriend at the entrance to the Hightower Hotel where the gala that took so much effort and time for your grandmother was held, but finally, he had let her enjoy having a little fame for herself.

Since Lya was only known for being the 'girlfriend of…' However, she didn't care. She enjoyed it equally and would enjoy it even more after Daeron proposed to her. It shouldn't have been that long. She had endured the unspeakable among the Targaryens, and at the very least, her reward had to be a proper marriage. Something that would give her a status similar to Alicent's in that family. But, Lya was not Alicent and never would be. Daeron Targaryen's young girlfriend enjoyed the last moment in which the photographers claimed her attention. At that precise moment, Aemond Targaryen and his brother made an appearance, getting out of the main family car. Alicent got out of the car with difficulty, helped by the eldest of her children, and behind her, you appeared.

A red and black velvet gown had been your choice for that night, or rather Aemond's. He held you by the waist as you got out of the car, and in a protective gesture, he took you inside the building, holding you tight, while the attention of the photographers was torn between taking a picture of your figure that your uncle would not let go of or your father with your grandmother, who did stay at the doors of the building to the delight of many photographers.

Aemond wanted you to participate in public life, not expose yourself, and you wouldn't have been comfortable with it either, but that paternal gesture from the man who was now your lover left you cold. What would anyone think of the way he had grabbed you? Well-dressed and in keeping with the moment, he ignored you as he entered the building. Now was the time to save face, though the long, silent look he gave you as you walked away from him said it all. It was the look of a man in love, and Lya could only narrow her eyes at that spectacle. What was between you and Aemond was not normal, and Lya, she could only suspect. Daeron gently took her hand as she entered the building, but the young Stark couldn't get the thought out of her head. She had seen how Aemond held you and looked at you. She did remember what had happened between Daemon and Rhaenyra, and she couldn't ignore that you two seemed too similar. Was the rest of the Targaryens blind?

After all day alone in the family home, you found yourself even more alone at that party. You saw your Aunt Helaena and her husband, Jace, dance together in the crowd. Your father was already missing, and your grandmother was chatting with one of her pious friends. You saw Lya and Daeron equally dance together after dinner, which had been tedious and almost unbearable. To be fair, you hadn't seen Lya since that night at the smallest of the Velaryon's clubs on your father's express orders. But, at that party and after such a long time, her presence continued to bother you. You would never feel comfortable with her again. Not after her friends had aired how she saw you.

You sighed, bored, and Aemond looked at you sideways, sitting next to you at the same table where you had eaten. He smiled when he saw you slip into your seat with your arms crossed. So pretty and, at the same time, so careless. He would have loved to have ushered you into one of the upstairs rooms right then, but he was content to see you like this while one of the main investors continued to discuss numbers and figures with Aemond. Without a doubt, this was a party for everyone. Except for you.

"I'll tell Alys to send you the closing of the quarterly", Aemond commented while that man continued chattering while the face of his wife, also sitting next to him, was quite similar to yours. However, it seemed to activate the moment your uncle spoke the name of his secretary.

"Oh, speaking of Alys, I miss her at this gala", the man's wife commented with a sarcastic giggle as she scanned you up and down. You tensed. You never expected that no one would give you such an accusing and cheeky look like that in that place "... but I see that you have changed it for a younger model, right?" That woman with the pearl necklace and ancient hairstyle lashed out again, and her husband told her reprimanded her while she looked away, embarrassed. Aemond didn't even look at you, now concentrating on glaring at that woman with his one eye, but the damage was already done. A younger model? Is that how they saw you at that party? That was a hard blow to reality. Perhaps you weren't being as discreet as Aemond expected, and you saw Lya look at you and smile as she was now whispering to one of her friends. And you started to feel bad. The world was spinning.

"I have to go to the bathroom," was all you said. You needed to cool off. You needed to get out of there while you felt in an almost paranoid way how everyone was looking at you at that party. What was happening to the world?

"She is my niece. Not a fucking prostitute." Aemond spoke just as you left, and that woman paled while her husband could barely swallow. Now they were in your uncle's crosshairs, and the man knew that he would not deal with dragons again. Much to his regret. All because of his wife's big mouth and her way of pointing out subtleties that weren't as subtle as the great Aemond Targaryen believed and his family of dragons refused to see.

You got your neck and chest slightly wet. Not the face. That would be spoiling the makeup that they had put on you in that very expensive beauty salon that your uncle had paid for. The red lips in the tone that he himself had chosen, you looked overwhelmed. You needed to get out of there. You began to believe in the words that your mother had always said and in her refusal to attend that party.

Also, you were beginning to believe that everyone was looking at you as if everyone suspected what was happening between you and Aemond, but you were discreet, right? Definitely yes. Never a major gesture in public. Never. So much sacrifice. Only, he had taken you by the waist in a protective gesture, and the way he looked at you said much more than any of his gestures.

You sighed slowly as if you were trying to regulate your agitated breathing, your anxiety. You saw yourself in front of that mirror in that lonely bathroom. The focus of attention was on you. You needed to get back to Aemond's side, not worry him and tell him that you wanted to go home. Make love in your room. Normalize what you felt for each other. No more secrets. Shout it out if necessary. But you knew you couldn't. So you were content with wanting to return only to his side. You left the bathroom for it after taking a deep breath and steeling yourself to face that crowded room.

"You look spectacular", you heard a familiar voice just behind you. You turned, and there he was, the man you'd been trying to ignore all week. Cregan has his hands in his pants pockets, dressed in a suit befitting the occasion like everyone else. He smiled sadly at you, and you almost blanched. He was well groomed, yet his eyes showed a lack of sleep. Two large dark circles under his eye sockets were proof that Cregan Stark, the old wolf of Winterfell, had been almost without sleep since he had returned to the capital.

"Thank you," was all you answered, looking away from him but unable to move from the spot. A small part of you told you that you should have taken some of his calls, answered some text, stood there and let him put his arms around you, but you were in love with Aemond.

Cregan was nothing to you anymore if he ever was. Cregan was the right choice. It always would be, but not always, the right choices are the ones we want to make. "I have to go," was all you could think of to say, almost scared to have found him. That simple exchange of words would make Aemond jealous, and this was something you did not want to experience again. Besides, you were also dreading the prospect of talking to Cregan. It scared you in a way you couldn't explain. You'd ignored him, and you'd ignored him because the girl from just a month ago would have seen herself capable of taking on anything, but you weren't that girl anymore. You had lost strength as if you were starting to let Aemond take care of everything. You weren't you anymore, were you? In the end, it all came down to the fact that you had developed an irrational fear of betraying, harming or offending Aemond.

"Wait", Cregan grabbed your bare arm, and that only caused you anxiety. What would Aemond think if he saw you like this, with his body so close to yours? With the northerner claiming you so fiercely? "Please, (Y/N), wait", he whispered to you, looking into your eyes with the sincerity that characterized him. I understand that you don't want to see me. I heard what happened after I left, but we need to talk." His hand loosened its grip on your arm.

"I don't want to talk, Cregan," you told him without taking your eyes off the ground. You were taking too long. You had only told Aemond that you would go to the bathroom and come back. He must have been worried about you, and you were just being hindered by Cregan. "I don't need to talk."

“Everyone needs to talk about what's wrong with them, (Y/N)", he whispered to you and at that moment, his eyes met yours. You wish Aemond was like this. You wish, sometimeAemond would open up so much to you that you could understand what was going on inside his head. You let your guard down, and Cregan smiled. A sincere and sad smile. "What happened… what happened to you and you going to the hospital was terrible."

"It had nothing to do with you", you replied, looking away from him. Cregan cradled your face in his hands, caressing your chin and lips. This was another kind of love, very different from Aemond's, completely different.

"Even if it had nothing to do with me, I feel just as guilty", he whispered, trying to calm you down, trying to protect you. "I know that something has changed, and you don't want to see me again, but... I still like you, and I'm still in love with you, with your smile, with that beautiful way you had to bite your lip when we made love..." he moaned almost desperately for one more minute by your side. Cregan had always been a lovesick man. Yet you had managed to drive him crazy in ways he couldn't understand. The time he had spent in Winterfell without you had been eternal and painful, even more, hurtful when what had happened to you after his departure reached his ears. The old wolf always fixed things and wanted to be there to fix you. "Please, I only ask you for a coffee. You and I. Alone and calm. Without your family, Just you and me. Fix what we can fix…"

"I-I can't", you sighed, defeated because in front of you was a man even more defeated than you. You did not want to be alone with Cregan because you knew that in your heart, it was this affection that you had always needed and would always need. You would have killed for Aemond to have shown half the devotion Cregan had for you, but you knew your uncle was too arrogant for it. You looked Cregan in the eye to say goodbye and to close that chapter once and for all when you heard your father's voice right behind you.

"I told you to leave her alone!" he roared as he grabbed your arm to pull you away from Cregan. You had never seen your father violent, but he scared you at the time, just as his fist met Cregan's jaw and Cregan made a sound of pain. The girl who was with your father and whose presence you only became aware of then shrieked. And then there was only scandal, screams and people. A security guard grabbed your father, who was almost determined to kill Cregan, and Aemond hugged you as he found you in the crowd. That night two rumours began to resonate even louder throughout the King's Landing: Cregan had been to blame for what had happened to you, and your relationship with Aemond was too close.

Daeron sat wearily on the bed. He sighed and looked at the ceiling. At least he had managed to get Cregan not to press charges after a punch from Aegon. That was progress. The old wolf of Winterfell said he understood your father. After all, Cregan Stark was also the father of several girls. Daeron couldn't remember how many, but he was a father after all. Aegon would never know how to handle his emotions when it had to do with you. At least from the perspective of the smallest of dragons.

The youngest of your uncles fell on the bed after loosening his tie and would have let himself sleep there if it weren't for the fact that he had visitors that night. Lya came out of the bedroom bathroom wrapped in the bathrobe that a few months ago she had insisted on leaving at her boyfriend's house. Daeron hated that young Stark left her things at his house. It was almost a way to increase their commitment. A commitment Daeron was less and less sure of. Lya was capricious and spoiled at times as if being his longest-lasting girlfriend gave her permission to always have her own way.

Daeron leaned back on the bed to watch her as she sat at the dresser she'd asked for a few months ago. He had ended up buying it so he wouldn't have to listen to her. Those were the relationships that stuck, right? Give in to not listen to your loved one. Although, he doubted that he was in love with her. What was love? Has he ever felt it? He watched her remove her makeup in silence while she looked at him in the reflection of that mirror. He remembered that vacation in Pentos with the girl he really liked in college. The one whose parents, true descendants of Old Valyria, had rejected Daeron for his 'tainted' blood. After all, Alicent was the only one who didn't come from a place like this. This vague and imprecise concept that made Aemond proud was just a hoax. They were nothing similar. They never would be, and perhaps with that idea, Daeron had started dating Lya. He would never live up to what their last names were supposed to carry.

"You're very quiet." Lya woke him from his musings, and Daeron stared at the ceiling, weary. He needed a vacation away from his family.

"I was thinking that I'm glad your cousin didn't file a complaint with my brother," he lied because he didn't want to tell Lya what was going through his head because he didn't want to talk to her about how he felt that the relationship was going nowhere. Lya laughed cheekily, and Daeron looked at her again, confused. "What are you laughing at?"

"That my cousin would never press charges against Aegon. He still hopes to end up between (Y/N) 's legs." She smiled again in an unpleasant way as she turned around. Her brown eyes locked with Daeron's. "Poor fool. That place is already taken and awarded to another man. Only a fool or those who refuse to see reality would not see it." She shrugged and continued combing her hair.

"Pardon…?" Daeron started to speak, but Lya cut him off with a cocky smile and a know-it-all look.

"Aemond is fucking your niece. Are you going to tell me it's not true?" She challenged him. She challenged him because Daeron had never dared to raise a word higher than another against his girlfriend, because they had never argued, because he had always given in until Aegon made it clear that he did not want to see Lya again for a long time. She had hurt (Y/N) with her words, and it was clear that she was only with him for his money. She challenged him because he had removed her from his life with a few simple words from his older brother. She challenged him because she was hurt by the way he had pushed her away in an affront against you.

"They have always been very close," was all he could think of to say in answer to your farce. He also had the same suspicions, but he would never dare say them out loud. His conversations with Helaena had advised him to do so.

"Like Daemon and Rhaenyra", she sneered again, and Daeron couldn't take it anymore. He got up and did the unthinkable. Lya kept giggling silently, and her boyfriend grabbed her by the neck, pushing her against the wall. She went cold and saw a more dragon-like fury in Daeron's eyes. Daeron was never going to suffer the same embarrassment that happened to his older sister. The thing that had traumatized him to the point of saying enough, that had embarrassed him. It could be happening. He wasn't the one to reveal it, much less Lya.He would never again live with the shame of such a scandal. Because if Daeron had lived in fear of anything in his life, it was the shame he had felt for all those years until people forgot what had happened between his uncle and Rhaenyra. He squeezed Lya's neck again. That gallant knight, the meekest of dragons, was willing to take out his claws so as not to be embarrassed again.

"Don't you dare suggest something like that again," he whispered between his teeth. "Have you understood me?" He shook her again, and Lya just nodded in frightened silence.

For the first time, Daeron had brought out the angry, fucked-up dragon in him, and Lya knew that the one she had taken for a panoli with money would never ask her to marry him again.

He had offered him a cigarette, and Cregan had refused. He had given up smoking when his second wife insisted on it, for his health and for the curtains not to smell of smoke. The northerner had given in. He always gave in when it came to women. A true gentleman. Every woman's dream until they got bored of it. Cregan had never left a single one of his relationships. It had always been the other party who had insisted on leaving him. He believed that things could have been fixed by talking. He was old school. And with you, he thought exactly the same, but it was clear that your paternal family would never let him get close to you again.

"Just give me a number, and I'll pay you." Aemond Targaryen, CEO of Targaryen Industries, was in front of him. The dragon was indeed smoking. Leaning back in his large leather chair, as he stared at Cregan Stark with his one eye. He had invited him into her office that morning, just after Aegon had given him a black eye, to 'talk business'. Cregan had come with the hope that these businesses would address your situation, but he found that Aemond simply wanted to buy him the project that a month ago had seemed ridiculous to him.

Cregan wasn't stupid. He knew that this was a subtle and veiled form of blackmail. If he sold his project for an exorbitant amount of money, he was selling his silence at the same time. A nice and elegant way to mask everything that had happened at the gala the night before. It was a clear subtext that Aemond Targaryen wanted to offer him: 'I bought your project in exchange for not denouncing my brother and, in exchange for your silence for any statement you could make'. That was what dragons always tried to do. To master absolutely everything. The northerner scribbled an absurdly high figure on a piece of paper and offered it to Aemond silently. He didn't want to be there. Your uncle accepted that. Aemond just looked at the paper without showing a single reaction and picked up the phone in his office. Cregan watched in disbelief as he asked Alys to set up a transfer for the amount the old wolf had put on that piece of paper.

"If that was all." Cregan started to rise from his seat when Aemond waved him back to sit down. The northerner obeyed in silence but only lifted his chin in a haughty gesture. He knew that now the topic of conversation was going to be you. Your uncle thought that he had bought Cregan with such a sum of money, perhaps he had, but he wanted to make sure that everything would return to normal after such a monetary exchange.

Aemond fell silent, a warning. "I don't want you to see her again" he was direct in his request, much less violent than his older brother, but just as threatening and possessive of you. "Don't even try to talk to her. I want you to disappear from her life."

"I suppose that this request is included in such an amount of money", Cregan replied in a bad manner. The northern challenged him. Anyone else would have nodded and gone bowing to the King of King's Landing. But Cregan Stark didn't care. Never again would dragons intimidate him.

"All men have a price, and you have written it on a piece of paper," Aemond replied. He leaned back on his desk and offered Cregan up again. "I'm going to be magnanimous, I can offer you twice as much, but it's best that you never go near her again. I'm not going to be so nice if you do it again," he smiled. One of the corners of his lips turned up. A sneer and menace crossed Aemond's face.

"You don't scare me." Cregan would never understand what was going through Aemond's head with you. He didn't think it was a healthy relationship or even logical, and yet your uncle didn't seem to want you to be happy in the eyes of others. Aemond was used to doing and undoing everything. You were not an exception.

"I know, but I think you should think about those around you" Aemond smiled again, almost laughing at Cregan. “Your eldest son Rickon is starting college at Dreadfort College this year. The streets there are dangerous, but I think that's something you already know about.” Aemond began speaking in a confident tone.

"Look…" Cregan was also planning to counterattack, but surely your uncle was much more versed in threatening than Cregan. Aemond had always grown to own everything, and he was going to prove it to the northerner.

"And I know that the kindergarten where you take the smallest of your offspring is extremely elitist, but it is not free of dangers, Cregan." He smiled again. "By the way, you should keep a closer eye on your twin daughters' nights out. It would be a shame if something happened to them in one of the clubs they frequent. You have ten children, I can go on, but I think you are already catching on to how all this is going."

Of course, he was getting it. For Cregan, the main thing was his children. Aemond Targaryen reminded him right in that conversation that Cregan might not be scared of what happened to him, but he was scared of what could happen to his children. Cregan just got up. Willing to go, he wouldn't bother you again because he knew Aemond was capable of anything. He was a dangerous man and always would be, but he turned away. Ready to challenge him one last time, trying to appeal to his conscience. "You're never going to make her happy..."

"She is happy; with me, she is happy. And always will be," your uncle spoke for the last time to the northerner without looking at him. His gloomy face against the light of the enormous window of his office. And at that precise moment, Cregan understood what was wrong with you. He would never say anything. It was just another form of dominance, but he was repulsed at imagining the very thing your uncle had confessed was going on between you. Those who do not remember their history are doomed to repeat it, and it seemed that Aemond Targaryen did not remember the same thing that had happened to his uncle.

"It is quite expensive, but it is a good project", Alys woke Aemond from his thoughts. He was looking out the window of his office. It was almost dark. However, he did not want to go home. He didn't want to look you in the eye right now and think about how he had threatened Cregan so he wouldn't see you again. It wasn't something he was proud of. He wasn't proud of any of the actions he'd taken to keep you by his side. He would never be. But he needed to be with you. That was all he needed. He knew it. He needed you by his side. His. Even if you were to go to Sunspear, you would still be his. He would take care of it. “It will triumph in the congress next week. I've already booked our rooms and…” Alys started blathering on about dates and meetings. She pretended that everything was fine between them for the good of the company, for her benefits within it, but Aemond was about to blow up that feigned peace for your good, for your uncle's idea of what was your good.

“(Y/N) and I are going to the congress. Us two alone. Nobody else. You will stay here and run my schedule. I know you know how to do it. You don't need to come.” Aemond gave a firm order, and Alys's world came crashing down.

No one had the right to remove her from her post, not after working so long at that company. She was almost as important a figure as Aemond. She…she had always given her all for Targaryen Industries. She had betrayed Daemon for the good of the company, for his command to pass into the hands of someone more just but, Aemond was becoming his own uncle by leaps and bounds, and Alys was going to suffer the consequences of it.

"You are kidding, right?" It was all she answered as she felt her legs give way. No. This couldn't be happening. Alys could be many things, but she was a hard worker. The Sunspear Conference was her favourite time of the year. The time to shine, the time to be more than just a secretary. Everyone was talking about her effectiveness at that congress. She hadn't missed it once in the last 30 years. She had even attended more than Aemond had. She was the visible face of Targaryen Industries at that congress, and everything was going to change because of you. It was inadmissible.

“I want you to book the suite in any of the luxury hotels. I don't care where it is. Another smaller room next door. We can't raise suspicions.” Aemond followed his idea, ignoring each and every one of the astonished grimaces that were drawn on Alys' face.

"Aemond, I have to go," she yelled at him, almost desperate. She couldn't let anyone put out her light. She had given everything for the company. She was the one who had placed Aemond in his position. Her mind, her intelligence could not give any more. Her life was that company and nothing more. She hadn't sacrificed so much to be now placed in her simple secretary position. She didn't care that Aemond hadn't taken her to the charity dinner. She didn't care, but not when this was so extremely important.

"Alys, I think you are forgetting your place in this company. Am I going to have to remind you?" Aemond's jaw set, and Alys turned, determined to leave. Aemond Targaryen was ungrateful and didn't know who he was messing with. No doubt he was biting off more than he could chew.

An old but elegant clock marked midnight in that house in the Summer Islands. Subtle, muted cream curtains swayed in the breeze, and light from a pool in the garden shed some light on the quiet room. Old volumes of the history of Ancient Valyria between modern detective novels and political books. Daemon Targaryen had always been a man of eclectic tastes, but what he enjoyed most was a glass of whiskey and a good book.

That rather comfortable and elegant house seemed to sleep. An old photo of Daemon and Rhaenyra sat on a high teakwood mantel on which Dark Sister also rested, an old family heirloom. Proof that the Targaryens had always been into weaponry. When Daemon left his beloved company, that sword and that photo were the only things that had accompanied him to his sad exile from the rest of the mortals. His had almost seemed the most unforgivable of sins. Sitting in the darkness of his living room, an ageing Daemon thought about everything that had destroyed him and led to this situation. Aemond had never deprived him of any luxury. That was true. He had assigned him a lifetime salary, which Daemon enjoyed and squandered in his elegant home on the Summer Isles. He was still drinking a bottle of whiskey a week and fucking a different woman almost every night, but he was missing something. He was missing his beloved Rhaenyra.

Although his nephew thought himself very cunning, Daemon knew who had leaked the information. The only problem was that it seemed impossible to hit back at a man who had shielded his private life almost masterfully. Daemon wondered if his one-eyed nephew ever enjoyed life. But, that night, while reflecting on it as, almost every night, the phone rang, and Daemon Targaryen received the most important call of his life. Someone had betrayed Aemond Targaryen, and you were going to be one of the collateral victims of the revenge that Daemon was certain to execute on Aemond.

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