#it will come back | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

humanpurposes · 2 months

Text

It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, angst, mentions of violence and trauma

Words: 7.4k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3, if you're that way inclined.

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity.

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at a laptop screen as they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planning this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to the rest of Westeros that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. So there can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

Aemond’s eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan for the main ballroom.

Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind the space where his eye should be.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?”

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease. He has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it. A glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in my office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and get you some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move.

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache.

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face, the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again?

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

“I thought you knew,” Aegon says. “Mum said she was going to talk to you.”

“Evidently that conversation is yet to happen.” Maybe it was meant to happen tonight. It’s a Friday which means Aemond will go to his mother’s apartments in the Keep for dinner after work.

It’s a struggle but he breathes through the worst of it, and blinks a tear from his eye. The pain hasn’t quite faded but something else burns hotter through his blood. He clenches his jaw and his fists. “How long have you known?”

Aegon makes a startled stuttering noise. “I– well–”

Aemond glares at him.

“A few days. The note came from Rhaenyra’s office on Monday or Tuesday, I can’t really remember–”

“Grandfather knew,” Aemond says, a question, but he can guess the answer. If it involves Dragon Bank or a member of the Targaryen family, Otto Hightower will know.

“Of course he knew. He said it was a last minute decision, one that Viserys was insisting we all bend over backwards to accommodate.”

Of course he would, anything for the precious daughter of his favourite child, the girl who slashed Aemond’s eye out with a broken bottle.

He hates her for it. He hates every burst of pain, like an echo of that moment pulsing through his head. He hates every person he catches staring at him, he hates the way his reflection looks with her cruelty carved into his flesh. Most of all he hates that it reminds him of her. In a way he is grateful too. Time helped to heal the wound and eventually he realised how he had been changed by that night, how it made him the person he is now.

But for the first time in a long time he does not find any pride in it, cowering in his brother’s office like a child at the mere mention of her name.

“I can’t go,” Aemond says, hating how quiet his own voice is.

“That’s alright,” Aegon says, “you can sit here for as long as you need.”

“I meant the party.”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“I can’t go, not if she’s going to be there.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by the hum of the AC and the distant sounds of the city far below the keep, car horns, engines, sirens, the occasional cry of a seagull.

“Why don’t you talk it through with mum?”

“Aegon,”

“She’ll want you to go. She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“I can’t,”

“I know you two were close, but, you know, I’m sure you both regret how things happened,”

“Aegon, for fuck’s sake,”

“She cut out your eye, you said you’d cut out hers if you ever saw her again, we were all caught up in the moment.”

Aemond pushes up from the sofa and tosses the water bottle at Aegon’s head, not stopping to see if he caught it or not, before he’s yanking open the door and marching into the hallway.

The Red Keep is older than Dragon Bank itself, a red brick holdfast that has loomed proudly over King’s Landing for centuries, even as the skyline of the city has come to meet over time. It’s easy to get lost here, with its grand hallways, winding staircases and hidden passages, if old rumours are to be believed. He knows this place like he knows his own mind. He walks to his office through empty stairwells and forgotten corridors.

When he finally makes it to his own office he closes the door and lets his back fall against it.

He takes a slow breath, holds it, pouts his lips and exhales steadily.

Who else knows? Viserys would have sent the invitation, Rhaenyra and the rest of her little runts will know. Otto knows, clearly his mother and Aegon both know, and he couldn’t have kept that secret, he would have told Helaena or Daeron, most likely both.

Everyone knows. Jaya is coming back home to King’s Landing, and everyone knows but him.

His mother told him everything when she thought he was ready to hear it. The bandages had been removed from his face and the cannula had been taken out of his hand. The doctors wanted him to stay in the hospital for a few more days so all the drugs could wear off and he could start getting used to the disorientation of losing half his vision. Alicent wanted him home, in his own bed. So he left the dry air and the white overhead lights of his room in the hospital, back to Dragonstone.

She told him that while he’d been on his knees with his hand over his face, trying to stop the blood and the remains of his eye from spilling onto the ground, Viserys had barked out his orders. He didn’t want ambulances or sirens because it would cause a scene in front of the guests. The shame, the damage it would do to the family’s image. Otto had persuaded him away from such a nonsensical idea and convinced Viserys to get the guests inside the house so Aemond and Jace’s injuries could be seen to.

He remembered shouting and sirens, blue lights and his mother’s hand clinging onto his before he blacked out. He had gone in for surgery almost immediately and woken the following evening surrounded by white walls, his mother and Criston Cole at his side.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron all stayed at Dragonstone while he was there. They said once he and Jace had been taken away, Viserys had gathered the entire family inside the house. With their faces all still red from crying and Jaya’s pretty white dress still coated in blood, he demanded to know the truth.

They all knew what the truth was. Jace didn’t know his limits and Aegon didn’t care about his.

He could see it all happening in his head, walking towards the orchard with Jaya and Baela, catching Jaya when she tripped over a stone, her tipsy smile as she looked up at him, the pearl and the sapphire pendant settled against her chest.

Who knows what started the argument between Jace and Aegon, but suddenly Aemond had found himself between them.

“There he is,” Jace had sneered, but his voice quickly raised into a shout, “‘perfect’ Aemond Targaryen, fucking mummy’s boy, thinking he’s some kind of fucking diplomat!”

Aegon tried to shout back, “more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Aemond couldn’t make out everything through the way his voice slurred.

“Not so fucking perfect though, are you? You’re no worse than Aegon– no! You’re so much worse, aren’t you? Aren’t you!?

He’d watched Jace’s expression darken, his lips sneering into a sickening smile.

“You’ve got my sister wrapped around your fucking finger, fucking creep.”

He told himself Jace was just drunk. It didn’t matter what he thought… only it did. Jace could tell Rhaenyra or Viserys. Worse, he could talk to Jaya. She had always been devoted to her twin. She had picked Jace over Aemond before, in petty arguments when they were children.

“You want her, don’t you? Don’t you!? She’s too good for you though, and you know it. You want her but you’ll never fucking have her!”

When Aemond’s fist collided with Jace’s jaw it was on pure instinct. He was sober enough to stop himself but he didn’t. He just kept going.

According to Aegon, when Viserys came to Jaya, she said that it was Aemond who had started the argument. Jace was in the orchard with the others, when Aemond had come from nowhere and threw the first punch. She had seen it, so had Baela, so had Luke and Joffrey. It was their word against Aegon and Daeron’s.

The official story was that it had been a tragic accident, one in which Rhaenyra’s children were certainly blameless.

She called him the night he got to Dragonstone but he let the phone ring. A week later she appeared in the doorway to his bedroom. She was hazy, or he was still delirious from sleep, his mother hovering over her shoulder, reluctant to leave them alone together.

He doesn’t remember most of the conversation now. He doesn’t want to remember it. He knows it ended with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was completely still. She didn’t flinch, didn’t distort her face, scrunch her nose or make an ugly shape with her mouth. She looked utterly beautiful and cried effortlessly. It wasn’t fair when he still had stitches sewn into his flesh to keep the left half of his face in place.

At one point she approached the bed and tried to touch his hand. He snatched it out of her grasp. When she tried again he pushed her away.

“Why did you do it?” she said. “You attacked Jace, why? Why? Why? Why?”

Because Jace could have taken away the one thing he thought was his, by right, by love. Instead he gave some bullshit excuse– Jace had threatened Aegon, insulted Daeron, insulted him. And what did it matter anyway? Viserys believed her.

He needed her. He needed her and she pushed him away and cradled her coward of a brother in her arms. He needed her and she’d thrown it all back in his face with a slash of a broken bottle. He needed her, but she had made her decision.

“Liar,” he hissed. “You’re a fucking liar.”

He saw it in her face then, her desire to fight melting away. To Aemond that had always meant that she knew he was right.

“Show up here again, utter so much as a word to me again, and I’ll tear yours out as payment for mine.”

Some weeks later Aegon mentioned that she had abandoned her plans to go to KLU and instead found a place at the University of Pentos. She never tried to call after that and neither did he.

A layer of sweat clings to his skin and makes him shiver. He shrugs it off as he sits down at his desk, and spots a handwritten note sitting beside the keyboard of his laptop. Investment figures for Seasnake Shipping back to me by 7pm at the latest. Knowing Otto Hightower, that means an hour before the specified time.

In for three, hold for three, out for three. It always amazes him how well that trick works, he thinks as he takes out a packet from the top drawer of his desk and pushes out two tablets, the one good thing he’d gotten out of his year of therapy. He swallows the medication dry, suddenly regretting throwing away the bottle of water.

It’s nearly 6pm when Aemond has everything his grandfather wants, the names of Seasnake’s investors, the other companies they’re attached to, numbers and details he’s found buried in endless spreadsheets and pages of paperwork. He shouldn’t be able to see most of them but he has his ways. The Velaryons have been in business with the Targaryens for centuries and there are always trails to follow.

A few familiar names appear, Rhaenyra Tagrayren, Daemon Targayren, married to each of Corlys’ children. Aemond was only a year old when his sister married Laenor, but he’s always known how sceptical his mother and grandfather were of the match. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra had to do. She wasn’t going to inherit Seasnake, that had been promised to Laena, the elder sibling, and she was already Viserys’ chosen heir, so what did she think she was going to get out of it? Not a loving husband, surely.

Other investors and partners include the names Stark and Arryn, both wealthy and well established families. He also sees the names Celtigar, Massey, Bar Emmon, old names, though not as respected as they once were.

He leaves a note for his grandfather at the top of the document: Seasnake is being directed by a man who built his wealth to match his own pride, supported by opportunists with more money than sense.

With that task done he opens a new email to inform his father’s office that he’ll be absent from the event. He types it quickly and reads over it once before he can talk himself out of pressing send. He doesn’t give a reason why; Viserys should know why.

This leaves him just enough time to pack up and get ready for dinner.

The Red Keep has a series of apartments separated from the offices, where Aemond spent most of his childhood. The building is known as the Holdfast, with its own gatehouse leading into the city and gardens surrounded by high red brick walls. Historically it was built to house the extensive members of House Targaryen, but it is mostly empty now. His mother has had her own apartment for a few years, since Daeron moved out. The only one of his siblings to still live here now is Aegon, at Alicent’s insistence.

Walking from his office to the Holdfast brings him through courtyards and underneath old battlements, until he comes to a facade with towers, tall windows and an unsuspecting wooden door, save for the armed guards standing either side of it. His mother’s apartments are on the first floor, along a gallery and up the grand staircase, past portraits and tapestries. The hallways get smaller the further in you go and soon he comes to the private rooms.

Alicent often dismisses the staff on quiet Friday evenings. The minute he’s in the door he is met with the sound of one of her 80s playlists, the scent of spices and her favourite lemon and lavender candles. He finds her in the kitchen, dark blue jeans, a white shirt, black pumps and her auburn curls pulled into a bun to show off her pearl earrings, stirring two pots on the stove.

“Criston’s got me learning another one of his recipes,” she says, only looking at him for a moment, “I’ve got rice on too, so I hope you’re hungry.”

Aemond approaches her to kiss her on the cheek and takes a look inside the pots, one filled with chickpeas, the other with black lentils. “Is Aegon here?” he says.

“He’s in the lounge, tell him to set the table.”

Aemond watches her, entirely absorbed in the notebook on the counter next to the stove, with handwritten instructions. Nothing seems to be especially bothering her, even though the centenary event has had her on edge for over a month. She looks no different from the last time he saw her, before he knew about Jaya, when she was supposed to talk to him, supposedly.

“I want a drink first,” he says, whisky with no ice. He pours it for himself slowly while his mother hums along to Tears for Fears. “Do you know why grandfather wanted that information on Seasnake’s investors?”

“Hmm? Oh he’s probably doing one of his checks, you know what he’s like. Good to keep an eye on everyone,” she says. She has a glass of red wine next to the notebook, though by the looks of it she’s hardly touched it. “He said something interesting about Rickon Stark recently, his son Cregan is in King’s Landing.”

Aemond pulls his glass away from his lips, the sweet sting of alcohol slipping down his throat. “Shouldn’t be too unusual, they’re attending next week.” Staying at Dragonstone no less, some of Viserys’ most honoured guests.

“He’s staying at Queen’s Lodge.”

That takes him by surprise. “Hmm,” he says, bringing the glass to his lips again.

“He and Jacaerys are quite close, Aegon tells me.”

The Starks had visited Dragonstone once or twice as summer guests, back when they were all kids. Cregan was always talkative and effortlessly charming, but it was obvious to Aemond that his warmth was far more calculated than anyone else believed. He made sure Jaya kept her distance, but Jace followed him around like a lost puppy for the weeks he’d stay with their family.

They would have studied together at White Harbour, though Cregan was a few years older than Jace. They could have met again and reconnected. Aemond doesn’t interact with his nephew outside of necessity.

“And what would Aegon know about it?” he says.

“More than you,” a voice calls from the doorway. Aegon has ditched his suit for brown cargos and a comically baggy sports shirt, leaning against the frame. “Ran into them last weekend,” he says, grinning coldly and running his tongue over his teeth. “The Starks are making some close personal connections with our sister’s family.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Alicent sighs.

Aegon scoffs and makes a dismissive gesture. While their mother is still distracted, he looks at Aemond and raises his eyebrows.

“Set the table, Aegon,” Aemond grumbles.

His brother does as he’s told. Aemond helps Alicent bring the dishes in. She sits at the head of the table, Aemond to her right, Aegon opposite him, to her left. She says a quick prayer to the Seven, as she always does. She asks the Mother to protect her children and asks the Crone for wisdom, for a light in dark and uncertain times.

“Speaking of close personal connections,” Aegon says, already having wolfed down half of his plate. Aemond already hates the tone of this conversation. “We’ll finally get to meet Daeron’s new bit,”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Aemond says.

Aegon ignores him. “Are you excited to meet Nettles, mother?”

Daeron talks about her constantly. They met in Oldtwon while they were both studying. Now he’s working for the Citadel Institute, she’s some kind of journalist, and they live together in a perfect little flat that looks out over the Honeywine river. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“That can’t actually be her name, surely?” Alicent says.

“Perhaps it’s short for something,” Aemond says, prodding his food now to find himself with no appetite. He thinks about the drive he’ll have to make through the city, back to the empty house waiting for him on Silverwing Square.

“Nettles,” Aegon says, eyes on the ceiling like he’s trying to decipher a hidden meaning. “Nettles, like stinging nettles?”

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent says, looking down at the uneaten food on his plate, “what happened with Maris Baratheon, why is she not on the final guest list?”

Aegon smiles, folding his elbows on the table and leaning forward, eager to hear an explanation like he hasn’t already coaxed it out of Aemond over too many bottles of wine at a steak restaurant on Conquest Street.

“Things didn’t work out with Maris,” Aemond says shortly. An understatement. The thought of their last conversation makes him nauseous.

“Aemond, sometimes I feel like you don’t love me.”

“I don’t think I do,” which felt untruthful, because he knew from the start that he never would. There were lots of things he liked about Maris. He liked that she was interested in him, he liked that she was blunt and unrelentingly honest, he liked that she had dark hair, and that she liked being fucked from behind and would let him press her face down into the pillow to muffle her moans. Soon the things he liked about her only felt like another reminder.

“Maris is old news, mother,” Aegon says.

“What a shame,” Alicent says, reaching for her wine again. “Oh well, I don’t think Viserys particularly likes her father anyway.”

“Well you know Aemond, always striving for perfection.”

Aemond’s eye meets Aegon’s over the table. His brother is trying not to grin, violet eyes bright from the light of the candelabra between them. Shadows catch on the hollow parts of his face, it makes him look tired but vicious.

Then he looks to his mother. She eats slowly with small mouthfuls, not making eye contact with either of her sons. It’s not often he finds himself upset or angry with his mother, not since he was old enough to understand just how hard she has worked, or know what she’s had to put up with as the wife of Viserys Targaryen. Aemond knows she trusts him in a way that does not always extend to his siblings.

But now all he can think is that she knows about Jaya. She knows, and she won’t even look at him.

Jaya could be in King’s Landing this very moment, lounging around Queen’s Lodge, looking out over the orchard she watered with Aemond’s blood while her mother fawns over her only daughter’s return.

He just needs to say it. He won’t go to Dragonstone if Jaya is there, he won’t stand to be in the same room as her, or breathe the same air as her. The thought already sends a feeling like flames licking up his spine that makes him restless with rage, with hurt and betrayal.

Aegon is still watching him and gives him a small nod.

Aemond takes a soft breath through parted lips–

Until a sound comes from the hallway that makes them all freeze, the sound of the front door unlocking, opening, then slamming with an ear splitting bang!

Aemond feels his face harden, brows straining with every footstep that marches against the hardwood floors towards the dining room.

Viserys appears in the threshold, dressed in one of his red and black suits, his face one of stone cold fury. He doesn’t look at Alicent, or Aegon, his eyes are fixed on Aemond.

He steps slowly into the room, placing one hand on the back of the chair closest to him at the head of the table, miles away from the rest of his family. His voice is quiet and clear through the stunned silence. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Alicent makes a stuttering, scoffing noise. “Viserys–”

He holds up a finger to silence her, his eyes widening in warning. “Aemond,” he says, “you will answer me.”

Aemond keeps his jaw clenched at first. He can feel his teeth wanting to chatter, anger aching in every part of his body. He cannot afford to show any sign of weakness or remorse, not in front of his father. But why does it feel so difficult to speak? He swallows through a dry feeling in his throat. “I thought I’d worded it all very simply–”

“Look at me when I speak to you, boy.”

He hadn’t realised his gaze had fallen to the table. He looks up with an expression that is as passive as he can manage. “I would have thought it would be obvious why I can’t go, with the recent addition to the guestlist.”

His head is turned completely so that Viserys is in his line of vision, but he hears his mother make a small sighing sound. “Aemond, I was going to–”

“ALICENT!” Viserys roars.

Aemond feels himself flinch but his gaze is unwavering. Why does he think he has any right to barge in here, to ask anything of them?

If Aemond were to stand he’d be taller than his father, but he finds himself unable to move.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Viserys says to him. “This could be the single most important night for the family for centuries and you’re still holding onto childish grudges?”

Childish grudges. He was mutilated and forced to carry the blame because of a lie, but of course his father expects him to let go, to forgive and forget.

He feels the leather of the eyepatch digging uncomfortably into his forehead and wishes more than anything he could just tear it off.

There are some things Aemond can argue with Viserys about, but they tend to be logical arguments, work related. The longer he looks at his father the more he remembers that no amount of sense could ever compare to the blind devotion Viserys has for his eldest child. There’s nothing Aemond can appeal to, not love or loyalty, not even sympathy.

“This is not about you, Aemond. This is about the bank, this is about the Targaryen name, our legacy, does that all mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it does,” Aemond says. He’s worked for nothing else his whole life, Dragon Bank, his heritage as a Targaryen, what is he without all of that?

Viserys’ face softens a little, as if he thinks he’s made some kind of progress. “I’ve never known you to be selfish, it’s not in your nature.”

“Well then you clearly know nothing about me,” Aemond says, glaring up at him.

Viserys frowns. “You will be there, and I want to hear no more of it. You will be polite. You will grin and fucking bear it because that’s what the rest of us have to do.”

He’s delusional, he’s fucking delusional.

Aemond looks to his brother, slumped in his chair, his eyes even darker now. He has his hand around the stem of a wine glass. He’s been staring at the crimson liquid since their father walked in. He might have been expecting to be the target of Viserys’ anger tonight; he usually is.

Aegon looks across at him, furious, exhausted, eager for this exchange to be over. He tilts his head in a questioning motion, though his lips stay firmly sealed.

All the years he spent trying to be the best that he could, how hard he pushed himself to get through that final year at KLU while recovering from his injury, all the hours he’s devoted to the family business, all the times he’s kept his mouth shut and his head held high, is this the hill Aemond is going to die on?

He won’t try to look at his mother, but he can guess she would have a similar reasoning.

A fearsome wind from the Narrow Sea howls against the windows of Aemond’s black Jag. The road to Dragonstone is a desolate one, leading through a forest that might as well be nothingness in the dark. The headlights beam against the tarmac which turns and rises and falls, so he can never see what’s ahead of him.

There’s a burst of light as he approaches the gates. He hasn’t seen the gatehouse for years and remembers that he used to be scared of the stone dragon heads that stand open mouthed and teeth bared on either side, at the base of the turrets. Some hired security guard comes to his window, his demeanour changing completely when Aemond glares at him through a single eye.

Cars line the acres of grass before the house, the driveway lined with lanterns and more statuettes of dragons. Dragonstone lies ahead in its full glory, lights on in every window, moonlight shining upon its ancient walls so the castle looms in shadows and silver.

He must be one of the last people to arrive, the last of the important people, slotting the Jag next to a golden Dodge Charger he recognises as Aegon’s. The rest of the Targaryens all drive black cars.

He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror for as long as he can stand to look at himself, glaring at the blunt edges of the sapphire in his left socket, dull and dark in the low light. The flesh around his eyelids are twisted and red, the scar itself deep but clean. His mother had suggested they could get it looked at, to make his eye seem less severe, but that’s what the eyepatch is for, to cover up the worst of his injury, for the comfort of others and not his.

He slips the leather patch over his head and secures it in place, careful not to mess up his hair in the process.

One day he’ll make her look at it, the sapphire and the scar, maybe then she’ll understand what she put him through. Not tonight, no, tonight he intends to play it safe.

He effortlessly exits the car, checking his cuffs as he walks up to the front doors. A server offers him a glass of champagne when he steps into the entrance hall which he takes a small sip from, parched after his drive from King’s Landing. He knows his way through the opulent halls that have stayed the same for as long as he can remember, towards the hum of at least a hundred voices.

The ballroom glimmers with reflected light, mirrors, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, champagne glasses. The guests are all in their finery, tuxedos and floor length gowns, either in black or the colours of their houses. Some have started to take their seats around the circular tables, but many are still mingling.

Any head of silver hair stands out rather obviously, and the first he sees is his father standing in the centre of the ballroom, a smile on his face and his arm around his wife’s waist. Alicent is radiant in a gold gown that catches the warmth of the candles dotted about the room. She looks less than pleased being made to talk to Rhaenyra and Laenor– now there’s a surprise, he doesn’t usually make a habit of appearing at family events. Rhaenyra is in black, as is her husband, with a waistcoat embroidered with swirling gold patterns, like waves on the sea.

His eye continues to scour the room. He sees Helaena and Daeron with the girl he assumes is Nettles. He sees Aegon getting friendly with the Martell siblings. He sees Corlys and Rhaenys with Laena and Daemon. He sees Jacaerys standing with the Starks, closer than is friendly to Cregan. He sees those with the surnames Tyrell, Tully, Lannister, Arryn, all the others, and keeps searching.

She’s not where she’s meant to be, at the table closest to the high table where Viserys will sit with the board members. She’s not with her parents, she’s not at the bar, she’s not at the doors to the gardens. Each moment he does not find her fuels some kind of fire within him, adrenaline pumping through his blood, like he’s chasing something just out of his reach.

A flash of loose, dark hair steals his attention. He doesn’t see her face at first but he notices when she nudges his shoulder as she passes him on his blind side, very nearly ending up with champagne down her silky, off white gown or spilled across the string of pearls sitting on her bare collar.

He apologises on instinct, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket that has only ever been intended as decorative.

“No harm done,” the woman insists. “It’s good stuff, I would have been mortified to waste any of it.”

He recognises her face, the slanted nose, the sharpness of her cheeks, her bright green eyes and unsettlingly perfect smile. He’s seen her at press events, some kind of relation to the Strongs, but not close enough that she’d ever be invited to any personal occasions.

“Alys Rivers,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Deputy editor for Seven.” He’s heard of it, a high society gossip magazine, they often run stories about his family, Daemon and Aegon mostly, the rest of them clearly aren’t newsworthy.

“You used to work for the Harrenhal Observer, didn’t you?” he says.

“I did,” she says, “between you and me though, I think cousin Larys felt a little threatened.”

“Threatened?” Aemond says, noticing a pair of girls who are oddly familiar to him. He can’t place their names but he thinks they might be old friend’s of Jaya’s. They approach Jace, turning their heads around frequently like they’re looking for something. “How so?”

“He thought I was too opinionated,” Alys says, keeping her eyes on his.

“I didn’t think there could be such a thing,” Aemond says, though now he thinks he recognises the girls from one of the parties at Maegor’s Square, from years ago. One of them meets his gaze and quickly looks away.

“The Observer is supposedly a neutral publication after all, I had a few things to say about the working conditions at the Casterly Rock mines which caused quite a stir.”

That’s where he recognises her name from. Viserys wasn’t happy with the article given their ties to the Lannisters and their gold. It sets off a silent alarm in his head, suddenly her gaze is a little too scrutinising for his liking and he’s aware of every breath he takes, shallow or deep, soft or sharp, she could use anything against him.

“I heard a rumour you weren’t going to be attending tonight’s event,” she says.

“It’s Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary,” he says, “I’m incredibly proud of all the work my family has put into the last five hundred years.”

“You say that like you’re expecting this conversation to go to print.”

“That’s why you approached me, is it not?”

She hums a gentle laugh to herself as her gaze roams over his suit, black, simple and perfectly fitted. She looks back to his face, he sees the way her eyes flicker to his left side. She smiles lazily in a way that makes him wonder if she’s trying to flirt, and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer until he can smell the classic, musky scent of her perfume. He lets her do it, lets her lips get closer to his ear.

“I only wanted to see if you had something interesting to say,” Alys whispers over the noise of the party.

He glances up, towards the grand fireplace at the end of the room. Gold plated engravings of dragons intertwine and spread their wings, framing the fire that burns within.

She’s standing there, a glass of champagne in one hand, in an emerald green dress suited for summer, loose fabric, exposing her arms, her hair pulled up into a style that’s effortlessly elegant.

Their eyes meet. It’s like electricity strikes his heart.

Six years fades into oblivion, she looks different and exactly the same. He can almost believe he’s never known a life without her, but she’s always been there, hasn’t she? An unspoken secret, living in the lightest and the darkest parts of his mind.

He can see the moment of recognition, when her expression goes from passive and proud to alert, eyes widening, lips falling, her hand lowering the glass to the nearest surface.

It’s dangerous how quickly he can already feel himself start to slip. He’s had seven days to prepare and part of him is still in disbelief that Jaya is a living, breathing person and not just a memory. Another part of him is calm and unsurprised, like he’s always known she was going to come back. To King’s Landing, to the family business, to him.

He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his head or his chest, but he feels empty, starved to the point of ravenous.

Jaya starts to move through the crowd, towards the glass doors that lead to an outlook over the gardens and the sea. It only sparks excitement for Aemond, imagining all the thoughts that could be swimming through her head, anger, pride, fear. By the Seven he hopes one of those is fear.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“What?” he says, looking back to Alys.

“I thought I’d refresh my memory a little before I came here tonight. It’s been six years since Jaya Velaryon was in King’s Landing. The two of you were close, weren’t you?”

Close.

Close like the way Jaya used to hug him when they were children. She’d wrap her little arms so tightly around his chest or his neck that he could hardly breathe. He’d tell her to stop, shove her away, but then she’d only cry, and he could never say no to her after that.

Close like their minds worked in the same way, when they only needed to look at each other a certain way to know what they were both thinking.

Close like the air of his bedroom the first night they kissed, feeling the shared warmth, her body against his, the softness of her skin, when she tasted like wine and smelled like smoke.

Close was never close enough, but what difference did it make?

“Then there was that accident at Queen’s Lodge. The press release was so vague, it only said you and Jacaerys were recovering from minor injuries…”

Aemond glares at her, the same look that would usually silence Aegon, but Alys Rivers is not afraid of his warning.

She makes a gesture to his eye. “I mean, clearly one injury was more severe than the other. Curious that Jaya left for Pentos so soon after that when she was due to start at KLU that year. Why did she leave, do you know?”

Aemond pushes past her without another word, towards the glass doors that only Jaya has passed through in the last minute or so. The other guests are starting to take their places at the tables now. He sees Rhaenyra and Laenor looking around the room, having gathered their other three brats. His own mother tries to capture his attention but his mind can only think of one thing. He walks towards the doors as calmly as he can, even though it feels as if his life depends on reaching them, on reaching her.

The doors lead out to a patio, seemingly empty right up to the balustrade. He walks to the edge, the noise of the party lost to the roar of the wind and the waves in his ears, no doubt his hair will be blown into a mess but he doesn’t care.

Everything below him is black, out of reach from the lights of the castle. Then he spots something, a flicker of flame far below him, down a series of steps, out of view, down at an outlook over the sea. She shields it with her hand, lighting a cigarette by the look of it, until the end glows with a red ember.

He walks slowly, savouring the sound of every step his shoes make against the paving stones. He keeps his hands in his pockets, single eye fixated on the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her spine and her waist through the dress.

He tries to guess the moment she realises when she’s not alone. She angles her head slightly as he reaches the bottom of the steps, still a good distance away from her. He watches her take one drag from the cigarette before she lowers it, resting her hand against the stone balcony.

He comes close enough to realise she’s shaking, jaw clenched, looking almost determinedly out across the sea. The wind cuts across his cheeks like it’s burning his skin, so how she can stand to be out here with nothing to protect herself from the cold is almost admirable. It is also foolish of her.

Goosebumps bloom over her skin, skin he could reach out and touch if he wanted to.

And she won’t look at him.

She won’t look at him.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

Series taglist: @aemondsbabygirl @persephonerinyes @sirenangelroyal @qyburnsghost @adragonprinceswhore @boundlessfantasy @asumofwords @summerposie @thedamewithabook @ammo23 @valyrianflower @jiminie-08 @magnificentdelusionr @hiddencurator

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #modern!au #aemond targaryen smut #it will come back #hozier coded #my fics

139 notes · View notes

cryingbard · 7 months

Text

Let's make this a Hozier profile let's go

#hozier #digital art #my art #art #tattoos #hozier fanart #fanart #tattoos ideas #illustration #cottagecore #in a week #like real people do #take me to church #it will come back #artists on tumblr

253 notes · View notes

3d-wifey · 7 months

Text

Hozier writes with a sluttiness one would only find written on the walls of a Greek bathhouse. Perhaps with the poetic horniness, you'd find in an 18th-century letter from a man who has a healthy sex life with his new wife. All of this, to dress like an 80s masc lesbian.

#3d wifey talks #hozier #unreal unearth #wasteland baby #Spotify #de selby part 2 #nfwmb #angel of small death and the codeine scene #moment's silence (common tongue)#eat your young #dinner and diatribes #it will come back #no plan #to be alone #foreigner's god

235 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 1 year

Text

Vanilla Latte

Same pairing as Double Espresso and Farmer's Market and yeah, I guess this is becoming a fic. thing. something. It's becoming something.

Simon Riley/reader 1.8k words Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, no smut but this fic has mature themes. There is a man staring at you in the cafe.

There is a monster in your life.

It is a shapeshifter, a horrible creature that no one else seems to be able to see. During the day, it is fairly unsuspecting and blends in with its surroundings, but at night, it sheds its skin and rears its ugly head, exposing it’s true nature when it drags itself up the stairs of your apartment complex to bang on your door, its rage filled voice calling your name over and over, forcing you into your bedroom closet, where you sit in the dark with your hands clamped over your ears. Sometimes, it hurls its entire body against your door to break it down, and you hide in your locked bathroom, knees to your chest in your tub, little pocketknife handle digging into the skin of your palm.

No one seems to know your monster exists.

No one cares that the monster followed you across an entire ocean when you tried to run away from it.

Your neighbors have turned a blind eye. Those who do see, have fallen to the bystander effect.

The ones who were organized to protect people like you from monsters say they can’t do anything unless you have proof, or it gets worse.

You don’t bother to tell them that if it does get worse, you’ll probably just be dead.

Sometimes, you see it on the street during your walk home from work, standing with its hands in its pockets, dark eyes tracking your every step, waiting for its chance to strike. Sometimes, it follows you onto the train, a car ahead, watching you between the shoulders of the people that separate you from it, their presence the only thing preventing it from making you disappear.

You tell yourself that eventually it will get bored and move on, that it’ll go away, leave you alone for good. But days pass, and it still drags itself up your apartment stairs to torment you, still stands on the sidewalk across from your building.

Sometimes, when it’s really bad, you wonder if you should just open the door and let it kill you. Let it take what it wants, let it make you disappear forever. You think it might not be so bad, not living, if it meant you were free of the monster.

But then, the sun rises. The monster leaves and the day begins. The air is warm, and the birds chirp, and the breeze is just right, and it’s enough. It’s enough to remind you that you can feel something other than despair. It’s enough to keep you going.

And right now, that’s really all you can ask for.

“Oh good. Was starting to worry.” Your boss, Tiana, or just Tee as she constantly reminded you, breathes a sigh of relief when you come through the back door. Your apron comes off the hook easily, and then over your head before the waist ties wrap around your middle. It’s even still got some flour caked on it from yesterday. You shoot her a pointed look.

“You know, if you want to take large orders, just schedule me ahead of time, that way we’re not running around like chickens with our heads cut off.”

“It was last minute, and I couldn’t really say no. But! I am here and will help you with whatever you need.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You pull the laptop that’s sitting on the prep table towards you and scan the typed-out numbers. “Forty-five people?” you raise an eyebrow. You called me in for this? She gives you a helpless look, and you roll your eyes affectionately while she puts a mug of coffee down in front of you, heat pulsing off of it like it’s practically boiling. “Alright, let’s get to it I guess.”

Steam floats in the air from the ceramic mug that’s cradled between your fingers. You’re sitting in the back, leaned against the stainless-steel sink, sipping your fifth cup of coffee, waiting for the dishwasher to finish while Tee rings up and helps load the order that you just cranked out.

You don’t do any of that. You don’t even talk to customers unless you absolutely have to, and even then, it’s less than enticing. You leave it for Alex, who works the counter, and puts up with everyone’s bullshit with charm and grace.

You yawn, trying not to melt into the floor, wrists sore from rolling dough for the last three hours. Outside, traffic on the street hums, busses and cars and bikes all moving in the same direction down the little one-way avenue, horns honking and music occasionally blaring out someone’s window. Usually, this was your favorite time of day. After you’ve finished the afternoon rush, the prep table has been scraped and scrubbed, most of the dishes are washed, and there’s one left over croissant with your name on it. It was in these kinds of small moments, that you still felt like yourself, felt like you could enjoy things. Like you were still just a baker, just the pastry chef, just another person, out there living their life. Not a husk of a human, always looking over your shoulder, hiding from a monster.

The back door chimes, jolting you from your spiral, and Tee hands you a folded over banknote.

“They tipped. Generously.” You frown. You don’t take tips because you’re a full wage hourly, and she knows this.

“Give it to Alex.”

“They get one too. We all do… By the way, the new scones? Orange vanilla?”

“They’re vegan.”

“I know. They’re amazing. You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Thanks, Tee.” You want to sound enthusiastic about the praise, but you’re too exhausted to get the inflection right. Instead, you just sound like a deflated balloon. Or Eeyore. Sympathy flickers across her face. You turn before she can watch your expression shift into annoyance. It’s not her fault. “Dishes are almost done.” You tell her, pulling yourself free of the apron and shrugging on your knit sweater. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

Every day after work, you walk the six blocks to the corner café to sit by the window with your book and a decaf latte. Vanilla, usually, or caramel if you’re feeling like it. You settle at the little table that’s almost always open because it’s rickety, balancing on three legs because the fourth one is missing a foot. You have an exchange worked out here since you bake their pastries, they give you all you can drink espresso, and you get to curl up with your book like you’re a cat every day after work. You feel safe here. You’ve never felt exposed, the café is off a side street, and as far as you knew, you’ve never been followed. You’ve never seen your monster outside here, or in this area really at all. Never seen it on Sunday mornings at the farmer’s market, or at the cramped, darkly lit bar that you sometimes stop at to grab a pint when you’re feeling up to it.

You hope that means it doesn’t know too much about your routines, but you can’t be too sure. Even so, your monster isn’t a danger to other people, just to you, never approaching you when there are others around, and that small fact brings you small slivers of relief. At least when it finally gets you, no one else will have to watch. No one else will have to suffer.

You’re reading page three hundred and two of The Name of the Wind and drinking your second decaf vanilla latte of the day, when the incident (which is what you’re calling it, in your mind) happens. The girl behind the counter is calling a name, her voice pitched with irritation, and the change in her tone immediately puts you on red alert. You scan the shop, eyes landing on a massive man with a mask and a hoodie on who’s standing by the counter, oblivious to Clarissa, who's just trying to get him to pick up his order.

He’s oblivious, because he’s staring at you. His gaze never falters, the intensity of his eyes kicking your nervous system into high gear, and you physically clamp down on yourself, so you don’t sprint out of the coffee shop right then and there.

It’s not the monster. That is a man. This man is not your monster.

Clarissa gives you a helpless look and gestures to the queue that’s quickly forming in front of her register. You give her a nod in return, and stride over to where the behemoth of a man stands frozen, Patrick Rothfuss still in your hand. You take a closer look at him, and swallow when you see his eyes, their amber reflection gorgeous in the afternoon sun. Something hot stirs in you, prickles across your skin and you take a sharp inhale. It’s been so long since you’ve felt the pull of attraction, felt the presence of butterflies in your stomach, that you almost mistake what you’re feeling for fear.

Something pulls you closer to him, like you're tethered together on an invisible string.

“Sir?” the man in the mask doesn’t respond. He just… stares at you. Okay… weird? Is this dude on drugs? “Sir.” You drop the question at the end of your statement adding a little more authority, trying to get his attention, and it seems to work, because his spine straightens, and then he nearly stumbles backwards, away from you like you’ve struck him. You blink in confusion. “I think that’s yours.” You point to the white cup that Clarissa was gesturing to, but he still ignores you. “The uh, double espresso?” Something is off here. You pull the tiny cup from the counter and hold it out to him, imagining he’ll just take it from you and be on his way but when he doesn’t move, worry starts to build in your mind. What if he can’t hear? What if he’s having a stroke? What if something is wrong? “Sir? Are you… is everything okay?” You take a tiny step closer to him.

He steps back quickly, banging into the glass side door, and it swings out behind him. A second passes, and then he’s gone, turning on his heel in the breeze, disappearing down the corner while you stand in the café, a double espresso in your outstretched hand.

#it will come back #peaches writes #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mwii #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw2

355 notes · View notes

r-v-rrr · 4 months

Text

when hozier compared himself to a wild animal saying screaming “do not let me in if you do not want me. i will come back if you feed me, hold me, want me. stop. you do not want this. i can be dangerous, you do not want me.” and then “i’ll be howling outside your door, screaming, scratching, calling to you, for you. don’t you hear me?”

#hozier #it will come back #music #lyrics #poetry #gnawing on wood #this song will be the death of me #i could write a college thesis on this

125 notes · View notes

ghouljams · 3 months

Note

Hello your ghost distribution system is in my head. I want ghost to be happy I want this Tortured soul to cling tightly to the little happiness he's been given by someone and stick!

If you won't let him move in he'll just buy a house nearby. He'll rent the apartment next door, he'll buy the house across the street, he will find a way to be on your doorstep every morning. He's coming back like a moth to your flame, he had a taste of your warmth, your normalcy and compassion and he's addicted. Ghost could never explain it, the feeling that he gets when he's around you. It's a desperate clawing thing. It's a need so bone deep that it must have been carved into his dna when he was still in his mother's womb. He needs you. He needs your kindness. He holds on so tightly he worries his might shatter the sliver of happiness you've offered him, but he can't let go.

And somehow you're open to it. You don't cling to him the same way, but you accept him. You open your door to him, you feed him, you care for him. He offers you every scrap of himself in return, desperate to repay just a fraction of your kindness. He fixes things around the house, he buys your groceries, offers to pay your bills, he fetches blankets when you sit on the couch, rubs your feet after a long day. If you ask it of him he'll cut out his heart and serve it to you on a silver platter. Please let him stay. Please. Please, he'll do anything. You can't turn him away now, not when he's had a taste of you. He'd never survive the cold again.

Anything, he'll do anything for you. Just let him keep coming back. (except you never ask for anything in return. Your kindness is not a transaction, not a debt to be repaid, not a thing that needs returning. It is wholly and painfully human, kindness for the sake of kindness, love for the sake of love, like nothing Ghost has ever had before and never wants from anyone else.)

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #the ghost distribution system #it will come back

977 notes · View notes

m0rbidm1nd · 4 months

Text

Hozier wrote “I’ve known the warmth of your doorways; through the cold, i’ll find my way back to you.” and expected me to be normal about it

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #it will come back #and what if i cried #what if i giggled like a slut?

74 notes · View notes

kryptoniteandcatnip · 6 days

Text

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Hozier Latinoamerica (@hozierlatam)

instagram

Is it hot in here?

YES, YES IT IS. 🔥🔥🔥

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier addiction #omg this man #unreal unearth #hozier addict #unreal unearth tour #it will come back #hot hot hot #damn son #Instagram

45 notes · View notes

moraent-keys · 27 days

Text

I need to see more Hozier on appleradio playlists immediately- yall are missing such a good opportunity

#please yall cmon #too sweet #angel of small death and the codeine scene #sunlight #IT WILL COME BACK #CMON NOW #also take me to church but I actually see that song occasionally #radioapple #appleradio #alastor x lucifer #hozier #ship talk #music talk #text post

40 notes · View notes

bitchsister · 3 months

Text

THE BOYS ARE PUBLICLY NAKED IN ITALY AND SO IN LOVE AND HORRIFICALLY NAUGHTY AND FULL OF FILTH!!!!

#saltburn #cattonquick #it will come back #oliver quick #felix catton #felix x oliver #also we’re at 100k words!!!#yoyo writes

59 notes · View notes

humanpurposes · 6 months

Text

It Will Come Back

Chapter 1, You Know Better

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, drinking, recreational drug use, manipulation (I guess?)

Words: 5800

A/n: Please make sure you read the warnings. If any of this stuff makes you uncomfortable feel free to give it a miss 🫶 Also serves as my (very very late) entry for Week 1 of the literary prompts for @hotd-bigbang

“He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” -Wuthering Heights

6 years earlier...

Jaya leaned on her shoulder against the wall by the side door, waiting as inconspicuously as she could despite the fact she was dressed in a black crop top, skirt and pumps. Clearly, she had no intention of spending the evening at home.

She shifted her weight on her feet, pulled at the hem of her crop top and checked the pocket of her black denim jacket; pocket mirror, lipgloss, eyeliner, and the vintage lighter Aemond had slipped into her hands a few months ago. Every time she tried to give it back he wouldn’t take it. She smiled to herself as she traced her thumb over the engraving of a three headed dragon in the silver plating. He said he had found it in his father’s study years ago, but Viserys had enough of them to not notice that one had gone missing, apparently.

She froze when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs and through the hallway. They were too light to be Laenor’s, too quick to be Rhaenyra’s, too cautious to be Luke or Joff.

Jace appeared through the archway, a red blazer thrown over his shoulder, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned at the top to show off two chains, one gold, one silver. His perfectly white sneakers hardly made a sound against the hardwood floors. He tutted when he saw her.

“What?” she said, tightening her grip on the lighter in her pocket.

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Jaya had a few memories of their apartments at the Red Keep. She considered the humbly named Queen’s Lodge to be the only home she had ever known. The house sat on a large estate in the corner of Queen’s Park, not too far from the centre of King’s Landing, but removed from the noise and chaos of the city. The front looked out over immaculately kept gardens while the back of the house was for leisure, the patio, the pool and the tennis court beyond that. The side door Jaya and Jace found themselves passing through every Friday night led out to a small orchard of apple trees.

Summer was fast approaching but the night air was far from warm. Once Jace had locked the door from the inside latch and pocketed the spare key, Jaya led him down the barely visible path, down to a denser grove of older, taller trees, to the iron fence that bordered the entire estate. Jace hoisted her up and over the fence before clambering after her.

Where the daylight saw countless people passing through the park, the Velaryon twins walked through darkness and silence along the boardwalk, down to the gates that were locked every day at sunset.

Well, almost silence. Jace walked a few paces behind his sister, huffing and sighing pointedly.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Jaya said over her shoulder, a fact she reminded him of every week.

“I’m not going to let you go alone,” Jace said.

She tried to appreciate the intention, but having him dragging his feet behind her, constantly complaining when he could just stay home was frankly getting exhausting.

“I won’t be alone,” she said, checking the last few texts on her phone.

The first read, Here.

Which was soon followed by, Hurry up. It’s fucking cold :)

Jaya giggled to herself and looked ahead. The gate was coming into view now, and so were the two girls waiting by it.

They were both dressed in black, Sabby in a mini dress trimmed with lace, Alyssane in flared jeans, a Vivienne Westwood top and a pearl necklace.

“Did you not think to bring a jacket, Sabs?” Jaya grinned as Jace helped her over the gate.

“It’s strategic,” Alysanne said, “she’ll complain she’s cold and some cool, sexy economics student will offer her his jacket.”

“Politics,” Sabby said, reaching to help Jaya as she slipped down. “Gods, you must be the first person to ever say ‘cool’, ‘sexy’ and ‘economics student’ in the same sentence.”

From the park it was only a short walk to the bus stop, and a matter of minutes until they reached Conquest Street. Jaya loved it, the energy buzzing in the streets as they passed the pubs and bars, music pulsing from every direction, people laughing and shouting to make themselves heard.

From there she knew the way to Maegor’s Square without thinking. A few people lingered around the garden at the centre of the square and some leaned over the balconies in their aparments, smoking cigarettes and sipping expensive booze from mismatched glasses.

Then they came to the townhouse on the corner, with the emerald green door and the gold knocker in the shape of a dragon’s head. A bit on the nose, but their family were hardly known for their subtlety.

“I can’t believe you got us an invite to one of Aegon’s parties,” Alysanne hissed excitedly into her ear.

It was nothing really, Aegon wasn’t picky about the company he kept, and if anything, he liked picking up waifs and strays.

Jaya smiled as she checked her makeup in her pocket mirror. “Well, I am his favourite niece,” she said, smudging out the eyeliner in the corners of her eyes.

“You’re his only niece,” Jace grumbled.

“Exactly, no room for competition,” Jaya said, before applying another swipe of red lipgloss over her lips. “How do I look?” she asked the three of them.

Alysanne and Sabby immediately responded with praise that just seemed to float through her.

Jace tilted his head. For a moment Jaya thought she saw pity in her brother’s eyes.

“Beautiful,” he said, “you’re always beautiful.”

Jaya tutted. She didn’t mean her, she meant the makeup.

She tapped the knocker four times before being greeted by a haze of smoke, the smell of liquor and a slow psychedelic rock song playing from another room. The door had been opened by Arryk Cargyll, one of Aegon’s uni friends. He had a glass of clear liquid and ice in his hand and a cigarette hanging in the corner of his mouth. He hugged Jaya tightly and she beamed back, making a point to ask about his upcoming internship at Lannister Legal. He seemed impressed that she had remembered.

“Third year law,” she said to Alysanne and Sabby. “And he has a twin brother, Erryk. Politics,” she added with a wink. The girls giggled.

Jace settled for a quick handshake and a nod.

“Friends from school?” Arryk asked as he greeted the girls.

“Yeah, we’re all at Peremore’s,” Alysanne said, slotting herself beside him with a well-practised smile. They had another few weeks of classes before their final exams, but they all had their university applications confirmed.

Arryk led them through the bodies lingering in the hallway, into the kitchen and Alysanne began the usual routine of telling him what she studied– Politics, Psychology and Literature– and her plans to do Law at Vale. Sabby looked a little sour.

Jaya made herself at home, leaning against the black marble countertop, grinning to herself as Arryk suggested opening a bottle of champagne. He poured out four glasses, keeping one for himself, handing one each to Sabby and Alysanne. He went to give the fourth to Jaya then looked to Jace with a look of embarrassment.

“It’s fine,” Jace said shortly, “I’ll get myself a beer–”

“Jacey boy!” a theatrical voice called as the double glass door to the garden swung open. Aegon Targaryen swept into the room with a cold breeze, slapping his hand down on his nephew’s shoulder.

Jaya briefly glanced around the room, searching for another head of silver hair. Her heart sank a little when she didn’t find it.

The angles of Aegon’s face made him look severe, especially when he smiled, but it was countered by his wide violet eyes with a softer, sadder look. He looked at Jaya, with a firm hand on Jace’s shoulder, and smiled. She smiled back.

“Made it at last,” Aegon said as Jace shrugged him off. “I thought you two were getting here early.”

“No I told you,” Jaya said, nodding to her friends, “I brought guests.”

Aegon could turn charm on like a switch. His voice suddenly took on a richer tone as he introduced himself to the girls, shaking their hands and pressing light kisses to their knuckles.

Jace plucked a green bottle from the fridge and began to drink, scowling at everyone between sips.

“Could you at least look like you’re having fun?” Jaya muttered into his ear as he settled beside her against the counter.

“What’s fun about this?” he replied.

She supposed she knew what he meant. These parties weren’t always as exciting as she wanted them to be, watching other people get wasted, sitting through not-entirely-sober lectures from Aegon’s friends, which really just felt like they were getting off to the sound of their own voices. It could be quite intimidating sometimes, but this was just how adults had fun.

She had this vision that one day something would just click. All the boring parts of parties would seem fun, the drinks wouldn’t taste as strong, the mindless small talk with people she didn’t know would make sense, the music wouldn’t feel so loud.

For now she had her own reason for coming to Maegor’s Square every Friday night.

Her heart hummed when she heard footsteps coming from the hallway. A few voices muttered vague greetings which were met by a distant “hmm.”

“Why haven’t you got a drink yet, Jaya?” Aegon asked and she realised she had yet to take the champagne from Arryk.

Suddenly the footsteps stopped and a thrill slipped down her spine. Someone was looming behind her. She could feel his breath on her neck and the heat radiating from his body.

“She’ll have some of this,” a low but soft voice said, holding out a glass of red wine in front of her. She recognised his hand, the veins and the tendons prominent underneath pale skin. The silver signet ring on his little finger, engraved with a three headed dragon. The scent of his perfume, woody and green, lingering with the smell of tobacco.

Jaya took the glass with her fingertips, trying to hide her delight as she turned over her shoulder to face him. Aemond gazed down at her with a gentle look in his blue eyes and the corners of his mouth curled into a small smile.

“What is it?” she asked, bringing it to her lips.

“It’s Dornish,” he said, “you’ll like it.”

She wasn’t sure if she liked it, so much as she could swallow it without wincing, but Aemond always seemed so happy when she liked the things he gave her. His eyes were fixed on her face as she took three small sips, and wiped away the red imprint of her lipgloss on the rim. It was sour and it left a slight burn on her tongue. She muttered an apology about the lipgloss but he didn’t seem to mind, drinking from the other side of the glass when he took it back.

She kept her back to the others as Aegon, Arryk and the girls all became better acquainted. She stayed as close to Aemond as she dared, her chest a few inches from his, her neck craning to look up at him even with her heels.

“I missed you while you were away,” she said, fighting the urge to fiddle with the fabric of her skirt or the polished surface of her red painted nails.

Aemond’s mother liked to whisk her children away every year for a few weeks around spring break, usually to join the rest of the Hightower family at Honeywine Hall, an old manor house in the mountains. It sounded perfect, hiking, horse trails, swimming in reservoirs and trips into Oldtown. She lived as vicariously as she could through Aemond’s nightly phone calls and the souvenirs he had sent her, the postcards, the photographs and even a book he had found in a second-hand shop in Oldtown, a special edition of Wuthering Heights with gold lettering on a patterned cover.

She and Aemond exchanged any details they might have missed from their phone calls. She liked watching him talk, the way his lips moved, the bashful way he would avert his eyes from hers when he felt himself going off on a tangent. Equally she liked the way he watched her when it was her turn to speak, the brightness of his eyes, his almost smug expression and the smile lines in his cheeks.

“Oh!” she gasped, feeling her eyes going wide, “and I read Wuthering Heights.” Of course she had. She had devoured it within days of receiving the parcel from him.

Aemond smiled and her heart ignited. Most of the books she read came at his recommendation.

“What did you think?” he asked, trailing the tip of his index finger up and down his glass.

“I mean, you know how I feel about classics, and I suppose it was rather difficult to get into at first, but it was…” she gestured vaguely with her hand while she tried to think, before she settled on “haunting.”

“Haunting,” he echoed. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“In a beautiful way.”

His eyes were on hers, his lips settled into a look of calm content, perhaps even pride. She hoped it was pride.

“It was so vivid. I loved the longing and the hopelessness,” she said.

Aemond laughed quietly at that, taking another sip of wine and drawing the tip of his tongue over his lips. “I knew you’d like it, you love the doom and gloom.”

If she did, it was because he had taught her to. They liked all the same things, classic fiction, horror movies, cold weather, black coffee, quiet moments during loud parties when their eyes would meet in understanding, or recognition that they were two people whose souls were the same.

She had to bite down her fury with her tongue between her teeth when someone else came along to steal Aemond’s attention. Rickard Thorne, she thought the guy’s name was, one of Aemond’s coursemates.

Jaya’s tactic for parties was to keep moving. She took Sabby by the hand and nodded at Jace, suggesting they move into the lounge. Alysanne had firmly been lost to Arryk; somehow she had turned a conversation about paralegal internships into flirting and Jaya was rather impressed.

She felt like she was good at this by now, starting conversations with the young and beautiful of the city’s elite, most of whom were students at the university– and spending a lot of these parties by Aemond’s side, she had picked up enough to converse with even the most pretentious of politics students. But it was her birthright to belong in a place like this. She didn’t have the silver hair or the violet eyes, but everyone knew who she was before she could tell them. She could see it in their eyes as she introduced herself. You’re Rhaenyra Targaryen’s daughter.

Each venture into the kitchen came with a stop by the assortment of bottles on the counter, but she mostly stuck with the arbour red. When she couldn’t find any more bottles of that, she and Sabby found a sickly sweet rosé that was easier to drink.

She checked the time at midnight, feeling a pleasant haze fall over her. She could hardly stop giggling at everything, at Sabby’s struggle to pour a drink and ending up with more wine on the counter than in her glass, at the couples in the hallway trying to suffocate each other with their mouths and bodies. She wandered through the house without knowing where she wanted to go, and squinted at the head of brown curls buried into the neck of Loras Tyrell. Shit. Well at least Jace was having some fun now.

She ended up in the dining room at the front of the house. This seemed to be where most of the fun was happening. There was a black leather sofa by the door, where Alysanne was sitting between Arryk and Aegon. They were sharing a bottle of vodka between them and whispering into each other’s ears between swigs.

In the centre of the room was a vintage mahogany table. A small group gathered around it, spectating an apparently gripping game of chess. Sitting over the white pieces was one of the Tully brothers, and over the black pieces was Aemond.

He had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, leaning with his elbows on the table and swirling a glass of whisky as he considered his next move. A mischievous smirk graced his lips as he glanced up at his opponent, and raised his hand to move a piece. Their audience gasped and muttered amongst themselves in awe.

Aemond’s eyes met hers across the room. His hair had fallen slightly, the edges forming a curtain over his forehead. He smiled into his drink. This was his version of a few too many, challenging people to chess games and breaking out the expensive liquor.

She suddenly felt proud, then embarrassed, and turned back to the sofa.

Aegon was placing a pill on Alysanne’s tongue while Arryk handed her the vodka to wash it down. She winced but managed to swallow it.

Aegon caught Jaya’s eye. “Want one?” he asked, looking at her with his chin tilted down and his overgrown hair falling around his eyes. It looked less charming than Aemond’s, more messy than effortless.

The grin on his face made her feel uneasy. She had always been an observer of these habits, never a participant. She meant to ask what it was he had given Alysanne and the question was on the tip of her tongue—

“Zaldrīzītsos,”

Her head snapped back to Aemond without hesitation. He was turned away from the table a little, a dark, almost furious expression on his face. She wondered why, surely she hadn’t done anything wrong? He beckoned her over with a single finger but she was already walking towards him.

When she was close enough, Aemond wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. She burned where their skin met, especially when his hand came to hold her side, fingertips pressing into her flesh.

“Now,” he muttered into her ear and she shuddered at the sensation of his breath over her neck. “I want your help with something. Tell me you see what I’m seeing.”

She dragged her attention to the board and the pieces upon it. It almost felt like a test, but she had no intentions of disappointing him.

It wasn’t entirely obvious at first, they seemed to be pretty evenly matched, but then she saw it. A discrepancy in Tully’s game. She played through a few moves in her head, just like Aemond had taught her.

She turned her head back to Aemond with the beginnings of a smile. With his knowing look she knew she had it figured out.

She looked across the board at the Tully boy. “Checkmate in three,” she said.

His eyes widened and looked down frantically. “You’re bluffing,” he said, “you’re having me on, there’s no fucking way–”

“Do the honours for me, would you?” Aemond’s voice whispered in her ear, giving her waist a slight squeeze.

She couldn’t help but grin as she went to move one of Aemond’s pieces.

And suddenly Tully saw it too. “Shit,” he said. “Shit. Shit. Shit!” He tried desperately to counter with his Queen.

Jaya made the second move triumphantly, pitifully met by Tully’s attempt to save the game, but it was already won.

When she reached for the final move, Aemond’s hand wrapped around hers. “I started the game, only fair that I finish it, yes?”

She could hardly find the breath to reply. “Yes,” she uttered, letting Aemond guide her hand into her lap before he moved the final piece.

“Checkmate,” he said coolly, flicking over Tully’s King with his finger.

He would have won either way, but Jaya was happy to have even just a small share in his victory. But then with the game over, she supposed she didn’t have a reason to stay so close to him.

Aemond brought his face before hers, until the tips of their noses barely touched. “Good girl for spotting that,” he murmured.

His praise hit her like electricity. For a moment she thought she was going to lose her balance, bracing herself with a palm on his thigh as he brought both hands to her waist. She was steady. She was stable.

“How much have you had?” Aemond asked with a smirk.

“Gods, uncle, why do you have to sound so self-righteous?” she huffed, bringing her hands to the silky material of his shirt. She watched her hands glide over his chest, delicately and effortlessly. The top few buttons were undone, baring his neck. She thought about running her finger along it, down to the hollow spot in his collar bone. Or she could trail it along his jaw, over the sight hint of stubble she could see. Then she could let her thumb linger on his lip– Gods she loved his lips and the smile lines around his mouth.

A soft but startling noise brought both of their attention to the sofa. Sabby was here now too, but she was talking to Alysanne– no she was leaning over her, or was she trying to pull her up? Arryk and Aegon were on their feet, in some sort of argument.

Jaya frowned, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. “What are they–”

Aemond pushed her onto her feet by her waist. Now that she wasn’t sitting down she felt dizzy but she clung onto a chair to keep her balance.

Aemond was kneeling beside Alysanne and pulling her hair from her face while she was sprawled out on the sofa. Sabby was shouting at Aegon and Arryk.

Jaya felt more sober with each step she took towards them. She was hit with a boozy, sour smell and realised that the front of Alysanne’s top was drenched with what looked like water, but was trailing from her mouth. She was crying, and when Jaya got close enough, she saw her hands were trembling.

“Get the fuck away from her!” Jace’s voice bellowed from the doorway. He rushed forward and Aemond was by Jaya’s side before Jace could shove him away.

Jaya was frozen, even as Aemond curled his arm around her shoulder.

“She’ll be fine,” Aegon was saying, “she's just had a bad reaction, she can sleep it off.”

Sabby had Alysanne sitting up now. Her sobs were getting less frantic now, but it was hard to see her so clearly distressed.

Jace scowled at Aegon. “What did you give her?”

Jaya felt Aemond’s arm tensing tighter around her.

Aegon smiled. “Don’t worry, kid, wouldn’t dream of giving her anything too strong.”

She saw the way Jace’s jaw tensed at Aegon’s choice of words.

“Seven fucking hells,” Aemond muttered under his breath.

Her brother was on a knife’s edge, his fists clenching by his sides. Aegon seemed unphased at his silent threats.

Jaya pulled herself away from Aemond and went to Alysanne.

“How do you feel?” Sabby kept asking her.

“My head hurts,” Alysanne grumbled, cradling her forehead in her palms.

“Can you stand up?” Jaya suggested.

Alysanne lurched to her feet without warning, stumbling forward but Jaya and Sabby were there to catch her.

“There…” Alysanne groaned, but she was still struggling to find her footing. “I did it.”

“She needs to go home,” Sabby said, bringing Alysanne’s arm around her shoulders.

With one final seething glare to Aegon, then Arryk, then Aemond, Jace turned his anger to Jaya. “Why the fuck did you let that happen?” he hissed.

Her stomach dropped and she could only stare at him with wide eyes and furrowed brows. “What?” she uttered.

“Alysanne is your friend,” he seethed. “You should know better.”

He was right though. She had been the one to suggest Alysanne and Sabby come along. She had let Alysanne get close to Arryk and Aegon. She’d seen Aegon put a pill on her tongue and she hadn’t even questioned it.

Her eyes were starting to sting, like she wanted to cry but she couldn’t quite remember how. She just wished Jace would stop looking at her like that, his glare laced with venom and scolding, like she was a child, like he knew better. Jace always thought he knew better.

Aemond stepped forward to help Sabby carry Alysanne. “I’ll call you a car—”

“No,” Jace snapped, standing in his way. “You lot have done enough already.” He brought one arm around Alysanne and pulled out his phone with his other hand. He muttered something to Sabby and the three of them began to muddle their way to the hallway.

“Oh you’re leaving?” Aegon called after them with a dramatic frown and his hand clutched to his chest.

Jaya could only find herself able to watch and breathe in the stench of her friend’s vomit. The other faces in the room were hungry and curious. They all had their heads close together, whispering and gasping but not loud enough that she could make out anything tangible.

Aemond leaned into her and she instinctively met his gaze. “Are you going too?”

She realised Jace was stopped in the doorway, glaring at her expectantly.

Then Sabby’s voice called from the front door. Their car was here. They needed to leave now. Alysanne had to get home.

“Jaya can spend the night here, Jace,” Aemond said before she could think of something to say. “I’ll drop her off in the morning.”

Jace’s face fell as he looked at his sister one final time. Jaya gave him a small nod and then he was gone.

The house was surprisingly quiet once the front door slammed shut.

And of course there was only one person who was going to break the silence.

Aegon began laughing. It wasn’t a sound she liked. It was loud and obnoxious and cold. But the attention was on him at least and before long it was almost as if nothing had happened. Arryk grabbed some paper towels, Aegon was doing lines off the dining table, and Jaya was still standing in the middle of the room, letting the noise of chatter and the bass of a slow song float through her.

Aemond’s hand on her shoulder anchored her back into the room.

“I think you should go to sleep,” he said.

“But it’s early,” she groaned as he guided her towards the kitchen.

She hooked her arms around his elbow as he reached for a glass and filled it with water.

“It’s nearly one,” he said, handing her the glass. “Come on, we’ll get up early and get you something to eat before you go home. Sound good?”

She nodded as she tried to drink and ended up banging her teeth on the glass. Aemond chuckled softly, it was more like a hum in his throat. She had an awful feeling that he was laughing at her mistake.

He draped her jacket over his spare arm and led her through the hallway, up the winding staircase to the top floor. The house had three in total and because it was only the two of them living there, Aegon and Aemond had their own floors with a bedroom, an ensuite and a study— not that Aegon’s study was ever used for its intended purpose.

She loved Aemond’s bedroom with its dark wood floors, forest green walls, rows of bookshelves and the old record player in the corner. She went into the ensuite to wash the makeup from her face and the wine stains in the corners of her mouth, brushed her teeth with a spare toothbrush and changed into the t-shirt Aemond had pulled from his drawer.

When she came back into the room Aemond was only in his jeans, his shirt thrown over a chair, leaning by the open window and fiddling with a filter and a packet of tobacco. She was determined not to look at his chest, the lines of his abs, or the trail of silver hair running below the waistband of his jeans.

“Light?” he muttered when he noticed her.

Jaya nodded and took the lighter from the pocket of her jacket. She tried to walk as straight as she could over to where Aemond was. He placed the cigarette between his teeth and leaned into her.

It took her a few tries to spark the light. She huffed at her own incompetence and dug her teeth into her lower lip, but her third attempt proved to be a charm. The flame bathed Aemond’s face with warmth and flickers of shadows over the angles of his face.

She watched, hypnotised by the way his chest rose as he inhaled the smoke, and the way his lips pouted as he turned his head and expelled it towards the window. Even then she could smell the smoke and feel traces of it burning in her nose and throat.

His eyes moved back to her. He smirked at her apparent fascination.

He offered her the cigarette and she frowned. He’d never done that before.

Her hands felt light and a little numb, but she reached for it, holding it between her fingers like he always did. But then she realised she had no idea what she should do next.

“Take a drag,” Aemond said softly. “But not too much, you'll make yourself sick.”

She brought it to her lips and started to pull the smoke into her mouth. Her eyes moved to his when she had reached the end of his instruction.

“Hold it.” The gentle commanding of his voice put her on edge.

She decided the taste and the sensation of the smoke wasn’t pleasant, but she didn’t dislike it.

“Breathe in…” Aemond said, his chest moving with hers as she inhaled the smoke, “... and out.”

As she exhaled she blew the smoke over Aemond’s face. “Fuck!” she giggled, trying to wave it away, “sorry, I just didn’t think–”

“It’s alright,” Aemond said with a smile as he took the cigarette back from her and brought it to his lips again. “How do you feel?”

She let her head fall towards her shoulder. She felt light and heavy. Happy and sad. Lots of things and nothing specific.

After another exhale of smoke out the window, Aemond took a step into her and leaned down to press a light kiss to her forehead.

Jaya’s chest felt tight. Her heart raced but she stopped herself from reacting.

She couldn’t remember when Aemond started to make her feel nervous. When they were kids they were inseparable, even though she was closer in age to Daeron and their parents were convinced she and Helaena should be like sisters. She followed him everywhere, asked him questions constantly and insisted they hold hands wherever they went. She adored him. She still did now.

She muttered a quiet “night,” and dragged herself towards the bed, wrapping herself in the heavy duvet and curling into the pillows.

She couldn’t sleep yet. The noise of the party hummed through the house, but what caught her attention was the sound of Aemond’s breath moving between his lips. She could still picture his face perfectly, the pout of his lips and his jaw.

She couldn’t help it. She opened her eyes. He was leaning against the windowsill, tapping the ash into a small tray before taking another few drags. She watched him until he stubbed the embers out and moved his hands down to the buttons on his jeans.

A thrill rippled down her front, down to her abdomen.

Stop it.

She quickly turned onto her other side, pulling the duvet up to her chin. She still didn’t let herself fall asleep. She waited with bated breath.

She followed the gentle thud of his jeans being tossed onto the chair and the sound of his footsteps. He let out a throaty sigh as the mattress dipped behind her.

And then she felt him, the warmth of his body against her back, his arm around her waist, pulling her into him, his breath fluttering against her loose hair.

“I’m sorry if you didn’t have a good night,” he muttered. She felt the hum of his voice between her shoulders.

“No,” she whispered, “it was fine.”

It wasn’t fine. She still wanted to cry.

Aemond’s hand started to trace circles over her stomach through the t-shirt. This kind of proximity had become a habit between them even after they had outgrown childish affection, lingering touches and delicate kisses. She loved it. He wasn’t this close with anyone else.

But she couldn't stop thinking about Alysanne, the grin on Aegon's mouth as he fed her the pill, or the look of anger on Jace's face when he left.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” she said.

Aemond froze, his hand paused, splayed across her stomach. It left her with a tight, restless feeling in her belly.

Then he embraced her, tightening his grip, almost squeezing her against him and burying his face into her neck. “Never,” he muttered, his breath hot against her skin. “You could never make me feel like that.”

For a moment his lips pressed against her neck. Aemond pulled away slightly, seemingly having done it by accident. Jaya was still, clinging onto his arm and holding her breath.

Until Aemond leaned in again to place a soft but purposeful kiss to her neck. It felt like she was being smothered, the weight of his body pressing into her side, his arm keeping her tightly against him, while her breath came through her nose and mouth with little huffs.

He began to trail his kisses up her neck, along her jaw, to her cheek, until she realised what he wanted. She angled her head back, enough for him to press his lips against hers.

He kissed her slowly, letting his lips drag lazily over hers as his hand crept beneath her t-shirt.

She gave a short whine when she felt his palm against her bare skin.

“Shh,” he cooed against her mouth, letting his tongue slip between her lips. He tasted sweet and bitter, like wine and whisky and smoke. He was still gentle though, and Jaya eased herself further into him.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but she must have fallen asleep at some point, no matter how she wished they could have stayed in a blissful mess of warmth, lips, tongue and teeth.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

Series taglist: @aemondsbabygirl @persephonerinyes @sirenangelroyal @qyburnsghost @adragonprinceswhore @boundlessfantasy @bouncehousedemons

255 notes · View notes