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humanpurposes · 7 months

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She can't afford to fantasize over Aemond Targaryen, he's her boss and the Prime Minister... but stopping is easier said than done // Main Masterlist

PM!Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of SA, questionable power dynamics, politics (putting my degree to good use), unnecessary world building

Words: 7700

A/n: Thanks for the inspo @ewanmitchellcrumbs, sorry it's not Dishy Rishi tho :(

Throughout the whole train journey into Central King’s Landing, she’s sure she’s dreaming. Her body feels strangely light, her hands are restless and her heart is beating steadily in her chest.

She flows effortlessly with the stream of commuters, along the platform, through the station’s glass atrium, then left towards Conquest Street. She knows her way around this part of the city already, and though she’s never been inside, she’s walked past Hightower House countless times.

This time is different. Now she walks up to the iron gates, pressing her thumbnail into her index finger, because the armed guards are making her nervous.

She tells them her name and one of them mutters into a radio.

Her eyes run along the gold crest that marks the gate, a shield divided into seven, a sun for Dorne, a rose for The Reach, a stag for The Stormlands, a Trout for The Riverlands, a Falcon for The Vale, a Kraken for The Iron Islands, a wolf for The North, and at its heart is the symbol that unites them, the three headed dragon (although strictly speaking, Westeros abolished its monarchy centuries ago).

Suddenly one of the guards catches her attention. He opens the gate for her, and says she’ll be given a security pass and instructions to use the staff entrance following her official induction.

Hightower House stands proudly before her, an ornate facade of balustrades and columns, order and symmetry, an obvious juxtaposition of the medieval majesty of the Red Keep, just down the road.

It all feels very daunting, but the last five years have led her to this moment, the entirety of her adult life. She keeps telling herself that she deserves to be here, after all, she was the one who made it through the first round of applications, who made it to the shortlist and the final interviews, and she was the only one of hundreds of applicants who received the phone call, offering her a position as a personal advisor to the Prime Minister.

The contract only lasts two years, but it is the most effective stepping stone into a career in politics that she could ever ask for.

The entire morning is spent working out formalities. First she meets the deputy chief of staff, a handsome man named Criston Cole, who she’ll directly report to. He shows her through mountains of paperwork and gives her a brief overview of her role. Essentially, she is to assist the Prime Minister on whatever he deems necessary, policy aims, speeches, media coverage, political rhetoric, public image.

“You’re a glorified assistant,” Cole says as she reads and signs page after page of her employment contract, “but with a salary to reflect it, so don’t feel discouraged. There will be some admin work which can get tedious, but you’ve been selected for your expertise and your passion for the party.”

That’s the crucial part of the job. Everything she does will be to benefit Mr Targayren as head of the Green Party, still running off the high of their victory at the last general election, just under a year ago.

She signs her last signature triumphantly, despite the ache in her wrist, and hands the pen back to Cole with a smile. “All done?” she asks hopefully.

Cole grimaces sympathetically. “Not quite.”

There are four people to meet before she’s officially in. She takes a deep breath to soothe herself. It’s all just more formalities, which she can understand, given the weight of this job.

The first is the Prime Minister's private secretary, a glamorous woman with black hair and piercing green eyes, named Alys Rivers. She greets her warmly, having already spoken over the phone with her several times. She also knows her CV off by heart. It’s a little strange having someone know almost everything about her education and employment history when her face is unfamiliar.

The next is a young woman named Maris, the other of Mr Targaryen’s personal advisors. She has dark hair and a look of determination in her grey eyes. She explains that there are always two personal advisors, but hired on alternating years. She was hired at the start of Mr Targaryen’s premiership, and has a year left of her contract.

There are a thousand questions she wants to ask Maris, but before she can even scratch the surface, Cole’s checking his watch and dragging her off to another office.

Otto Hightower is the chief of staff. He’s thin and wiry, but incredibly intimidating. He has tired, sunken eyes that seem to glare right through her, and a passive but severe expression on his face, as though he’s scrutinising, having already decided she’s a waste of his time.

It’s not a great feeling, being looked at like that by a man she’s idolised for years. She knows his career timeline by heart. He earned his bachelors in Politics and Economics from Oldtown, before doing a masters in International Relations at King’s Landing, where he met and befriended Viserys Targaryen. He worked his way to becoming an MP and soon into Viserys’ cabinet when be became Prime Minister.

But things changed when Otto’s daughter married Viserys. No one really knows the whole truth, but Otto resigned from the Black Party, and took over from his own brother as leader of the opposition.

Now he works in the background, the mastermind behind his grandson’s remarkable successes.

Cole explains that Mr Hightower had the final say in the shortlist and determining which applicant would be given the final job offer.

“You had an impressive application,” he says, briefly looking up from a document. “I’m sure you’ll do well with us.”

“Thank you, Mr Hightower,” she says through the slight tremble in her jaw.

Other than that, the interaction is brief, and soon Cole is ushering her out of the room, back to Alys’ office, as richly decorated as the rest of the building. Maris is sitting at another desk, typing away furiously on a laptop.

“Tea? Coffee? Water?” Cole offers her, gesturing for her to take a seat on a green leather sofa.

“Water would be lovely,” she says.

“Maris,” he calls.

She glares up from her laptop. “That’s not my job.”

“No, but it’s courtesy,” he says.

Alys’ slight smirk doesn’t escape her attention.

Maris purses her lips, but she closes her laptop, pointedly slams her hands against the arms of her chair, and marches out of the room, her shiny black heels clicking against the dark wood floor.

“She’s nice really,” Cole says, “just a bit… direct at times.”

“Direct,” Alys groans to herself.

She feels her brow flicker into a frown but stops herself.

“She’s good at her job,” Criston says like he might say something else, but he doesn’t.

When Maris returns, she seems a little less on edge.

She takes the glass of water with a cautious hand, Maris’ eyes lingering on her maroon painted nails.

“I like your top,” Maris says.

She glances down. It’s nothing special, black and long-sleeved, to go with her long blue and green patterned skirt.

“Thank you,” she says.

Maris hums to herself before she goes back to her desk.

“Do you often work in here?” she asks.

Maris shrugs. “It depends.” She doesn’t care to explain further.

Alys is smirking again.

“Mr Targaryen was in a meeting with the cabinet this morning,” Cole says, then checks his watch. “He has a few phone calls to make, but he should be ready to see you at about 4pm. Maris?”

“Yes?”

“Will you show her in around then?”

“Yeah,” she says, flatly, “of course.”

Cole shakes her hand before he leaves. “Alys will show you out when you leave. I’ll see you on Monday morning.”

She continues to wait on the sofa, restless in the silence that follows once the door has shut. Alys and Maris are both typing, their nails clicking against their keyboards. She starts to bounce her leg and stops herself.

Her mind is racing. The day seems to have gone well so far, but what if she meets Mr Targaryen and it all falls apart? What if he decides he doesn’t like her and sends her packing?

She’s too lost in her own head to notice the flash of Alys’ emerald green dress as she stands in front of her. That is, until she’s leaning down and waving a bar of chocolate in front of her. “Get a bit of sugar in you,” she says, “and breathe slowly.”

She smiles as she takes the bar and places a single cube on her tongue. She lets it melt, savouring the sweetness and the slight bitterness of its taste.

You can do this, she thinks to herself with every inhale. And then she exhales. You are here for a reason.

The phone on Alys’ desk rings. She checks her own phone. It’s exactly 3:59.

“Yes, sir, Maris will show her in now.”

Aemond Targaryen is on the other end of the line. Her heart drops at the thought.

As the second son of Viserys, it seems like he was always destined for the family business. He differs from his father and grandfather in that he did Politics and Philosophy at Sunspear, before going on to do his masters in History at Oldtown, and then another masters in International Relations at King’s Landing. By all accounts, he is fiercely intelligent, mature beyond his years, with the right balance of intimidating and charismatic to command the support he needed to get in as MP for Rosby, then as party leader.

In fact, it had been his first campaign that inspired her to apply for a degree in politics in the first place. She loved how he spoke, how he managed to strike a balance between grace and passion, and how deeply he cared for his policies. He was poised and perfect, but driven by a genuine want for improvement.

He perfected his craft within a matter of years. With the mess Rhaenyra Targaryen had made of the country, it was all too easy for him to win a majority with a few winning speeches, a hand running through his silver hair, that lazy half-smirk and the intense look in his eyes that just made you want to fall at his feet. And people do. The press adore him, his party worships him, foreign dignitaries often remark on his charm but also his capabilities as a negotiator and a leader.

Maris leads her out of the office, along a quiet corridor. She stops outside a door with gold lettering: Office of A. Targaryen, Prime Minister

Seeing it in front of her, strangely, seems to subdue her nerves. Her chest flutters, but the anxiety is more manageable than before.

Maris taps her knuckles against the door three times.

From the other side of the door she hears a gentle but chilling voice. “Enter.”

She follows Maris inside.

He’s perched against his desk, his long, silver hair falling around his shoulders as he looks over a few pieces of paper. He wears a white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, black slacks and brown leather shoes.

He looks up slowly, the light of the early Autumn evening beaming through the windows, over the sharp features of his face, his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, his neck.

His eyes find hers, unashamed and curious.

Suddenly she can feel her heart in her throat.

Maris introduces her. “I’m sure Alys already debriefed you, but she’s here for her induction. Cole said you wanted to meet her as a formality and–”

It feels awfully like she’s talking for the sake of it.

“That will be all, Maris,” Mr Targaryen says softly. She can’t help but watch the way his lips move when he speaks.

“Oh, are you sure, sir?” she asks. Her face is twisted into a slight frown but her eyes are wide. “I just thought, for her sake, it might be useful if I’m here to explain everything.”

“I’m sure, thank you.”

She stands with her hands clasped in front of her skirt as she listens to Maris’ footsteps move towards the door. It opens and closes, and now all she can hear are her own breaths, gently flowing through her nose.

She doesn’t know where to look. At the patterned carpet on the floor? No, it would be rude of her to hang her head. At the portraits that line the wall? At the bookshelves? At the desk? No, that all seems too intrusive. Out the window? No, that might seem like she’s not paying attention.

So her eyes settle on him.

He hasn’t moved from his position, but he’s placed the paper on the desk behind him, leaning with his palms at the edge. His eyes glance over her once, up and down.

Fuck, he’s so much better looking in person.

Then he stands to his full height, and picks up a clipboard from the desk. He flicks through a few of the pages and hums softly to himself.

“You had an impressive application,” he says.

She swallows through the slightly dry feeling in her throat. “Thank you, sir.”

“And an excellently written cover letter.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You did your masters in Comparative Politics at Sunspear. Oberyen Martell is still head of faculty there, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir. He taught one of my modules, Security Studies.”

“He’s an interesting character,” he muses, smiling to himself. “He was my supervisor for my undergrad dissertation.”

She already knew that. Dr Martell loved to go on about his star student. She would too if she taught the future Prime Minister.

He flicks to another page. She watches as his eyes skim over the words in front of him. “And you came with glowing reviews from Tyland Lannister.”

She’s not sure how she’s supposed to respond to that– it makes her sound more like a product than a person– so she just smiles, as delicately as she can, making sure not to squint her eyes too much.

She had spent the last year as Mr Lannister’s Parliamentary Assistant, at his office in the Red Keep, starting just as he had been appointed as Foreign Secretary.

“How was he as a boss?” Mr Targayren asks.

Straightforward, she thinks. He took his job seriously and was decidedly not a fan of smalltalk. His office often worked in silence, and even when he was stressed he was efficient.

“No complaints,” she says.

“I’m sure you were all kept busy, cleaning up Corlys Velaryon’s mess after the Stepstones.”

A minor military excursion to defend a few key trading routes, or at least that’s how it had started. Within a matter of months the Stepstones had spiralled beyond control, costing Corlys Velaryon his seat and the Blacks their majority in Parliament.

“If I remember right, it was Daemon Targaryen pushing that particular policy,” she says.

The corner of his mouth curls upward. It could be a smile but she’s not entirely sure.

“Sir,” she adds, hoping to soften the blow of her unintentional insult; what idiot tries to correct the Prime Minister on their first day on the job? She does, clearly.

He doesn’t seem irritated or angry, more amused. A cryptic “hmm” sounds in his throat as he flicks back to the first document. “And before that you were a campaign manager for the party, yes?”

“Yes,” she says brightly, grateful for the change of subject. “I was working in the Stormlands in the lead up to the general election.” The region was formerly a Black stronghold, but turned Green thanks in part to her efforts.

“Excellent work,” he says.

The smooth, seductive tone of his voice seems to come so naturally to him. She bites her tongue at the image it prompts in her head, of his lips brushing over her ear, his hands resting on her waist, she can almost feel it–

No. That’s wrong. So wrong.

Fantasising about the Prime Minister of Westeros is not a habit she can afford to keep up, not when she’s supposed to be working with him in such close proximity.

But that’s easier said than done.

Cole enters his office, bright and early on Monday morning, before the rest of Hightower House is awake.

Aemond’s routine is the same every day. Up at 5am, run a few laps of the expansive gardens or spend an hour going through his meticulously planned gym routine. He showers, shaves, applies his skincare and haircare products, dabs some perfume on his wrists, dresses, and takes breakfast and a black coffee in his office. By 7:30am he’s ready to work.

He needs the routines and the outlets. They help keep him sane.

He’d seen how this position twisted his father into a tired, irritable and irrational man, how it got to Rhaenyra’s head until she became a liability to herself. He won’t be like them. He has a reputation to uphold, a legacy to claim.

Cole places a folder on his desk. “The background check you ordered, sir.”

He thanks him, quietly and sincerely, and waits until he’s left the room to open the folder.

His new personal advisor intrigues him. He’d made the request for the background check as soon as their meeting had ended on Friday.

She has no criminal record, which is unsurprising, that definitely would have come up sooner if she had one.

He browses through her education history, a star student at Storm’s End Grammar School, a bachelor’s in history from Rainwood, a masters from Suspear, where she was head of Debate Soc and Amnesty International, while working various internships and retail jobs in between.

The next page is full of articles from student publications, The Importance of Integrity in Politics for the Rainwood Student Journal, Sovereignty in the Stepstones for Red Sun Rising. He reads through them both. Her writing is immaculate, concise and convincing.

The final page is more personal, social media profiles. It’s nothing scandalous, but she clearly has a certain image she wants to project. Her Instagram is full of art and history museums, coffee shops and preppy outfits. She has a few pictures on her LinkedIn of her at the Green Party conference last year, pictured with a group of girls her age and a caption that talks about the importance of representation in politics, with links to various charities and initiatives. In the photo she’s wearing a white silk shirt, open just enough to show off a dainty gold necklace and a hint of the swell of her chest.

She seems perfect. Too perfect for his own good.

The first months go smoothly enough.

Maris is a practical person. She’s good with numbers, good for bouncing off ideas for economic policies and analysing data for him, even if she is a little overbearing at times.

But she fills the gaps perfectly. He secretly looks forward to their meetings and debriefings, when he asks her to write or edit speeches for him, or run through questions with him before a press conference. Politics is never easy, but she has a remarkable talent for keeping a level head. He likes that she’s always calm and composed. He likes her soft, reassuring smiles and the sharp look in her eyes.

They just click. She’s always switched on, always knows the right things to say and do, always knows what he needs.

Every moment they are alone feels monumental; the settled quiet of his office when she first walks in and takes a seat on the other side of his desk; when they make an exchange, debriefing papers for an empty coffee cup, and their fingers will brush over each other; when he stands over her shoulder to read the document she’s working on, close enough to smell her perfume and feel a heat simmering under his skin. It’s starting to become unbearable, and yet he craves that feeling.

And then, one morning, he gets a phone call from the Crownlands Messenger. They’re about to publish a story. His brother has been accused of inappropriate conduct by no less than three women.

Fucking Aegon.

The entire country is in an uproar. How can anyone trust their Parliamentary representatives when they do shit like this? Is Aegon an outlier or is this just scratching the surface? What will his punishment be? What else are the Greens hiding?

There are hundreds of emergency meetings with his grandfather, tense phone calls, bearating headlines, and onslaughts of outrage online. There’s no question about it, Aegon has to resign as an MP, but the damage is done. The polls are turning Black instead of Green. People don’t trust the ruling party, or its leader.

It’s late. Aemond paces his office while a headache pulses in his head. He’s long ditched the coffee for whisky, swirling it about in his glass. He sent Maris home hours ago. He doesn’t have the patience for anyone at the moment. Except for the woman leaning against his desk, flicking through news articles and the pages of notes she’s prepared for him.

Tomorrow is PMQs. No doubt there’s only one topic the Blacks will be asking about. He can already see Rhaenyra and Daemon’s smug faces, the delight they’ll take in watching him fall apart. There’s just no way he’s getting out of this easily.

He feels so restless. His hands are trembling and his lips won’t seem to stop moving, so he places himself against the wall, mindlessly tapping his fingers against his glass as he takes another generous sip.

From the desk he hears a heavy sigh that hums slightly in her throat. “Is there anything else you want to go over, sir?” she asks.

“No, I think we’ve exhausted the hypotheticals,” he says, running his free hand through his hair. He resists the urge to pull at the roots, to take his frustration out on something. “It’s just– fuck’s sake, I’ve been saying Aegon’s a liability for years. But no, Otto always wanted to keep pushing for him. Said it was good for the family’s image.”

She places her phone and the document behind her, and takes a few steps towards him.

He glances down at her, at the way the low light of the lamps and the fireplace glows against her skin, the contented sort of look in her eyes.

Her eyes flicker down at his now empty glass. “Refill, sir?” Her lips stay slightly parted once she stops speaking.

Then he realises he’s staring.

“No, thank you,” he mutters, tapping his finger against the glass. “I should probably stop now.”

She takes the glass from him with her middle finger and thumb, avoiding touching his hand before she takes it away. Maybe it’s the alcohol getting to his head but his heart sinks at the lack of contact.

What is he doing? It must be after 9pm now and he’s still keeping her here without a real reason.

She’s standing by the drinks cabinet, carefully placing the crystal bottle of whisky away and setting the empty glass out for housekeeping to clean up in the morning.

Instead of thinking about her, the way her hair looks, the way her skirt hugs her waist and the curve of her backside and thighs, he tries to think about how much he hates Aegon. This only makes him more agitated.

He closes his eyes and throws his head against the wall. His heart is racing and there’s a hollow feeling in his chest. He’s craving something, not another drink, not a smoke (he quit once he was first elected as an MP). He wants something else, something dangerous and damning.

The heels of her shoes tap softly against the floor, until she’s standing in front of him.

He opens his eyes.

She frowns slightly before lifting her hand and delicately placing it on his shoulder. “You need to relax, sir,” she says.

He lets out a low “hmm,” as he weighs out his options. This seems like a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

“That’s not going to happen with you here,” he says.

Her calm, somewhat smug expression falls. She looks so innocent now, so sweet. “What does that mean?” she says.

He leans in closer to her, until the tip of his nose barely brushes against hers. “I think you know what it means, darling.”

She hesitates, before her mouth spreads into an eager smile that shows off her teeth.

Her hands find his, ensnaring him under a soft but commanding grip. She leads him away from the wall, to the sofa by the fireplace.

He settles on it, leaning against the arm as she comes to her knees before him, spreading his legs apart to make room for herself.

She palms her hand over the hardness that’s been straining painfully against his trousers for hours now. She feels along his clothed cock, pressing her cheek against it and gazing up at him with a look of teasing innocence.

Aemond knows he is done for, jaw slack, chest rising and falling as he breathes. He would have never presumed he would find himself in this kind of position, not after all the work’s he’s had to do cleaning up the mess of Aegon’s fuck ups, not after working this hard to get where he is, and least of all because he believes himself to be a decent man.

But he doesn’t stop her as her fingers undo the button and the zip on his trousers, and he doesn’t make any kind of protest as she takes his freed cock in her hand and teasingly strokes along it.

He keeps his hands firmly on the sofa, digging his fingertips and his nails into the leather, as if he hasn’t been dreaming of having her like this for weeks, as if he hasn’t fucked his own hand countless times pretending it was her.

He doesn’t have to pretend anymore. He looks down, his jaw slack, barely containing his strained breaths, and there she is, doe-eyed and eager as she places a delicate kiss to his flushed tip. Her lips barely brush against him before she pulls away, keeping a hold at the base.

His arousal stains her mouth and she fucking grins.

“Enjoying yourself?” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, sir,” she says, sweetly, earnestly.

He runs his hand against her hair, gently, as if trying to soothe her. It seems to take her by surprise which only serves to excite him further.

She leans into his touch, lips parting, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy.

Until he grips his fist and pulls. He tilts her head up. It shouldn’t hurt, but it’s enough to bring her attention back to him.

He decides he won’t tell her what to do, not directly, but she’s a smart girl, she knows what he wants.

With her eyes wide again, she opens her mouth and inches his cock past her lips. The tightness in his gut starts to burn as she works up and down his length, slowly– excruciatingly slowly. It’s not in anyway relaxing, he thinks, but it’s a nice kind of torture.

He loses himself to the warmth and the wetness of her mouth, her tongue running over the underside of his cock, her lips teasing over the tip before she moves back down, using her hands where her mouth can’t reach.

He chokes out a throaty “fuck,” knowing there’s a security guard outside the door, and probably a few of the staff still lingering about.

But she looks so beautiful like this, her brow furrowed in determination as she tries to take him deeper and deeper, desperate to please him, happy to make him suffer for it. And the little noises she makes, the gags and the moans. He imagines that she likes this, that she’s been wanting this for as long as he has, and if he pulled her onto his lap and slid his fingers under her skirt, he’d find her drenched.

She starts to up the pace until he brings his hand to the side of her face again, his hand large enough that he can rest his palm against her cheek and tease his fingers through her hair. Her eyes dart up to his, wide and teary.

“Good girl,” he whispers, “nice and slow, just like that.”

She whimpers around him, breathing desperately through her nose.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he coos, “you started this, didn’t you? Wanted to taste me? Wanted to feel my cock in your mouth?”

She hums in agreement.

“Just fucking take it then,” he says with a clenched jaw, gripping her hair to bob her head up and down, keeping that torturous pace.

The pleasure builds slowly, running hotly through his body, but he fights the urge to clamp both hands around her head and buck his hips up to fuck her throat.

He comes harder than he thinks he ever has before, keeping himself sheathed within her as he paints the inside of her mouth, and pulls her head away to see the last few drops spill against her lips.

She gazes up at him with dazed and glassy eyes. She’s panting, trying to catch her breath. Her forehead glistens with sweat, mascara runs down her face and his spend drips over her chin.

He wipes some of the mess away with his thumbs, cradling her face in his hands. “Swallow,” he orders.

Her mouth closes and her throat bobs. He can already feel the tension in his gut tightening again.

If only he could keep her like this forever.

She makes it to Hightower House at the usual time of 8am, despite leaving work so late last night. Despite the hours she spent consumed by thoughts of Aemond Targaryen as she rode the train and dragged herself into her bed. Despite the aching arousal that went unfulfilled. Despite the marks on her knees and the stiffness in her jaw.

When she walks into Alys’ office to sign in, she’s already there, perfectly poised and typing away on her laptop.

“Morning,” she says brightly.

Alys looks up from the screen. The white light shining from below makes her face look a little eerie. “Morning,” she says with a smug look on her face.

She ignores it, scrawling down the time and her signature beside her name.

“You were working rather late last night,” Alys says.

“Yeah, I was,” she mutters, placing the pen down and straightening her spine.

Alys is staring at her. Her eyes are unnervingly bright. “He never asks Maris to work late.”

Her heart drops.

It’s like she can feel the weight of him in her mouth, the taste of him on her tongue.

“I bet he’s just realised I’m more of a people pleaser,” she says.

Alys hums and smiles. “Yeah?”

She doesn’t have time for this. She hangs up her coat and her bag, and picks up two black coffees from the coffee machine in the kitchenette down the hall.

Aemond is in his office, leaning back in his chair with his mobile pressed to his ear. He doesn’t react much when he sees her, he just watches her as she sets one of the cups in front of him. He raises his eyebrows in thanks and brings it to his lips.

She imagines the person on the other end of the call is starting to bore him.

“Yeah… yeah… I know… well there’s not much to be done now but get it over with.”

She takes a few sips from her own cup, wiping the corners of her mouth. Aemond follows her fingers as she does.

“I’ll speak to you after. Yes, thank you, grandfather.” He hangs up the phone and tosses it onto a stack of papers on the desk. “Seven fucking Hells.”

“How did that go?” she asks.

Aemond rolls his eyes and huffs a tired laugh. “He wants to talk through candidates for the by-election in Duskendale. I said I’ll think about it if I survive PMQs.”

She sets her coffee cup down. “What are you most worried about? You’ve prepared for this. What’s worrying you?”

Aemond taps his fingers against the desk. She tries not to ignore the thrill it sends through her belly.

“I’ve never had to deal with something like this. I’ve never been this worried about the party’s image, but that’s usually because I do everything right.”

The whole Aegon situation is beyond his control, and yet he’ll be getting the scrutiny for it.

“People need to be able to trust you,” she says.

Aemond looks up at her expectantly.

“Is Aegon still a party member?” she asks.

Aemond’s expression darkens. “That was discussed. Otto wants him to remain an official member.”

“You’re the Prime Minister. Put your foot down.”

“I can’t,” he says, standing and fixing the rolled up sleeves and undone buttons on his shirt before he reaches for his tie.

“You can’t afford not to. If you go easy on Aegon, Rhaenyra’s going to play to some kind of ‘the Greens are anti woman card.’ Your voters need to know you’re taking this seriously.”

“And throw my own brother under the bus?” he says, sternly.

But she can tell he’s still nervous. His hands are shaking as he ties the tie around his neck.

She pauses, wondering where the line is here. Aegon Targaryen will be fine. He’ll be put under investigation and keep getting bad press for a while, but he can live off daddy’s money in the meantime, and in a few years the whole scandal will be forgotten.

She takes a few steps towards him and comes close enough to smell the dark, boozy smell of his perfume, and shoos his hands away.

“What would be better for the country,” she asks, tilting her head and keeping her eyes focused as she fastens his tie, “presenting yourself as a leader who is committed to integrity and respect, or leaving yourself open to further criticism?”

She pushes the knot up tightly against his collar for emphasis.

Aemond just smirks. “You’re very persuasive,” he says.

“That’s my job, sir.”

She gasps as his hand grabs her hip and pulls her against him. His breath runs hotly over her face as he tilts her chin up to look at him. His throat hums as he breathes.

She could fall apart then and there.

Until a knock on the door has her practically shoving him away.

Aemond chuckles and shrugs on his suit jacket. “Enter,” he calls.

She turns her back to the door to hide the flustered look on her face, pretending to look through a bookshelf that she’s never really looked at properly before.

“Car for you, sir,” Alys says from the doorway.

Aemond calls for her by her surname. Fuck– she was supposed to pack his briefcase before he left. She takes a breath and goes about collecting all the pages of notes and briefings he’ll need.

She brings it to him, and notices Maris standing in the hallway behind Alys. Maris usually goes with him to the Red Keep for PMQs, but today he requests that she accompany him. She supposes it makes sense, she’s been the one helping him prepare after all.

Maris’ face is a storm. Alys looks down at her feet and tries to stifle a giggle.

The next few hours are a blur. She trails after Aemond through the ornate corridors, keeping her eyes on his silver hair, flowing down the back of his black suit jacket. Somewhere along the way, Cole and the head of security, a man Aemond greets as “Mr Westerling”, joins them.

They leave through the front entrance, into the sharp September air and into a black car. The hum of the engine and the smell of leather makes her nauseous, but they’re only in the car for a matter of minutes before the door swings open and she’s been ushered towards the Red Keep.

Once a seat of Kings, now the red stone castle seems a little out of place with the rest of the city. This is where Parliament gathers.

As they walk through its halls, Aemond tells her to throw a few questions at him. She has them all memorised in her head, able to recite a few without really thinking about it. Aemond mutters the answers they’ve rehearsed under his breath, smiling politely and waving as they pass by civil servants, MPs, Green and Black party members alike. They even pass Cregan Stark, leader of the Northern Independence party. He whispers all of their names in her ear.

There’s a small room where Aemond waits in before he enters the Great Hall. She can hear the noise and the chatter on the other side of the double doors, engraved with the same crest that marks the gates to Hightower House.

He won’t stop moving, adjusting his tie and his cuffs, tutting and pursing his lips.

She makes sure Cole and Westerling are muttering to each other before she leans into Aemond, putting her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” she whispers, “don’t see it as a chance for them to criticise you, see it as an opportunity for you to reassure everyone else of how brilliant you are.”

Aemond turns his head towards her. He’s not touching her but she feels the proximity.

“That’s an interesting way to look at it,” he says.

She smiles. “It’s all perspective.”

Before Aemond is called into the hall, Cole directs her to the gallery, above the benches where the MPs sit.

She and Aemond meet eyes before she leaves. She stops herself from reaching for him, not wanting to leave his side.

“Good luck,” she says.

As if he needs it. She watches everything unfold from the gallery, the MPs sat below her like she’s watching a play in a theatre.

Aemond starts off with an amazing opening speech which, at her recommendation, doesn’t shy away from the issue of the whole Aegon scandal. He affirms his commitment to ensuring that central government is a safe and inclusive working environment, which is when he announces Aegon’s resignation as an MP, as well as his removal from the Green Party.

The chamber in an uproar. A few members of the Green Party make a bit of a fuss, but mostly Aemond’s announcement is applauded, even by a good number of Black Party members.

Rhaenyra, Aemond’s sister and predecessor, is at a loss for words, as is her deputy, Daemon.

Aemond seems to get a boost of confidence from this and takes every question in his stride, using elements from the answers she had rehearsed with him and even throwing in a few one liners which has half the room cheering him.

And he’s fucking hot when he’s cocky.

While he speaks all she can think of is how he sounded while she was between his legs. “Good girl… just fucking take it…” she has to clench her fists and her jaw at the wave of arousal that rises within her.

Afterwards she walks with him to the car. A whole host of Green Party members crowd him as they walk through the hallways, praising him, commending him. He smiles graciously, looking over his shoulder every so often to look at her, to make sure she’s not fallen behind.

The silence of the car is unbearable with Cole and Westerling in the front, and Aemond beside her, drumming his fingers against his thigh and running his other hand through his hair.

She presses her thighs at the obvious arousal pooling at her centre.

Seven hells, she’s acting like she’s in heat.

She follows Aemond back through Hightower House, past Alys’ office, to his own office. When he closes the door behind them, he locks it.

She leans against the desk, keeping her hands on the wood behind her.

Aemond turns back to her with a ravenous look in his pale blue eyes. He reaches into his pocket, effortlessly pulling his hair into a low bun, as he usually does in informal company.

She can’t take her eye off him as he tosses his jacket over the sofa, and begins to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Then he stalks towards her, his chin tilted down and his lips in a tight line, until he’s close enough to paw at her waist.

“I suppose I should thank you for your help,” he says, eyes fixed on his hands as they tease over the fabric of the red mini skirt she had picked out this morning, the way she squirms underneath him.

“Oh,” she breathes. One of his hands trails up, untucking her blouse from her skirt and brushing his fingertips against the bare skin underneath. “Just… doing my job, sir.”

He hums to himself as his hand works its way round to her backside, squeezing gently. “Do you like calling me ‘sir’?”

She can’t help but nod, dazed at the feeling of his hands tracing the shape of her body.

“Yeah, I think you do,” he says, leaning in to press a slow, firm kiss to her neck.

Her resolve is shattered. She throws her hands around his neck, pulling herself into him, desperate to feel him against her, to stay close to him.

She almost whines when he moves away, much to his amusement, feeling her mouth fall into a pout.

“Don’t tell me I’ve got a brat,” he says, taking her chin in his hand. “Are you going to be good for me, pet?”

“Yes, sir,” she utters.

“See? You don’t even need to be told,” he says with a smile. “You’re going to turn around and lean over the desk.”

She follows his instructions without missing a beat, bracing herself on her forearms, against the surface. She feels her skirt being pushed up over her hips, her tights and panties pulled down in one go, fingertips trailing over her thighs. Then she feels his breath against the wetness of her bare pussy.

She can’t help but let out a quiet moan, pressing her nails into the wood in anticipation.

“Haven’t even fucking touched you yet, are you that desperate for me?”

“Yes, sir,” she whimpers, trying to look over her shoulder.

Aemond’s hand finds its way against her head, pressing her down. And he doesn’t let go.

His fingers drag through her folds, teasing her entrance and her clit before he slides in a single digit. It feels so different from her own, longer and thicker, pressing into her at an unfamiliar angle. She feels utterly weightless, the obscene sound of him moving in and out of her only adding to her arousal.

Aemond’s voice is dark and husky, as it was last night. “Good girl,” he coos, “that feels good, doesn’t it?”

When she doesn’t reply, he withdraws and lands a stinging slap against her cheek, before he pushes into her again. “Answer me,” he says, clearly and firmly.

“Yes, sir,” she says, frantically trying to nod against his hold of her head. “Feels so fucking good.”

He increases his speed, pumping in and out of her until her climax washes over her. It happens gradually, building and building before a pleasant numbness washes through her, to every corner of her body.

While she comes down from her high, her attention is caught by the sound of a belt buckle and rustling fabric.

The tip of his cock presses into her without warning. He inches further and further in until he bottoms out, the material of his trousers pressing against her skin– the cunt hasn’t even bothered to take off his clothes.

He finally relents his hold of her head, grabbing at her waist as he ruts into her. It’s fast and primal, adrenaline pumping through her blood, Aemond’s fingers digging into her flesh, her breath coming out in moans, his belt buckle hitting the desk with every harsh thrust.

“Knew you were a little slut,” he grits out, grabbing at her cheeks and spreading them out to watch his cock moving in and out of her. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

She covers her mouth with her hand to hold back the wanton noises threatening to slip past her lips.

Suddenly a hand comes to her shoulder, pulling her up against his chest. One hand kneads at her breasts through her blouse and her bra, while the other slips between her legs, tracing quick circles over her clit.

“I wanna feel you come,” he rasps into her ear, “wanna feel my good girl clench around my cock.”

She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She clings to his arms and digs her teeth into her bottom lip. She can feel herself hurtling towards her climax, if only he would move his fingers a little faster.

“Please,” she whispers.

“What was that, pet?” Aemond asks, brushing his lips over her cheek. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to come!” she whines. “Fuck– please… please, I just want to come, sir.”

She feels him smiling against her as his fingers rub faster over her clit. She can feel how deep he is inside her, how his cock bullies against that sensitive spot, over and over again, until her orgasm tears through her.

She tries to keep her mouth shut but she can’t help the pleading groan that hums in her throat. Aemond holds her as she falls apart, fucking her thoroughly through it all.

Until finally, he reaches his end, hissing through his teeth and pulling out to spill himself onto her pussy. She feels the warmth, how it drips through her folds, for now uncaring of the mess they’ve surely made.

Aemond keeps holding her against his chest. His forehead falls against the back of her head and his hot breath echoes over her neck. “I really appreciate the work you’ve done for me,” he says breathlessly. “I think you and I make quite a pair, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir,” she mewls, letting her head fall against his arm.

Aemond hums a laugh to himself, it rumbles in his chest and against her back. “So pretty and polite,” he coos, “how did I ever manage without you until now, pet?”

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

A/n: I might do a part 2 to this so let me know if you would liked to be tagged :)

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misguidedasgardian · 1 year

Text

The Winter Sun (13)

13. Dragonstone

MASTERLIST

Summary: You travel to the White Harbor and Dragonstone to see your family again

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader

Warnings: Cursing, medieval and asoiaf customs, AGE GAP, Cregan is 12 years OLDER than reader), arranged marriage, SMUT, shenanigans on top of a Dragon, might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3,3 k

Notes: uff hope you like this one

Your stay in the White Harbor was brief, very brief, you arrived when the sun was already setting ni the horizon, and it gave you a breathtaking view of the city

The harbor was huge and beautiful, many ships were making port there, Cregan had taught you that New Castle, the seat of the Manderly’s and all the houses around it were built using a strange was rock they found in the shores of the White knIfe, the river, withered by the salt and waves, so it indeed looked like the entire city was white

But the most impressive part of them all had to be the huge wall that surrounded the city, it was the same color and the New Castle, that rested on top of a hill looking at the harbor

It was quite a sight

You landed in a huge patio surrounding the castle, Vhaelar behaved herself spectacularly, letting you and Cregan climb off of her, standing very still, purring even. And when you guessed was Lord Manderly approaching, she didn’t even move

“My Lord and Lady Stark!”, he greeted with open arms, and Cregan smiled widely and went to his embrace, hugging him tightly

“Lord Manderly”, they separated quickly and the old man’s attention falls on you

“My lady Stark, what a sight you are!”, you don’t remember him from your wedding, so you guessed he hadn't attended, he took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles, making you blush

“You flatter me, My Lord”, you whispered. He looked over your shoulder towards Vhaelar

“Fearsome creature!”, he admired, “sometimes I can’t believe they are real”, he laughed, with a sign of his hand he led you both inside

The insight of the castle was as white as the outside, it gave it an ethereal feeling, it seemed like it was midday when in reality the sun was hiding in the horizon

“I’ve taken the liberty to prepare a small meal”, Lord Manderly said, “to receive you”, inside the very hall was a table set to receive you, and you were looking up at the gallery of the main room of the castle wide-eyed, everything was so beautiful, it looked like it was made of marble.

“My Lady, My Lord”, a sweet voice greeted you and you were met with what you guessed was Lady Manderly

“My wife, the Lady Mara”, presented Lord Desmond

“Thank you for having us”, you said with a wide smile, “your home is beautiful, White Harbor is beautiful”, you admired, and by the look of wonder in your face they knew you weren’t lying. You missed the tender look Cregan gifted you

“You are too kind, my lady, I see the tales of your beauty were told short”, she said, “they didn’t do you justice”, you laughed nervously

“Please, let’s be seated, you must be hungry”, the truth is that we were hungry, servants showed up to show you to your seats, you sat right by Cregan’s side, and he grabbed your hand over the table and gave it a gentle squeeze, you smiled at him widely.

“I’ve been told you are on your way to Dragonstone”, Desmond started the conversation

“Yes”, Cregan said, “we are visiting Princess Rhaenyra, my wife’s cousin”, he said

“We are also taking my dragon”, you added, “she will rest in the dragonmount as Winter is at its worst”, you implied

“We will be honored to escort you from Dragonstone in your way back”, he said quickly

“You are too kind Lord Desmond”, said Cregan

“The journey will take two full weeks”, he said

“So we request you departure immediately after we left”, said Cregan, “it will take you two weeks to get to Dragonstone”, you found yourself loving seeing your husband all “lord” and commanding, you bit your lip as you looked at him

“Of course My Lord, it will take me one week to get the ship ready”

Cregan as he looked at your face of wonder looking at everything you could, promised you would stay a few days on your way back, and you were happy to do so, you had found White Harbor beautiful, and furthermore he had said that here is where the rest of his family lived, his uncle, and his children.

He only held you that night, kissing your shoulder gently, the rooms of Lord Manderly being next door you felt so nervous to do anything.

And early in the morning, you found your dragon resting in the forest in the back of the city, you prepared her as Cregan discussed the last details with Lord Manderly, and then, he climbed on your dragon and you did as well. And you departed White Harbor as quickly as you came.

You couldn’t help but turn around to look at the fai city as you flew South, the views from the air always took your breath away.

“Now, this is our chance”, Cregan whispered in your ear, hugging you and taped you to your side

“Cregan”, you giggled, holding into your reigns

“You looked so beautiful yesterday”, he whispered, “all cute, nervous, my little lady wife”, he purred, creating goosebumps in your arms

“And you looked so handsome”, you whined needily, as his hand sneaked down the front of your riding pants, “all bossy, and commanding”, you mocked, he kissed you under your ear, and then he kissed down your neck

“What happened with “no funny business on top of my dragon?” my lady?”, he asked mockingly

“Fuck that… mmm”, you moaned when his fingers found you wet and ready for him

And your husband stuffed you with his fingers all the ride south to Dragonstone

And you landed in Dragonstone in the afternoon, you planted your feet in your family’s ancestral home, in your riding gear, your hair braided like a Targaryen, but with your beautiful white cape, symbolizing house Stark, and Cregan right by your side

You were greeted by a group of soldiers, and Vhaelar roared but took to the skies again to fly over the Dragonmount.

“This is truly breathtaking”, whispered Cregan, as he placed his big hand on your lower back and guided you, you flinched as you walked, your sore pussy bothering you, and he chuckled darkly.

“See that is the dragonmount, possibly the most dangerous place in the seven Kingdoms, there lies dragons, wild and bonded alike”, you told him.

The guards led you through a long stone bridge, that is was as much dangerous as gorgeous

Cregan looked everywhere wide eyed, and you smiled widely, grabbing his hand

It was a long and silent walk towards the castle, and soon, the great doors were opening in front of you.

This led directly to the main hall

“Lord Cregan of House Stark and his Lady wife, princess (Y/N) of House Targaryen, Lords of Winterfell, and Wardens of the North”, presented a white cape, and soon the doors opened and show you both to the room filled with Rhaenyra’s family

“Cousin!”, she greeted, even though she had never greeted with such a wide smile before

“Cousin!”, you greeted back, and you received a somewhat warm welcome with smiled and hugs

“I see marriage has treated you well”, Daemon’s voice made you shake where you stood

“It has”, you said sincerely, and he looked you up and down and smirked, you didn’t even know what it meant, but he seemed pleased.

You now were greeted by your nephews, they had grown more in this two years, they were young men now

“I am pleased to receive you both here” Princess Rhaenyra said as Baela hugged you

“You are too kind, Princess Rhaenyra”, said Cregan, “it is an honor to be in the ancestral home of house Targaryen”

“We were surprised to read your letter”, said Daemon, “is there something you wanted to tell us?”, he asked, and you and Cregan exchanged looks

“We request a private audience with Princess Rhaenyra, and Prince Daemon”, said Cregan, and Daemon only nodded

It was not accustomed to talk business within the first day of one’s arrival, but, this was kind of important

Everyone, Daemon’s daughters and Rhaenyra’s children left the room, leaving you with her, Daemon and Cregan

“We have come here because we have something to tell you”, said Cregan, and he looked at you, he found fear in your eyes, he knew how fearful Aemond made you.

“What is it?”, she asked gently

“Speak!”, demanded Daemon

“Aemond Targaryen had threatened my wife”, said Cregan

“I took care of him”, said Daemon, “I told the fucker that if he ever bothered you again…”

“His threat included something in the likes of treason”, explained Cregan

“He spoke of treason?”, asked Rhaenyra

“I know this might sound like nothing”, you said with a broken voice, “but he said, and these were his exact words, “When my brother is King he will annul your marriage and I will come for you "", you repeated exactly as he said it.

You saw Rhaenyra shared concerned looks with Daemon

“When my brother is King?”, she repeated

“We wouldn’t have come all this way if we didn’t think this was serious”, said Cregan, “those are the words he threatened my wife with, and it makes me believe not only he is unhinged and the very life and comfort of my wife is in danger but, that he speaks of the highest treason”, he said seriously

“It makes me believe the Hightowers will betray you and take your throne”, you said with certainty, “they have faithful friends in the royal council, they have the means and the desire to do so, cousin”, you said, “I’ve lived with them”

“We thank you, for coming all this way to speak these words”, said Daemon, “we will not take them lightly”

“My father bend the knee to you, Princess, he swore allegiance to you as heir, our word is not to be taken lightly, is part of our oath to report anything we might perceive as treason”, he said firmly

“And for that we thank you” , she said with a shy smile, “you are welcome here to stay as long as you need too”, she took your hands in hers, “Aemond will never come close to you again”, she whispered, “not If I can help it, I’ll see to it”

“Thank you cousin”, you whispered, and she smiled softly as you

“Now that the worst is over, let’s drink and feast for the god’s sake!”, laughed Daemon, placing his hands on Cregan’s shoulders, and he smiled, “I have questions for you boy”

This welcome truly surprised you, they treated you as one of their own and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because they wanted your allegiance, of because they truly saw in you a member of her family

Perhaps a mixture of both

Perhaps they didn’t received much visits here in Dragonstone, and they were bored

Perhaps a mixture of those three things

A feast was arranged pretty quickly, and soon when the sun hid under the horizon you were drinking and eating with your family. Jace and Luke seemed particularly chatty, and Jofrrey had gotten so big, and Aegon and Viserys were so cute and small.

The good thing is that you did start to feel at home here, surrounded by your family.

Jace was seated right beside you and asked you a lot of questions, which was surprising, he asked if you liked the North, and if you were comfortable, and you found yourself smiling at him and said you were.

He seemed pleased by your answers so he nodded, drinking from his cup

“What about you Jace? have you been practicing with the sword?”

“Oh yes, and also hIgh Valyrian”

“Gaomagon ao vaoresagon īlon ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie?”, [Do you prefer we speak in High Valyrian?”

“Iksan zūgagon ñuha Valyrio Eglie iksis daor hae sȳz hae aōhon”, [i'm afraid my high valyrian is not as good as yours], he said a little but rough, but it was pretty good

“Ao jiōragon konīr”, [you’ll get there], you assured him, and he smiled at you, you turned to Cregan and realized he was getting grilled by Daemon, who was whispering in his ear while his arm was over his shoulders bringing him closer

“You married my niece without any man there to gave her away”, he threatened, both were a little drunk by now

“It was Princess Rhaenys”, he answered, truly concerned for his accusations, “she gave her away, didn’t she, my dear?”, he asked looking at you, and you, amused, nodded

“She was there, my lovely drunk husband”, you giggled, and he smiled dreamily at you, he leaned in and kissed you gently and shortly, and then he turned towards Daemon, who watched the scene with a silly smile

“See?”, asked Cregan, “we conducted affairs with diplomacy and decorum”,

“I’m glad then”, he said, palming his shoulder, “she is the last reminder we have of my brother, Aegon the conciliator”, he said

Those words stuck with you for the rest of the night.

“Why don’t you wait out Winter here?”, suggested Rhaenyra, over Daemon

“I’m the Warden of the North”, Cregan said, “I have to be with my people when winter is at its worst”, and then he looked down at you

“And my place is by your side”, you said then, and he smiled, kissing you again on your forehead. And you continued feasting and drinking with your family

“I could get accustomed to this”, Cregan laughed as you reached your room, he looked all around the room, he was marveled at the carved dragons decorating the walls, as you were, “even for only a few weeks”, he whispered, looking back at you

“You heard Rhaenyra, we can come whenever we wish”, you said with a smile, he stumbled towards the bed, still a little drunk, and with a wicked smile on his face

“Cregan!”, you warned and he threw himself, ever carefully, on top of you

“My lady wife”, he purred, kissing you sloppily, “oh no”, he whined, frowning

“What? what is it?”

“I am a little too drunk”, he whined, kissing you one last time

“Yes me too, that feast was too much”, you muttered, he smiled, and kissed you one more time

“Let’s sleep wifey”, he said, “I love you”

“I love you too”, and you both fell asleep right there, holding each other

Daemon kidnapped your husband the very next morning, to show him around and to train, and you decided, on your own, to enjoy the day here, until you had to return to the frosty North.

A walk along the beach seemed like a fantastic idea.

Using your riding gear and your cape you abandoned the safety of the Castle to walk amongst the coast, your silvery dragon flew over the Dragonmount, it was a beautiful day, the skies were clear, the sun shining, but still a cold breeze told you something undeniable… Winter was coming.

Jace found you walking slowly on the beach, and he reached up to you running.

You turned around to receive him with wondering eyes

“Jacaerys”, you called, and he fought to regain his breath

“Hey”, he said, “My Lady”, he greeted with a shy smile, “Sorry for interrupting your walk”, he said, scratching the back of his head lazily

“It’s quite alright”, you said with a shy smile

“I wanted to talk to you, no, actually, I wanted to apologize”, he said, you didn't know why, but he was nervous, you both started walking, side by side, as you thought it was going to be easier that way

“For what?”, you asked

“I was awful to you when we were children”, he started, “I know what it sounds like”, he said, “That I’m saying this to you because we want your alliance, but the truth is, it had been in my mind since I saw you when we visited the capital about the succession”, he said sincerely, “only then, and thanks to Aemond I realized that we didn’t laugh with you, we laugh about you, and that was terrible”, he took one of your hands in his, and you let him, “And I’m truly happy that you found a home, and a family, that deserves you and cherishes you, it is clear that Cregan Stark adores you, and you deserve that and more”

Your eyes shined with unshed tears

“You are too kind”, you whispered, “We were only children, and I, accept and appreciate your apology”, you said softly, and he smiled

“It eases a weight from my shoulders”, he said, he took your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles, and you decided that wasn’t enough and you hugged him, he returned the hug.

You kept walking along the beach together, talking and laughing, sharing stories.

When you returned to the castle, right by lunchtime, another Targayren entered the hall

“Aunt Rhaenys!”, you greeted, and she received you in her arms

“I heard you were making the journey and I wanted to see you”, she said, with a wide smile

“I’m glad you are here”

With her came the other of Daemon’s daughters, Baela.

And now it was a true family gathering

Cregan will have to brace himself…

So you spend three long weeks, feasting and drinking, with a great portion of your family, and Cregan and you had fucked everynight, sometimes in the day time, sometimes more than once time per night.

He was insatiable

And you were too

You liked the fact that he and Jacaerys were becoming friends, and in a more weird way, you were happy Daemon seemed to approve of him, you didn’t know why, but you were glad.

Lord Manderly was close to arriving, and you were preparing mentally to return to Winterfell, not that you didn’t want to, but you had spent three marvelous weeks with your family like never before.

But you smiled, content, as you were leaving the Maester’s tower to confirm what you already suspected.

You smiled tenderly, caressing your belly.

You couldn’t wait to tell Cregan

So much so you ran to your room and you found him there, looking over the balcony towards the dragonmount, something you noticed he enjoyed doing

You hugged him by the back and you noticed how he grabbed your arms too, caressing them

“I’m with child”, you whispered, so softly you doubted he even listened

“What?”, he said, in a second he turned around, still in your arms, he looked down at you wide eyed, and with a wide smile

“I’m expecting”, you said more surely, looking up at him with eyes filled with hope

“Are you sure?”, he asked, you noticed he drew a sharp breath, but he held you tighter

“I am, I’ve miss two blood moons, and the Dragonstone maester just confirmed it”, he laughed, letting out a relaxed breath, and he hugged you tightly, and kissed you repeatedly

“My love!”, he said, “I’m so happy!”, he said, he grabbed you in his arms and led you to the bed. You giggled when he laid you there gently, and climbed in the bed right behind you

“Cregan what are you doing!?”, you laughed, as he accommodated himself between your legs and starting raising your dress to uncover your lower part

“I wish to speak with my unborn child”, he said, like it was obvious

“I’m not even showing yet!”, you felt a little self conscious, when he uncovered your belly, “Cregan!”

“Shhh woman, I’m speaking to my baby”, he said gently, and then he leaned in over your stomach, “hey little pup”, he said softly, laying soft kisses around your belly button, “this is your papa speaking, be nice to your mother, mmm?”, he purred, you giggled with his warm breath tickled you, “grow big, strong, and beautiful”, he said winking at you, “come when you need too, but come healthy, and happy, we will be waiting for you, my little pup”

“Maybe is a dragonling”, you suggested

“Shhh”, he shushed you again with a smirk, “we love you, we will be waiting for you”, he said, placing a longer kiss in your lower belly

And then he laid there, hugging your midsection

You didn’t know it then, he was not only happy, he was also fearful.

taglist!

@severewobblerlightdragon @missusnora @stargaryenx @poppyreader @chainsawsangel @court-jester-stuff @batprincess1013 @eddiepicker @lyannesworld @arujee @kamisunshine @mss-nthng @partypoison00 @grimistangel @elleclairez @may-machin @prettykinkysoul @justagurlwithships @champomiel @laura-naruto-fan1998 @zoleea-exultant @devotedlythoughtfulanchor @zoleea-exultant @llleon666 @dark-night-sky-99 @bitchigoteverythingissues @harrypotteranna23-blog@esposadomd @ajanauia @phantomtea19 @let-love-bleeds-red

#misguidedwinter #cregan stark x reader #cregan #cregan x reader #cregan stark #house targaryen #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #targaryen!oc #targaryen!reader #hbo house of the dragon #house of the dragon #house stark

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