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asumofwords · 9 months

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Modern!Dark!Aemond - Divorce AU - Oneshot

Til Death Do Us Part

SUMMARY: You and Aemond had been married for years, but he was not the man you thought he was. Discovering his affair with his secretary Alys Rivers, you had decided that enough was enough. You packed up your things in secret and left, leaving divorce papers on the table, and booked a one way ticket out of the country.

What will happen when Aemond goes to the ends of the earth to find you and make you his again?

WARNINGS: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. She/her pronouns, stalking, abuse, toxic relationships, infidelity, divorce, NONCON, manipulation, gaslighting, marriage, rough sex, choking, hitting, punching, yandere, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, forced orgasm, violence, daddy kink, dacryphilia, head injury.

PAIRINGS: Modern!Dark!Aemond x reader

Word count: 10.2k

NOTES: Well, well, well.... Here we are. You have all been so feral waiting for this to drop and I am honestly so excited to see you all crawling about in my walls after. Probably shouldn't have to say this by now but will for new folks, READ THE TAGS, this is a DARK!FIC. There is no fluff or happiness lmao. This has been so fucking fun to write hehehe.... Anyway.... Without further adieu... Enjoy ;) <3

The soft hissing of the kettle took you away from the book you had been reading, nestled against one of the many windows in the small cottage you now owned.

Taking the kettle from the stove, you poured the boiled water over your tea leaves, watching the herbal mix swirl in the strainer.

The soft aroma of chamomile and peppermint wafted from the cup and you inhaled deeply, leaning against the kitchen bench as you waited for it to steep, no use going back to your book nook until the tea was ready to take with you.

The leaves from the pine trees in the forest outside had turned a deep green, the cold chill of winter having rolled through the valley of the quaint village you lived in early this year. Condensation rose from earth as the sun heated the mildew on the grass, the smokey illusion seeping from the forest floor.

It was different to the city. No more were the days of craning your head up to look at the crawling skyline of buildings, the sound of traffic, or yelling of people on the street. No more did you hear cars blare their horns or music, or the melodic sounds of people chattering in the late hours of the night or fights between lovers from apartments surrounding.

Now, the most noise you heard was the occasional storm that rolled through the valley, or the deer that wondered the pasture at the back of your property.

You could remember the first night you heard them, such a different and unfamiliar screeching that had set your hair on edge, eyes darting about to each window and front door as you raced around the house to make sure they were locked.

They always were.

You were meticulous that way. Always vigilant, always ready.

But in reality, you shouldn’t still be on edge.

It had been months since you left.

Almost an entire year since you packed your things and left the papers and your ring on the table for him to find. And what’s more, there would be no way for him to find you out here.

Not that he would even try.

You hoped.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t love him, or loved him; the lines were still blurred there. But Aemond had broken you in ways you never knew he could.

The lies, the secrecy, and then, her.

You remembered when you had first met Alys; a work event Aemond brought you along to. The pretty wife and happy family image did wonders for his company and the press, so he often brought you along on his arm, smiles and grins for the cameras, whispers of starting a family or trying for one, until you were out of view.

But that time had been different.

That time, something had changed.

You had known about Alys Rivers for a while, a new hire going months back. A woman from no notable name, nor background, a start up of her own, worked hard to get where she was, or at least, that’s what you had first thought when Aemond had described her to you; his new secretary hire.

An older woman, not one a wife would usually find as a threat.

It’s almost always the younger ones. Older men seeking out their youth between the thighs of a barely twenty-something, whilst their wives are none the wiser, or perhaps knowing and too resigned to care, birthing them children at home as their marriage dissolves into nothing but a loveless legal contract.

But this was different.

She hadn’t come to introduce herself at first, not at all, and that’s what you found the strangest.

Alys Rivers, a few inches taller than you, with pale skin and bright green eyes, had stood in the far end of the hired venue, sipping a glass of red wine, perfectly manicured maroon nails tapping on the glass, whilst she tucked an ebony strand of hair behind her ear.

You had felt the heat of her gaze immediately, your eyes meeting hers, and yet, she didn’t look away, didn’t smile softly, walk over and introduce herself as any other woman would have. She just stared. Right into your very soul. It had sent shivers down your spine, and you knew, in that moment, that something was wrong.

Off.

Aemond had done his rounds with his private investors, higher employees, friends, if you could call them that, and press alike, all whilst you stuck by his side, smiling pretty and responding with shallow answers that didn’t give too much or too little for them to talk about later.

You hated those stuffy events, men and women alike always trying to get closer to you in order to get to Aemond, who was a fortress to begin with. Some people often commented or made joking remarks at how surprised they were that you had married him. That you had managed to thaw the Ice Man himself, that he was even capable of such things, and you would always laugh and make jokes back in good nature, smile never reaching your eyes.

But really, he was amazing when you were first married. Doting, loving, loyal, and always there, though that was sometimes overbearing. There was of course the little things, the teeny red flags that you ignored more often than not, rose tinted glasses and all that, but you had been young and in love and crazy about him, and he had been the same about you.

But as the years rolled by, and the two of you grew, you also both changed. The business expanded rapidly with the death of his father Viserys, and Aemond became more preoccupied with that legacy, most of the empire being passed along to him, and not his older brother Aegon, who had no desire to work and would rather live off his inherited wealth with drugs and weekend benders surrounded by lusty women. Occasionally men too.

And then when Alys came into the picture, it was like a switch had been flicked.

As though the Aemond you had thought you knew, never existed at all.

Alys had sauntered her way over half way through the event to introduce herself, all saccharine smile with razor sharp teeth that looked ready to sink into your flesh. She was polite, pleasant, overly pleasant, too sweet, too complimentary, and it felt off. Like an overripe peach, or wine that had been left open for a week too long.

Your husband had been stiff at your side, hand flexing around the tumbler of whiskey the entire time she stood beside him, too close to be friendly, and most certainly far too close for a boss and his secretary. And really, you should have listened to your instincts then and there, for they screamed that something was amiss.

But Aemond had a way of getting into your head, making you believe every word he said, push away your own instincts, and question yourself over, and over.

And that’s what you had done.

Questioned yourself, over and over.

Yet one day, something in the back of your head nagged at you too loudly. Aemond had not answering his personal number, calls you could understand, but usually he responded to his texts. But that day he hadn't. And so you called the office, where he spent most of his time these days, which had become a frustrating new normal, as was the depletion of your small weekends away, romantic dinners, spontaneous days out together.

The marriage felt stagnant, stale, and you knew in your gut the true reason for it. His desk had rang for too many rings too long. And when Alys had finally answered, she sounded rushed, caught unawares, awkward.

That was all it had took.

You had asked if he had his lunch yet, that you were nearby in the city and wondering if you should drop by, knowing that he had been spending later evenings in the office ‘working’, or weekend trips away to Harrenhal for business there, his secretary tagging along.

Alys informed you that he had just ate, but the way she said it was with that same overly sweetness that set your brain afire.

It was almost smug.

And so, without even hesitating, like you had for months on end, you picked up your keys and left, heading straight to his office.

Your heart had raced the entire time you drove there, weaving through traffic, just knowing, knowing, something, deep in your gut was not right.

And you were right.

Because there they were, caught like two deers in the headlights as you had swung the door open, Alys, seated on his desk, skirt pushed up to her hips, one shoe lost to the floor as Aemond thrusted into her parted legs.

They hadn’t even heard you at first.

But she saw you.

And she had smiled.

You will always remember his face.

He had turned and looked at you with shock at first, but then it turned to anger, as though you were at fault for this, as though you had ruined his fun, as though you should have known better, scar on his cheek crinkling with the sneer he threw your way.

You left in a flurry of hot tears, immediately calling your lawyer.

You drove straight to your best friend Sara’s house, and crashed at hers for the week, ignoring the constant buzz of calls and texts, and yes, even emails from your husband. Aemond in his desperation to reach out to you, even drove to Sara’s house, demanding if you were there. You had hid in the bathroom, holding your breath in the tub, shaking with anger and heartbreak and fighting the urge to go out there, to yell at him, scream at him, or more dangerous still, forgive him.

Then you were gone, speaking to your solicitor to get everything set into motion, friends loyally supporting your decision. You left the divorce papers on the dining room table, packed your bags and left whilst he was at the office, giving him no chance to manipulate you into staying, no chance for argument, and no chance for your heart to win over, taking your essentials and sentimental possessions with you.

You stood in your home, looking at everything inside, at all the memories that you shared in there. From when you had first looked at the house, to buying it, to Aemond's insistence on christening every single surface in the house to make it yours, all giggles and smiles, pleasure and joy.

But gone were those days, gone was the joy and the giggles, the pleasure and the smiles, and so with shaky fingers, you ripped off your wedding ring, finger feeling bare in its absence as you left it atop the pages.

At first you were just hoping to get some space to clear your head and not be manipulated by your husbands lies and very convincing words again. You knew that if you gave him a chance, you would be stuck. You knew that if he pleaded, if he begged, if he smiled with his signature smirk, it would be your downfall. He knew you far too intimately now. He knew how to get you to bend to his will. So you booked the nearest ticket you could and raced to the airport, not once looking back.

You had just landed in Paris when you turned your phone back on, watching the screen as it lit up, where you were immediately bombarded with multiple missed calls from him and a barrage of texts that became more, and more aggressive as time went on.

It was your fault really, to poke the dragon the way you had.

And yet you still did it, answering one of his frantic calls to hear the cool and icy tone of Aemond, barely keeping it together on the other end.

“Where are you?” He had asked, voice deep and quiet, small growl on the end; a tell tale sign that he was furious.

The airport was loud around you, people moving to their next gates, or stopping to move to the small cafes to eat, others continuing onwards towards the baggage claim to collect their luggage.

“It's none of your business.” You had responded, tone clipped, irritation and anger surging through you at his audacity to even be mad.

“I think it’s plenty my business. You’re my wife.”

“Not anymore. Have your solicitor talk to mine. Sign the papers, Aemond.”

You heard him breathe heavily into the speaker, “If you think for one fucking second that I’m going to-“

You pressed the red button on your phone and hung up on him, shoving your phone into your back pocket as you moved lazily through the queue to get through customs.

By the time you had gotten out the other end, you checked your phone again.

There was only one text on the screen that had sent panic blaring through your mind.

‘See you soon.’

You hadn’t planned to run, you hadn’t even planned to leave the country indefinitely, you just needed an out, but Aemond’s aggression had extended it, triggering your flight instincts. You didn’t believe that he would hurt you, but this new anger had frightened you. This new Aemond frightened you.

But Aemond Targaryen’s anger was not new to you either, his possessiveness was not new, and at one point you had even found it endearing. But after years of being married to what you thought was the man of your dreams, the other shoe dropped, and the true man was revealed.

So you made quick work of it, going to an international bank, taking every single cent out of your combined account.

You knew he wouldn’t struggle financially from such a loss, having another seperate offshore account, or two, or five if you were really counting. Not to mention his inheritance which sat in a vault in Budapest.

Comes with being descended from royalty.

But in the end, you knew you needed every dollar if you were going to get away from him and make it stick.

So you got a new passport, ID, and hitchhiked your way across several countries until you finally settled, finding a cottage, nestled in the woods, a solid thirty minute drive from town, buying it from the local farmer in cash. No contract. No deed. Just cash and his silence.

And that’s where you had been ever since.

You took your tea to the window, settling against the nook, pillows and blankets strewn all over as you curled inside. You looked out at the trees, the sun slowly setting for the day.

It was cold in your cottage, not too cold, but cold enough. Winter had come early that year, and you had used more logs of wood for the fire than you had thought you would have needed.

It was strange, to be so far away from the life you used to live. To be so removed from the world. But in some ways it was good. You had no social media, having deactivated every single one you had, and you also had barely any use of your phone unless you turned on the broadband, which was shaky at best and if it was windy, the reception would cut out.

The only people you really spoke to anymore was the people who lived in the town just a ways away, and Sara, who called every Sunday like clockwork, well actually like clockwork, you needed to turn the broadband on for Skype to work on the laptop you had taken with you.

In the almost year you had been gone, you had taught yourself how to make your own clothes, pickle and preserve foods, and even became quite handy at baking the odd loaf of bread here and there. The farmers whose cottage it was previously had left his belongings behind, taking only his clothes and things of memory with him.

There were books almost everywhere, the old man having been an avid reader, and amongst the books had been one on horticulture, and so slowly but surely, you had grown your own self sustaining vegetable patch. It wasn’t perfect, but it prevented you from going into town too often, and also allowed you to not seek employment just yet.

That would come later when Sara would tell you that Aemond would sign the papers.

But every Sunday was the same.

“Any news?” You asked her that morning, Sara had frowned, pixelated to hell, but the frown still evident on your screen.

“Nope. Nothing. The asshole won’t sign them still. Solicitor can’t even find him to talk.”

You sighed, wiping hands down your face angrily.

Why was he doing this?

Why wouldn’t he just let you go?

Something about it made your skin crawl.

Those messages, those calls.

The ‘See you soon’ text.

Something had snapped in Aemond, and you didn’t like it one bit.

Your only consolation was that you were far away with a new name, new life, hidden amongst rolling green hills and large forests.

“How’s Cregan?” You changed the subject, and Sara had given you an update on everyones lives, her brothers first, and his new girlfriend. Then to all your other friends who you longed to see again.

But not yet, you just needed a little more time and for your husband to agree to the divorce.

When the sun had lowered in the sky, you moved to turn the lights in the house on, throwing some logs into the fire and lighting them with a match. You made sure to thank the Gods for solar panels.

The warmth of the fire heated up the small cottage quickly, and you made quick work of reheating a lamb soup you made a few days earlier, crisp homemade bread on the side with butter from a nearby dairy farmer.

It was hearty and warm, and filled you up, having a soporific affect on you. You had a glass of red wine as a treat afterwards, bought from the local markets and found yourself sinking deeper into fatigue.

It was a routine of sort, wake, eat, read, work on the garden or house, eat, drink, sleep. It was comfortable, and it eased much of your worries, always keeping busy. You didn’t realise how stressed and anxious the life you used to live made you.

The week went by, much the same.

The same routine.

The same walls, and floors, and rooms.

Same window nook, and cups of tea, and warming your hands by the fire.

By the time Saturday rolled by, you had been elated, excited even, to get out and look at the homemade wares and farm grown produce. To see the people you had grown to care about and make as your quiet friends. Still at arms length of course with your fake new life, but you let them in more than you had intended to.

It was never a large market, merely the other people who lived in or around the tiny town. But it was cozy, sweet, and some faces were more familiar than others. You looked forward to seeing them all and catching up on their weeks, especially an older lady named Lucy, who crocheted and knitted some of the most wonderful things. She had kind grey eyes, and would always insist on you taking something from her for free.

Today was no different.

“You make this most difficult, hen.” The grey haired woman frowned, coming round the side of her small stall to shove a large, grey knitted jumper into your arms, the same colour as her eyes.

You shook your head, “Lucy, please, at least let me give you some money for it.” Grabbing the soft wool that was pressed against your chest.

The older lady smirked, hands up in the air in submission, “It’s too late,” Her voice was thick with a Scottish accent, “You best be taking that, girly. It’ll be a cold winter that comes round this year, I feel it in my bones already.”

You sighed, “Then let me give you some money for it, and you can buy some more wool to make yourself some warm socks.” Fishing around in your bag to find some cash to give her.

Lucy crossed her arms across her chest, “Gonny no dae that. If you give me any money I’ll be right offended by you, I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug. It’s a gift, you dafty.”

You shook your head and chuckled, there was no point in fighting.

You would never win anyway.

“Fine.” You acquiesced, “But I’m coming to drop you some muffins and scones when I make them next week.”

The older lady sat down heavily in her chair behind the stall, “I expect nothing less. Will you bring some strawberries from yer plot? Dang caterpillars got into mine and tore them to shreds.”

“I’ll bring you a mix of goodies from my wonderful garden that has no caterpillars.” You teased, rubbing the woollen jumper between your fingers, “Thanks again, Lucy, but you’re a menace.”

“Got to be when yer married to my husband.” Lucy joked, but it made your heart race instead.

You swallowed thickly and smiled shakily at the woman, nodding before bidding her a goodbye.

You walked through the rest of the market for a while, getting some fresh honey from a local farmer, some potatoes for a stew later on, and even buying yourself a new handmade mug.

It was a bustling affair, small children giggling with their parents, and older members of town who had been born and raised there walking about and stopping to talk with their life long companions.

Bright bunches of flowers caught your attention, and you moved over to look at them all.

Native flowers of all kinds were bunched together; roses, petunias, anything that could survive the chillier climate. And as you looked at a peculiar shaped purple flower, hooded like a bell, the hair on the back of your neck stood up.

A shiver rolled down your spine, and instinctually you turned, eyes darting around the rest of the market, looking at the sea of people, young and old, walking with their wares, chatting amongst each other or smiling.

Not one had that familiar head of silver hair.

You breathed out a sigh, shaking your head.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

You’re safe.

It’s just your anxiety. It was probably just Lucy’s comment that set you on edge.

Not even Sara truly knew where you were.

You looked back at the flowers again, eyes on the purple ones that were nestled amongst pea flowers and other pinks and yellows.

“Devils Helmut.” The man told you, noting your interest in its peculiar shape, “Monkshood to others, or Wolfsbane to those witchy ones.” His eyes looked at you intently, “You ok? Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally.”

He was tall, older, but not by much, with deep brown eyes and wavy brunette hair that came to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears. His jaw was sharp, a nice shadow across the skin from his stubble, with lips that were full and pulled upwards slightly. He had broad shoulders and large hands, tiny freckles dusting the pale skin as he watched you.

He was relatively new to town like you, but not really. Duncan, you remembered, had moved back to the little town after his father had passed away, inheriting the plot of land that was next to yours. Lucy had spilled the tea, over a cup of tea, about him with you a few months before, telling you that he was an eligible bachelor with a wink, trying to set the two of you up.

And although he was undeniably attractive, you worried for the implications of getting to know him, and eventually having to tell him about your marriage, and why you were truly where you were. You doubted the man would want anything to do with your baggage.

“I’m okay, just a bit cold. How have you been?” You asked him, the feeling of being watched prickling at the back of your head.

“Fairly good.” Duncan rolled his r deeply, same low Scottish timbre as Lucy, distracting you from the rancid feeling that curled in your gut, “The winter’s come early this year.”

Duncan leant a hand against the table, and you noted that there was no ring on his finger.

Stop that.

“That’s what Lucy said too. Can definitely feel it.”

Duncan looked pointedly at the jumper still in your hands, “And what’s she given you this time?”

Unfolding the jumper in your arms you held it up, holding it against yourself to show him, “A new jumper. Will be perfect when it gets colder. Wish she’d stop throwing things at me and not letting me pay though.”

Duncan laughed, a deep chortle that rumbled his chest and warmed your cheeks, “That’s Lucy for you. She does the same to me too, the auld blether.”

You laughed heartily, “We should go in doubles to the markets when you’re not selling. There’s strength in numbers, you know.”

Oh gods. Why did you say that?

A soft smile pulled on his lips, “You don’t know Lucy well enough if you think we’d stand a chance against her. She’d bowl us over without even blinking.”

Another laugh, and a shrug, "Worth the try.”

Duncan’s eyes scanned your face softly before he stepped forward, grabbing the bunch of flowers you had been looking at from their little vase, holding them out towards you, “Here.”

You looked at the flowers in his hands and frowned, “What?”

“Take them.” He insisted, “You looked right keen on the Monkshood, mean bloody flower that one. Be careful you don’t touch it too much.”

You shook your head, tucking your jumper into your bag, “I can’t possibly-“

“-Please. I insist.”

You reached forward to take the flowers from him hesitantly, feeling guilt bubble inside of you. What was with all these people and their generosity? It was going to give you an aneurism.

Your fingers brushed against his, and the warmth carried up your arm and straight into your chest. Duncan must have felt it too, because a soft blush creeped across his freckled cheeks.

Holding the bunch of flowers to your chest you smiled.

“You don’t have any pets at home? Any cats that might try and make a snack of the flowers?” Duncan pointed to the Monkshood.

You shook your head, “No it’s just me.”

His eyes danced as he nodded, and you felt as if you had answered his second question without him even having to ask.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

A large hand waved the thanks away, “Dinnae worry about it. Though, I have heard good things about yer baking.”

“Have you now? Has Lucy spilt all my secrets?”

A smirk, “Not yer secrets no. But yer baking, yes.”

Feeling bold, you smirked back, “I could make you something, if you’d like." You held up the flowers in show, "As a thanks, of course.”

“What can you make?”

“Anything you want.” You said quieter, swallowing the anticipation that rose in your throat.

“Can you make a good scone?”

You scoffed, “Easiest of things to bake.”

Duncan mirrored your stance, pursing his lips, “Guess I’ll have to be the judge of that then. Do you have enough wood for yer fire? Snow will be falling soon, and we dinnae want you chittering in the cold.”

“I’ve got some left, but I know I’ll probably have to go over to Douglas and Lucy’s to get some more.”

The brown haired man paused in thought, tongue in cheek before he spun around, crouching down to rifle through a bag beneath his table, pulling out a pen and paper.

Duncan placed the small notebook in front of you.

“How about this, you give me yer number, and I’ll come round and bring you some more wood, maybe chop some for the fire as well, and you can thank me by making some scones. I can bring some of Elsie’s jam with me.” Duncan looked up at you, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

And although he had spoken with confidence, it was clear that he was just as nervous as you.

It was hard to fight the heat that creeped up your neck. Excitement and anticipation coursing through you, the feeling of being desired making you giddy.

It had been so long.

You bit your bottom lip softly nodding, leaning down to write your home phone number, making a note to plug the old thing in, praying that it still works, as well as your address into the notebook.

Duncan smiled softly, taking it back and looked at the note, “You didn’t have to write down yer address, I know you bought Macnair’s property a while back, we're practically neighbours. Not accounting for the acres between us.”

“Oh.” You laughed softly, “Sorry, I didn’t know you knew him.”

“Hard to not know everyone here, especially when you grew up around them all. Plus, hard to not notice the bonnie lass who moved here. Quite the stir you created.”

You shook your head and blushed again, Gods damn him, “Not my intention.”

You both stood shyly for a moment, staring at each other, a warm pleasant tension building around the two of you.

Duncan cleared his throat, and clapped his hands together softly, “Right. Well, It’s a dreich day, so you best be off before the rain comes again.” He held the notebook up in his hand and shook it lightly, “You’ll be seeing me soon then. I’ll be coming to collect some of those scones.”

You grinned, and held the flowers gently in show again, “I hope they’re up to your standards. Thanks again for the flowers. I’ll see you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

The blaring ring of the Skype call filled your cottage. You raced from the kitchen to the desk, answering Sara’s call with a bright smile.

“Sar!” You smiled, pulling out your chair to sit in it, looking at your best friends face. But her excitement did not match yours, and instead, her face filled you with dread.

“Sar, what’s wrong?”

You watched as Sara visibly swallowed, leaning towards her computer, “Aemond’s left the country.”

Chills ran over your body.

“Oh, he must have a conference in Rome or Budapest. He always used to-“

“-No.” Sara interrupted you, and her voice instilled a rising sense of fear that you had been battling with for months, “Y/n, I don’t think that’s it. He’s already been gone over a week. That’s why the solicitor couldn’t talk to him him.”

Your heart raced in your chest, blood rushing in your ears.

Sara continued as you felt the walls around you move closer, “That’s why the solicitor couldn’t get in contact with him. They went to his office. Apparently he’s on leave, not even Alys was there.”

You licked your lips, swallowing dryly, “What do I do? Fuck, Sara, what do I do?”

“Don’t panic. He doesn’t know where you are! Hell, I don’t even know where you are.”

“I know, I know. But still…” You paused, breathing shallowly, “Sara, I went to the markets yesterday, and it was… Off. Something was off… And I just couldn’t shake this feeling that I was being watched.” You felt like you were going to be sick.

Sara’s face fell, head turning to talk to someone else quietly in the room.

“Who’s that?”

“Just Cregan. He’s talking to Helaena.”

You scoffed sadly, “Helaena won’t know anything. She didn’t even know about Alys.”

Sara shrugged, image becoming pixelated, “I-…-ow…-bu-….-o….-harm…-“

“Sar, you’re cutting up.”

You swore, swatting the computer lightly as her image froze.

Fucking broadband. Gods, maybe you should invest in getting a satellite dish here. At least you could get some cable tv if you did.

“-come to you.” Sara unfroze, the pixels evening out to an almost smooth image.

You groaned, “I didn’t catch any of that. Fucking internet cut out.”

“Can you get a satellite or something like a normal person and not be such a hermit? I said, why don’t I come to you.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you, Sar. Besides, he wouldn’t hurt me, not that he’d ever find me. He’s just an asshole. Probably curse me out and tell me I’m making it all up.”

Sara’s face dropped again, and you wished she was pixelated so you couldn’t see it, the image making your skin crawl, “Y/n. Theres something you don’t know.”

You straightened in your chair, “Is Alys pregnant?”

“No. She’s too old for that. Something else. Something Jacaerys told Cregan one night years ago. I didn’t want to tell you then, you guys were so in love, and I had never seen you so happy. I just,” She sighed, “I didn’t even really believe it until recently.”

“Sar, you’re scaring me.”

She shook her head, “I know, I know. But as you said, he doesn’t know where you are, and he won’t find you. But Y/n, Aemond isn’t who we think he is.”

“Are you about to tell me he’s some sort of international spy, or politician in hiding?” You tried to joke, but the joke fell flat.

Sara’s head looked to the side before back at the screen, “When Aemond was young, he had a temper. A real bad one. Never got along with his nephews.” She took a steadying breath, “When Lucerys was thirteen and Aemond was nineteen, he attacked him. It was probably years of pent up anger after the accident, a fight had been brewing, but he didn’t stop. No-one could stop him, Y/n. It was bad. Really bad.”

Your stomach roiled.

“Y/n, Lucerys nearly died.”

Your mouth gaped open as you could scarcely get air into your lungs.

Oh gods.

“Breathe.” Sara cooed through the computer, “Girl, you need to breathe.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, hand rubbing your chest, “What the fuck?”

“I know. I know. But they were young, I mean, Aemond was a lot older, but still. They were boys. And Aemond would never do anything like that to you. Not that he will ever find you.”

You counted your breaths as Sara spoke to you, trying to get the room to stop spinning.

“Y/n, y-….I-…t wi-…ll be fine-…. I-… ca-…n…-“

You growled at your screen, standing up in anger and frustration, anxiety pulling cruelly at your gut. You paced in front of the desk as you waited for your friend to come back into view.

When she de-pixelated and came back, you leant heavily against the table.

“You got your phone with you?” You asked, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Yea.” Sara lifted her phone to the screen.

“Okay, I’m going to give you my address. When do you think you can come?”

A cry flew from your lips.

The cottage was bathed in complete darkness, generator slowing to halt outside, the soft hum of electricity disappearing. Your heart lurched into your throat as you stood in the darkness. Skype screen blaring a ‘Lost Connection’ notification at you.

You took shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself.

This wasn’t unusual.

Just last month a squirrel had been trying to burrow into the electrical box for warmth and chewed through a cable. Luckily for you, Douglas had come over to fix up the wiring and helped you on your way. But with all that had been happening, it gave you a right scare.

Your heart did not slow in your chest, nor did you calm with the way your ears pricked at any noise inside or out. You stumbled through the darkness of the cottage to the kitchen, searching beneath the sink for your emergency torch.

Grasping it in your hand, you clicked it on, lone beam of light shining a path for you through the house to the front door. You crept slowly forward, the sound of your loud breathing in your ear as you got to the door.

You would have to go out and flip the switches manually, and make sure the damned squirrel wasn’t back.

Throwing on your wellies, you unlocked the four deadlocks you had installed on your door one by one until you opened it wide, the valley blanketed in the darkness of the night, clouds shrouding the moon and stars. The shadows of the forest around your house made you more on edge, every trunk or branch causing your eyes to linger that moment longer to decipher what it was.

But they were just that.

Trees.

You trudged around the side of the cottage, shoes crunching on the ground below as you made your way to the back. The icy air nipped at your skin, and you tugged the jumper that Lucy had knitted tightly around you.

They were right, winter had come early this year.

You would have to thank her later.

When you reached the electrical box, you tugged it open, shining the torch on all the different switches inside.

The main switch was flicked off.

For fucks sake.

The broadband must have blown it out.

The cottage was old, and the electricals likely older. But the solar panel were new, and you had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps the different generations of technology were clashing. You briefly wondered how costly it would be to have someone come to rewire the house for you.

As you looked at all the other switches, making sure they all looked in order, and the wires coming from out the back were all in tact, you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

You never liked coming out here in the dark.

It was scary, and although there was nothing out here to hurt you, unless there was a miracle lone pack of wolves that came strolling by, which you knew could never happen, since Lucy had told you wolves were hunted to extinction there. So it was just you, the trees and the moon.

The sound of a twig snapping in the woods made you spin on your heel, shining the torch out at the trees in vain. The light didn’t reach very far, illuminating just the front row of trunks, leaving the rest to be bathed in its dense darkness. Your heart thumped in your chest as your eyes scanned the woods.

It’s fine.

It’s nothing.

I’ve just worked myself up.

Gods.

It was probably just a deer or something.

You remembered the day you woke up to a whole herd of deer outside your cottage one morning, quietly munching on the grass outside. You had nearly screamed with joy, but kept the excitement inside, tiptoeing to sit in your window nook and watch them graze.

Holding the box open with one hand, you popped the small torch in your mouth with the other, holding it in your teeth as you flicked all the switches off, and then back on again.

You looked to the house.

Still dark.

You groaned, and did it again.

Again, nothing.

No hum of the motor kicking back on.

“Third times a charm.” You mumbled with the torch in your teeth, flicking the power back on.

The steady buzz of electricity came back, and the lights from the house illuminated a path for you back inside. You all but slammed the box shut and sped back inside to the safety of your cottage, spinning quickly to shut the door behind you, rapidly locking it tight with the deadlocks.

One, two, three, four.

You sighed a breath of relief.

See? Nothing. Just country electricals and wild deer.

You toed off your gumboots, hanging your keys on the hook beside the door.

You needed a glass of wine.

That would do it, a glass of wine and maybe some baking.

“Took me a while to find you.”

Ice ran down your back. Your heart leapt out of your throat as you spun on your feet, fear crashing over you.

You blinked.

And there he was.

Standing in your lounge room.

He had found you.

Aemond’s jaw ticked.

You were so in shock, so terrified that you couldn’t move, entirely rooted to the floor in place as your breath was caught in your throat. Your mouth opened as you tried to suck in air, head feeling light, but you couldn’t even speak. Couldn’t even let the scream out that clawed at the back of your throat.

He had found you.

Aemond took a step towards you, dressed in all black, his long silver hair pulled away from his face in a braid, “I told you, I would see you soon.”

Instincts kicked in, and like a startled deer, you ran. Tearing down the short hallway to get to your room, where you knew the old shot gun Macnair had left behind was hiding beneath the bed. But Aemond was quicker, and you heard his loud steps before you felt him, grabbing you from behind as you kicked your legs back and screamed, trying to get out of his grip.

“Did you really fucking think you could get away from me?” He grunted, holding you impossibly tight, “That I’d ever let you go? It was just by chance that I saw you today, I didn’t even think to go to the markets.” He explained, and tears prickled in your eyes.

You were right, you were being watched.

“But there you were. The Gods brought us back together again, Y/n. I was about to give up. But it was fate that our paths crossed again. It was meant to be.”

You thrashed against him, his arm locking around your chest and neck tightly. You turned your head and bit down on his arm, hard, tasting blood fill your mouth. Aemond hissed, tearing himself from your teeth as he dropped you to the ground, knees collapsing beneath you as you scrambled along the floor to get away.

“Fucking bitch.”

Pain rippled up your scalp as Aemond gripped you by your hair, throwing you back against the floor. Your head hit the wooden boards, eyes sluggishly blinking as the room spun and nausea curled in your stomach.

Your husband stood over you, sneering.

“You’ve been hiding out here for months whilst I’ve been looking for you. Having an affair with that other man who gave you the flowers.” Duncan, “Almost paid him a visit, but that can be done later. Spent all this time searching for my ungrateful cunt of a wife, but you didn’t hide well enough.”

His lone eye narrowed as he looked down at you, lips pulled back in a sneer. Strands of his silver hair had fallen from his braid and puffed with each breath as he stared down at you, chest rising and falling roughly.

You scrambled backwards, nails digging into the wood as he stalked forward, hunting you like prey.

“Money talks. And I have a lot of money. Which you would know, since you cleared out our joined account. Very naughty, Y/n.”

“Fuck you. Get out!” You screamed, kicking a leg at him.

Aemond laughed, dodging your kick, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re my wife.”

“I’m not your fucking wife, you psycho.”

“No?” Aemond paused, cocking his head, “Then why are we still on the marriage register? Hm?”

Your back hit the side of the bed, hands swiping underneath desperately in search as you kicked at him again. Aemond swatted your legs away with ease, smirking down at you meanly. But he couldn’t block your kicks forever, and your foot hit him squarely in his groin.

Aemond grunted, doubling over in pain.

You took your chance, desperate to escape as you crawled forward, away from the bed, dizzy and horrified, all instincts telling you to run, not fight.

Besides, you didn’t even know how to use the gun, let alone if it was even loaded.

You stood, side stepping him as you moved to run out the bedroom door.

Your head hit the wooden frame with a crack, smashed into it by Aemond’s large hand. Stars bloomed behind your eyes, pain shooting through your skull. You tried to catch yourself on the door, your nails digging painfully into the wood as you cried, the hand gripping your hair, pulling you back into the room.

Aemond threw you onto the bed, looming over you, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment? To see you again? How hard it was to find you? And you’re acting like such an ungrateful little bitch.”

You grunted and cried, trying to get away, desperate to get yourself off the bed as he pushed you back on it.

“Get off me!”

“But a husband needs his wife,” He leered down at you, pupil wide, “I’ve been dying without you, Y/n. I’ve been bereft ever since you left me. Abandoning me like a coward.” Aemond shook his head, “You could never really leave me. You’re mine.”

“I hate you!” You screamed at him.

Aemond smiled down at you softly, stilling for a moment. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you looked at him, “No you don’t.”

His smile dropped from his face in an instant, shadow cast over his scarred cheek as he looked at you blankly, “And if you do, I’ll make you love me again.”

His hands slid down your body, and began to tear at your pants, busting the button from your jeans, sending it flying across the room, then ripping the zipper apart.

Sobs flew from your lips as you pushed up at him, desperate to make him stop, fear escalating within you, “Stop! Aemond. Stop!”

Your fingers tangled in the bed sheets as you kicked at him, knuckles going white as you tried to drag yourself up and away from him on the bed, nails pulling sharply as you used every ounce of strength you had left. The room still spun as your head throbbed with every movement or jolt of your body.

Long fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your jeans and tugged them and your underwear down your legs as you struggled and cried and clawed at him.

“Been a while since you played this game with me.” Aemond chuckled darkly, “Do you remember when you used to pretend you didn’t want it? When you’d say ‘Stop! Please, no!’ and cum around my cock all coy?”

You blinked, memories erupting inside your brain. But those days were consensual, that was fun, something he had even introduced you to. But now? This? This was different. This was not a game. This was not play.

You kicked at his chest, heel clipping his shoulder sharply, a grunt falling from his lips. Aemond slapped a leg away, other hand gripping your thigh tightly. You cried out in pain as his fingers dug into your skin meanly, pain rippling up it.

Your hands tried to pry his fingers away, but the glinting of his wedding ring caught your attention.

He was still wearing it.

He ripped open his belt, and terror struck inside of you.

“Aemond, no. Please. Stop! Aemond stop, please!”

But all the man did was smile down at you crudely, “Gods, I’ve missed your begging. So sweet and small when you’d get on your knees and beg for my cock.” He pulled his length from his slacks, hard and angry, a drop of arousal smeared across his tip, “You’re so fucking beautiful. And you’re mine. My wife.”

You felt like you were going to throw up, thrashing beneath him as he crawled atop of you.

You dug your nails into his arms, trying to swipe at his face and neck, your teeth bared, ready to bite down onto whatever limb came into their collision course.

“Stop.” He growled, slotting himself between your thighs, overpowering you completely.

You sobbed beneath him, begging him to stop, screaming at him to get off, grunting as you twisted beneath the sheets, your head still spinning with small stars that continued to multiply in front of your eyes, the corners of your vision shrouded in black.

In one final attempt, you went for what you knew would hurt him, what you knew would stop him, slow him down.

Give you time.

And so with the heel of your hand, you thrust it upwards into his face, connecting with his prosthetic eye, clipping the painful scar tissue that would sometimes wake him in the middle of the night in tears.

Aemond’s head withdrew with a sharp and pained cry, one palm pushing into his eye socket as he tried to calm the agony. You pushed against his shoulders, trying to move out from underneath, but Aemond was quicker, and his enraged gaze landed on you. The hand that had been pushing into his face, curled into a tight fist.

Your head whipped to the side, and a cool blanket of darkness washed over you.

You laid in it for a while, with no thoughts, no terror, no fear, just that darkness that curled around you quietly.

It was nice for a moment, almost comforting.

Just the feeling of not being there.

But then the blanket faded away, and pain bloomed in your face, iron on your tongue as you blinked in confusion.

There was movement and a weight atop you. Something sliding against your core.

And then, pain.

You whined, hands shoving against the chest above you as Aemond speared you on his length, thrusting sharply and dryly into you as he reached his hilt, the tip of his cock pushing painfully against your cervix.

You gagged quietly, head throbbing as the room spun, your arms weakly pushing at him, feeling as though they were made out of lead. Each movement of your body sent pain rippling through your skull, and bile into your mouth.

“Take it like a good wife.” Aemond growled, pulling his length out of you before thrusting it back in sharply.

You cried loudly, pain spreading through your core as you felt him tear at your walls.

He was always larger, much larger than anyone you had had before, and when you were together, he would have to spend ample time to prepare you, but you would always be wet to help.

The only wetness you felt now, was from your own blood.

Aemond began a harsh and rough pace, with long sharp thrusts that jolted you up the bed on his length, cries of pain bleeding from your lips as you cried, turning your head away from him.

You still tried to push at his chest weakly, nails scratching at him through the dark shirt he wore, but it was no use.

He grunted above you, picking up his pace, wrapping his hands around your neck for leverage. He squeezed, not tightly, but as a warning, and your eyes shot open to look up at him, hands clawing at his to try and get him to release you. The more you dug your nails into his skin, the more he tightened his hands until you were wheezing beneath him.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult, you just need to give in, baby. Come on. Be a good girl for me. Be a good girl for daddy.” He groaned, one hand leaving your neck to pull up the soft woollen jumper to reveal your breasts to the room.

Your nipples stiffened in the chill of the air, fireplace not having been lit yet and the cool of the early winter air seeping into the cabin.

“Fuck.” He hissed, hand coming to squeeze your breast roughly, pinching a stiffened peak between his fingers, rolling it through forefinger and thumb.

You whined in protest, hand trying to move his away.

Aemond lightly slapped your face, “Behave.” He accentuated with a hard thrust, another warning, sending pain shooting through your gut, “I’ll even let you cum. Be a good girl for me and I’ll let you cum, hm? Is that what my pretty wife wants?”

You shook your head weakly, tears overspilling from your eyes and down your cheeks, a sob working its way through your lips.

Aemond bent down and licked the trail of tears from your cheek, “Fuck.” He moaned, thrusting into you faster, “Forgot how fucking tight you were. Gods. Gonna have to make up for time lost aren’t we? You’ve been such” Thrust, “A naughty” Thrust “Girl.” Thrust.

Your core clenched around him instinctually, Aemond adjusting his hips upwards so that his length would brush against the soft spongey spot within. His pace faltered, and a smirk pulled at his lips. Warmth spread through your gut.

“There she is.”

“No. Please, stop. Aemond, please. I’m begging you.” You wailed, hands gripping his arms as your nails clawed into him.

Your husband smirked down at you, “Not so cocky now that you’re mine again, huh? Where’s that bratty attitude from on the phone?”

Aemond continued to fuck at you from the new angle, one hand on your neck in a promise, the other pulling a limp leg up his hip, revulsion barreling through you as you found yourself growing wet from the angle, your body betraying you.

The sound of your slick was loud in the room, adding to your shame.

Aemond only tutted at you, “See? Only I can make you feel like this. Duncan would never be able to make you cum the way I do. No-one can. You’re mine. This pussy, is mine. And what I do with it is for me alone.”

The light in the room was too bright above you, making your head spin even more, the clapping of his hips against yours loud in your ears as his thrusts rocked your head and body backwards, a familiar coil beginning to wind in your stomach.

It was all too much.

Even the smell of him overwhelmed you.

“Can feel you squeezing my cock. You gonna cum for me, baby?” He cooed, mocking you.

“P-Please st-op, Aemond. It h-hurts.” You sobbed.

“Oh it hurts does it?” The sneer was back, Aemond’s head leant down beside your ear as he pushed to his limit, your walls gripping him tightly, and whispered, “Now you know how it felt when you left me.”

You weeped.

“I hope it fucking hurts.” Aemond leant back, fucking into you with new found vigour, sitting back on his haunches as he pulled your hips onto him, the coil getting tighter and tighter.

It was horrifying, to find your body finding pleasure from his assault, but you couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard you tried. He knew you too well. Knew your body too intimately. Knew everything that made you tick, twitch, or moan. He had spent hours, years, learning how to expertly map out your body, and he knew your body better than you did.

A slick thumb pressed down on your bud.

“Come on, baby, cum for me. Wanna feel you cum on me. If you cum for me, I’ll forgive you, okay? You cum for me and I’ll know you love me back. Come on, be a good girl, cum for me.”

His thumb swirled roughly against your bud, your hands tightening around him, unsure if you were pulling him toward you or pushing him away. Your mind hazy and confused, the world having been turned upside down.

You came with a cry, back arching off the bed as Aemond praised you through it, fucking into you harder and faster. Warmth spread through your limbs, your eyes scrunched tightly shut, bright lights behind them as your skull throbbed.

Aemond fucked your limp body, thumb leaving your clit as he held your hips with both hands, drilling into your wetness with a painful force, pulling agonising pleasure from you.

You weeped below him, keeping your eyes shut as you just wished for it to be over. For him to just finish.

“Gonna fill you up. Gonna fill my pretty wife up so we can have a baby. Hm, doesn’t that sound nice? Start a family.”

You sobbed loudly, hiding your face in your hands as you turned your head away from him, the taste of blood still thick on your tongue from where he had struck you.

His pace became sloppy, thrusts uneven as he began to lose himself to pleasure.

“Fuck!” He hissed, thrusting into you sharply as he came, hot ropes of cum coating your walls as he thrusted weakly through his climax.

You chest stuttered with sobs, head spinning, but exhaustion taking over.

You were so tired.

So tired.

You just wanted to sleep.

Wanted to fade away back to that darkness again. Back to nothing.

“Shh,” Aemond hushed you from above, dipping his head to press a gentle kiss against your wet cheek and forehead, “It’s okay now. I’m here. It’s okay.”

You sobbed even harder.

Aemond pulled out of you with a hiss, a small whimper falling from your own lips as you felt pain strum through your brutalised walls. He flopped back onto the bed, dragging your body up beside him as though you weighed nothing, black blooming before your eyes as you knocked your head against the pillow, a wave of sickness rising inside.

But you didn't fight it.

There was no point.

No escape.

Nowhere to go.

Nowhere to hide.

You couldn’t run, even if you wanted to.

And so you laid in his arms as he held you whilst you cried, curling into him as the tears kept coming. He cooed at you softly, rubbing a gentle hand up and down your arm in a way he always used to.

It was so stomach turning, the different sides of Aemond, and if it wasn’t for the concussion that you certainly had, his actions alone would send your head spinning.

Because this Aemond, the soft Aemond, was the one you had known. The one who used to hold you to him, and whisper words of praise. But that was a long time ago, and the Aemond who held you now was a different man.

Someone you didn’t even know.

This Aemond was not the man you married.

Aemond pressed another kiss to the top of your head again, “It’s okay, cry it out. I know you’re sorry. And it’s okay. I'll forgive you. Alys was a mistake, but she’s gone now. She won’t be a problem anymore, okay? It’s just you and me.”

You sobbed louder, and he pulled you closer to him, tangling his legs with yours.

“I know, baby." He cooed sweetly, but it was insincere, hollow, cold, "I’ve missed you too. I love you so much, Y/n." Aemond exhaled hotly at the top. ofyour head before his voice fell to barely a whisper, "So much, you don’t know what I’m willing to do to keep you with me.”

A chill rolled down your spine.

You knew now what he was willing to do.

And with the added news of what he did to Lucerys, you wouldn’t put it past him to harm anyone that came between you again.

A wave of mourning crashed over you.

Mourning your past.

Mourning your future.

And mourning the person that you would become with him. There was no escaping this.

Him.

You inhaled his scent deeply.

He still smelt as he always did, but there was a lingering smell of pine in his clothes. The pines from the woods surrounding your home.

How long had he been out there?

How long had he been waiting?

“You’ll love me again, I know it. I’ll never leave you again. We will be happy together. Here.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes wide against his chest.

“You’ve chosen the best spot, baby. You always were clever, we can start our family here. Somewhere quiet, no-one around. Just you and me, and eventually the children. Like it was meant to be.”

A shiver rolled through you.

“Marrying you was the best decision I made in my life.” He kissed the top of your head again, smoothing your hair down with his hand lovingly, “I’ll make you see.”

You laid there as you cried, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say. Having no real power over the situation, having no real way to escape or get out. If not for Aemond's sheer will, the four dead locks on the door assured it as well. He hummed softly as he let you cry, pain crashing through you in waves.

Aemond paused in thought, his thumb coming beneath your chin as he tilted your head to look up at him.

Your vision was fuzzy from the tears, and the edges were seeped in black, but you could see it. The crazed look in his eye as he gazed down at you with a hungry possessiveness.

“Do you remember our vows?” He asked, watching as you blinked at him, your lip wobbling as you tried to stop the endless stream of sobs that worked their way up your throat.

His thumb brushed gently over your bottom lip, a sharp sting sparking in it as his finger brushed over the split.

And then he smiled at you, in the same way that he had the day of your wedding, lips pulled wide, teeth revealed.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked at him.

The man you had loved, the man you had married and planned a future with.

The man you had been on the run from.

His mouth parted again, smile becoming softer.

“Til death do us part.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know on the general taglist post here :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 10 months

Text

A Perfect Score - Chapter 3 - Goosebumps | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: You perform your first match with Aemond, and things are beginning to heat up in the figure skating business | Word Count: 6.8k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: sexual tension, masturbation (f), reader having racy thoughts but nothing crazy, mentions of medical treatment for trigeminal neuralgia, mentions of an open relationship

A/N: shoutout to @asumofwords for giving me inspo for the 'stretch'. Also we love a slow-burn enemies to lovers moment, but we're heating up! 🔥

Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚

“Again”

You were covered in sweat, visible in the black tank top you were wearing and by the harsh lights that illuminated the ice rink. Your chest heaved noticeably as you placed your hands on your hips, the remaining momentum having you glide across the ice as you looked at Aemond, who stood tall, arms crossed and looking as stern as the day you met him.

In the weeks training with him everyday, you’d managed to at least try to be civil (save for a few choice words over dinner which had either of you leave the table instantly. One time you both tried to leave at the same time, and had a staredown, which delighted Aegon immensely). Aemond had not changed his attitude, neither had you.

Nor had Aemond apologised for what he’d said. And so much time had passed now, you were unsure if he ever would.

Anytime you would both pass one another in the hallway, every shared look at the dinner table felt like striking a match and depending on the day, it would catch and spread, and erupt into a fully blown argument. A clashing of personalities that were perhaps too close to one another to truly get on.

You straighten up, sucking in a breath, “Aemond, it’s late”

He checked his watch, the look on his face confirming that it was indeed late but that he didn’t care. He shrugged, “Again”

With a sigh, you get back into position, trying to ignore the way he so blatantly stares and picks apart quite literally everything you do. Even if he is right sometimes, it doesn’t make it any less annoying.

You can feel every muscle begin to ache from the everyday rigorous training you’ve been doing, and icing your muscles in between is helping but not entirely. Every night, you sleep like a freaking baby, since it takes all your brain capacity to tiptoe around Aemond wherever you go. You appreciate it’s his home and he can be wherever he wants in it at any given time, but not being on good terms is starting to drain the very energy out of you.

For what feels like the thousandth time you build up some speed (wanting nothing more than to just push him over on those stupid skates he’s wearing) and jump into a spin, stretching your leg as far and as high as it will go without assisting it with your hand.

“No, no” Aemond says quickly, shaking his head and gliding over, making you stop.

He stops behind you again, his skates crunching to a halt.

“Don’t bend your knee” he comments, “did you stretch?”

You throw him a pointed look over your shoulder, “I always stretch”

Aemond hums, which is becoming increasingly annoying as the weeks go on.

You gasp in surprise when his hand reaches for your leg and lifts it, his hand encircling the legging-clad skin near your knee, grasping with minimal pressure. It momentarily tips you off balance, not having expected it, and his other hand goes back around your waist, palm flat on your middle between your ribs to keep you standing straight, as it had been the first day you practised together.

“Don’t bend your knee” he repeats, lifting your leg higher, tightening his other arm around you to keep you level and inadvertently tugging you closer to him, so much so you can feel his leg against your hip. “That’s it”

He lifts your leg so that it stands at a 45 degree angle, as straight as your leg will allow. But aside from the way your leg is stretched, your brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. His fingers curl around the meat of your thigh, pressing lightly to keep you up.

He is so close to your back, that you’re sure you can feel the puffs of air out his nose as he breathes, making the hair around your face sway somewhat in your periphery. And more than anything, his other hand, firmly on your torso, presses in, drawing your bodies almost flush with your back against his hardened chest.

All this makes your skin go all warm, in spite of the harsh air conditioning, your chest entirely too tight and everything about what he’s doing, how close he is, how his stature looms behind, all serves to make you realise how small you feel in comparison. You swallow anxiously at the thought, hoping he doesn’t realise how your breathing is suddenly heavier.

Your leg firmly on the ice wobbles slightly off balance, and he moves his hand to your waist, squeezing tighter.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you” he says, hushed, probably the softest his voice has ever seemed.

You turn your face only slightly when he says that, not having to move much to look back at him behind you. Almost as soon as you do, Aemond lowers his face, his eye meeting yours.

He’s worn his hair down today, as he sometimes does, but several strands are tucked firmly behind his ear, swinging softly in the gentle breeze. It makes your skin tingle and goosebumps form on your arms.

His eye flits around your face, and you know he must be able to see the slight flush you feel in the centre of your features, spreading down your neck, all the way down to your belly. In the closeness of the gesture, he stands tall behind you, and you see his eye run over your tank top, from his angle the shadow of your cleavage just visible.

He looks back at you quickly again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, which have now stolen your attention. They stay parted, and he breathes ever so slightly heavier out his mouth.

It’s so miniscule, the gesture, that if you weren’t paying attention you’d miss it. But his hand slips from your mid-thigh just that little bit lower, and both of his hands squeeze tighter, until he skates backwards, gently letting you go. Something tugs about your core at the action. It felt so intimate. So sensu-

“Good, that’s good” he says weakly, clearing his throat.

You lower your leg almost as soon as he retreats, the place where he had touched burning significantly, feeling like you’d touched a hot kettle.

The session ends like this. Like there's something unspoken, and a hammering in your chest that won't cease as you walk up the cobbled path back to the house. Now that you're outside, you feel cold from having exerted with the soft sheen of sweat over your body. Aemond looks the same, his shirt sticking to the front of his chest and the hem around his biceps.

Aemond walked quickly ahead, helped by his long legs, but he was walking faster than usual, as if in a hurry to get back inside. He threw the glass doors open and rushed through the kitchen, not bothering even to say hello to Helaena who was leant by the counter, idly eating cereal.

Helaena looked at him and then at you as you stepped through the door, "What's wrong with him?" She asks, gesturing with her head. It was a common question since your arrival.

You can still feel the colour to your cheeks. But at least you could blame the fact that you were training just now. Even so, Helaena looked at you with a mischievously suspicious look.

You shrug, trying to be as convincing as possible, "Don't know. We just finished training"

Helaena raises an eyebrow, looking at the clock on the wall, "At 10:30 at night?"

"Yeah?"

Helaena smirks, as if she's not convinced.

"Sure"

You sigh, opening the fridge for a cold bottle of water, "Don't be like that, he hates me"

"He doesn't hate you" she insists, "He's just…antisocial"

You look at her sharply after a good sip, "That's neither true or an excuse"

Helaena bites her lip, desperate to say something, but she shakes her head and looks back at her bowl.

Sighing you check your phone, seeing an email from Hightower Management. It must have come in while you and Aemond were on the ice.

"What's this?" you ask, showing Helaena the screen.

"Oh, we've got a match in a few days. It decides who goes on the championship tour and Otto is just giving us the details. What to wear, which routine we'll do etc"

You scroll through the email absentmindedly, taking in the more important details, "I'm supposed to wear white?"

Helaena nods, "Aemond always wears black. Me and Aegon always wear variations of red"

You bite your lip, "I'll have to see if I have anything white"

"If you don't, we'll go shopping," she smiles.

"I can't afford that"

She furrows her brows, "Babes, Hightower Management will pay for it"

There's something about them paying for everything which, deep down, doesn't sit well with you. But you suppose, now that you're working for them, they really should pay. It just feels wrong. Especially after all those years where you had to make your costumes yourself, bent over the desk at ungodly hours only to be awake training the next morning.

You quickly bid Helaena goodnight, feeling the sudden hit of fatigue in your muscles as you drag your feet up the stairs.

You're barely on the landing as you hear Aegon murmuring lowly in the hallway, barely standing over the threshold of his bedroom. Aemond is leant against the doorway, one hand gripping the frame at the top, his lips pressed together as he chats with his brother lowly. So quietly in fact you can't tell what either of them are saying.

Hearing your footsteps approach your room, Aemond looks over, the conversation grinding to a halt when he sees you.

Warmth and embarrassment blooms across your skin, settling deep in your gut. He's clearly had a shower, as his hair is loose and damp around his shoulders, his skin ever so slightly flushed from the hot water.

As much as you don't want to admit it, you can't deny that you sneaked a peek at his grey sweatpants, hanging loosely on his hips, which you can only see since the black shirt he's wearing is riding up slightly with one hand on the doorframe, the grip now tightened somewhat.

Just like that everything is hot again and something akin to dull excitement settles between your legs.

Stop it.

You can remember his firm grasp on your thigh.

Stop it.

His eye flits over you again, jaw tensing noticeably. Your breathing noticeably heavier.

You gather your breath, willing the heat to disappear from your face and quickly retreat into your room, finding solace in the quiet, cool sensation of being away from Aemond, thoughts having a moment's reprieve.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

It surely can’t be the birth control. Your hormones have never been out of whack before? They had been on that pill, but that was ages ago...

So why does it feel like all of a sudden, you feel like you haven’t fucked anyone in a while? And why does it suddenly feel so urgent?

You try and think of the last time you slept with someone. Gods, it must have been several months ago with that guy from Highgarden, the one who came in about forty seconds and spent the rest of the evening crying.

It was unsatisfactory, yes, but you don’t have time to date! There’s no room for someone else in the busy schedule that is being a professional figure skater. None whatsoever.

You briefly think if you packed your vibrator with you and realised very quickly, that you didn’t even think about it when you moved out, thinking that you wouldn’t be gone long.

So once you’re showered, hair dried and laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, eyes tracing the patterns of the ceiling-rose with the domed light sat ornamentally in the middle, your stomach still carries that warmth you felt earlier.

The way his grasp lowered on your thigh.

The way his hand squeezed your waist.

The way his words had been whispered softly into your ear, warming your neck.

You shake your head in frustration, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. What the hell is going on? He’s a twat! It is against every moral cell inside you to find this man even somewhat attractive, after the things he’s said to you, nevermind his terrible attitude on top of that.

But as you have thought before. He can be both a twat and attractive right?

This is how you rationalise it, as your hand slips beneath the hem of your underwear, bringing yourself that dull buzz of pleasure as your middle finger teases your bud, aided with the surprise that you’re already wet. Your head tips back against the pillows, pressing your lips together to keep your sounds low in your throat, the other hand dipping beneath the oversized sleeping shirt you were wearing to cup your breast.

Not at all imagining they were someone else’s.

No, that would be weird.

It happens faster than usual. Your finger speeds up over your bud, pressing lightly as your hips move with the rhythm only slightly, and your orgasm sneaks up on you quickly, rolling through your body so fast that a quiet whisper of moan manages to slip out. By the time your hand makes it up to your mouth to cover your lips, the muted high is beginning to dissipate into your limbs.

You pull your fingers back, feeling the tiredness lingering in your body now that your orgasm has subsided, and close your eyes to sleep, just hoping, praying, that whatever you were even thinking about that asshole, would disappear by morning.

It absolutely hadn’t disappeared.

That said, there was still a lingering annoyance in the way your partnership brewed in this murky state. Not speaking properly to one another, not even really looking at one another, and just marching through your training together, having to be the kind of intimate that is more indicative of lovers than business partners.

The match was taking place at Summerhall. A sort of halfway point for all the contenders of each region of Westeros, to come together and determine who most deserved to go on the tour of Westeros, competing for the championship title.

Your body was filled to the brim with nerves the entire journey there, your stomach doing flips with every speed bump the minivan struggled to overcome.

That morning, Aemond had been entirely irritable until he was summoned to a closed off portion of their family home, confined to a room for several hours. You sat in the doorway entirely confused, until Helaena had the heart to explain once Alicent was out of earshot.

"He's having his injections" she had said.

"His what?"

Trigeminal Neuralgia. It was explained as.

As a result of this accident, which you still knew nothing about, Aemond had suffered with severe facial pain as the damage had interfered with the nerve. As a result, he endured glycerol injections in the side of his face, which provided relief for a few months, even stretching to a year.

But when the pain flared, Helaena explained, he was impossible to be around.

Your heart aches with a kind of sympathy, knowing that Aemond has to deal with this pain and recurring painful injections to keep it at bay. And as he finally comes out, with a plaster taped to the side of his face, he at least looks a bit more relaxed.

Or as relaxed as Aemond can be.

It results in neither of you speaking the entire journey to Summerhall. He'd put in his airpods, blasted his music and fallen right to sleep, his head only moving when the minivan took a sharper turn than expected.

Part of you can't help but look at him when he was asleep, stealing glances where you otherwise wouldn't get away with. Admiring the sharp angles of his face, his aquiline-shaped nose and most notably, the sharpness and definition of his jaw and cheekbones.

It was a shame he was a dick.

Knock knock.

You shake yourself from the trance, looking up at yourself in the vanity when you hear someone behind the door of the changing room, their knock signalling their presence almost so soft you didn't hear it.

"Come in"

Alicent peeks round the door, smiling in a way only a mother does, her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"How are you feeling?" She asks, once she's closed the door.

"A bit nervous, but fine" you reply, trying to sound convincing. But it clearly doesn't land, as Alicent smiles softly, sitting down next to you.

"Come, let me put on your skates" she suggests softly.

In the end, you'd misread the email from Hightower Management that you should wear white. In fact it said would, and they provided you with an all white outfit, some of it decorated with rhinestones, and a flowy leotard, very much indicative of the usual sportswear. It looked more expensive than any outfit you'd worn, and it made you feel strange wearing it now.

Alicent tugs at your laces, tying them expertly like it was muscle memory, "You know it always makes me emotional. Watching Helaena skate" she muses, her attention on her task, "Reminds me of myself"

You swallow, unsure of what to say at first, "Helaena is a wonderful skater. You should be proud" you smile.

Alicent returns it, patting your skate-clad feet and plopping then on the floor, "And I am sure I will be very proud of you also, my darling"

Your heart squeezes. She says it with such sincerity and emotion, with not an ounce of patronisation behind it.

"You look beautiful" she praises, tucking a hair behind your ear. Your hair was half up and half down, with waves put into it (courtesy of Helaena, as you'd previously mentioned you had no idea what to do with it). And your makeup, as you've always done, is bright and non-descript. A 'barely-there' approach.

You smile in thanks, taking a calming breath as you follow Alicent out the dressing room, meeting the rest of the team on the benches near the rink.

All of the other competitors also wait by the side lines, talking to their coaches. A few you recognise based on their house colours, grey for the Starks, a brother and sister duo, Cregan and Sara. As well as gold and red for the Lannisters, Jason Lannister and his partner, Johanna (who he totally isn't cheating on).

More than anything, the one that pops out the most are the Dornish, with their dark hair contrasting with their bright yellow costumes. Qoren Martell, lovingly nicknamed 'The Scorpion' and his Dornish girlfriend Mara. They were known for being unbelievably cocky, and put on quite the suggestive shows with their moves out on the ice. For this reason, they always made it to championships, giving both of them alike a big head.

In the distance you can see Aemond, all dressed and ready entirely in black, including some brand new looking black skates. Unlike in training, he wears his hair down around his shoulders, looking somewhat mythical leaning against the wall, arms crossed and receiving a bit of a grilling from Otto.

"Miss! Miss! A word for the White Worm?"

"Is it true Hightower Management had you sign an NDA?"

"Could you tell us about your troubled childhood?"

A slew of reporters seem to block your path, each of them shoving whatever microphones or recorders they have in their hands right into your face. You're so taken aback, that you don't even have the brain capacity to say anything. Your mouth is just open, with only unintelligible sounds coming out.

Otto materialises, pushing several of the reporters away while Aemond wraps his fingers around your arm, gently tugging you away while they're dealt with.

"Ignore them" he says lowly.

You take yet another calming breath, suddenly hit with the sinking feeling that the arena is jam packed full of important people, and the judges are lined up at the front, looking stern as anything. It never fails to make you wince to see their expressions.

Your breath is almost taken away though when you look back at Aemond.

Where his glass eye would usually sit, nestled between the angry scar down his face, sits a sapphire, glimmering in the harsh lights of the hall. Your lips sit parted in utter fascination.

You shake your head when you realise you're staring, "Sorry, I-"

"It's fine" he replies quickly, "I wear it for competitions"

You nod, eyes flitting to both his good eye and the sapphire, as if transfixed, "It's…nice". You almost cringe at yourself for the way you've said it. But truthfully, it's so distractingly pretty, it's difficult to not be speechless.

He stands still for a long time, looking around awkwardly not knowing what to say, "Thanks"

The announcement over the speakers echoes that it's almost time for your performance, and you swear you feel cold all over. Your eyes scan the crowd, rubbing your hands together nervously, spotting Rhaenys at the very back with Rhaena. Upon spotting you they wave widely, and you return it with a grin, feeling your heart swell to see they've gone through the effort to come to see you.

Nerves eat at you, remembering the routine, the jumps, the landings. The incessant coaching of Otto doesn't go amiss either. You slip your blade guards off your skates, watching as several cameras pan around the rink, and the commentators up in the box talking into their microphones.

"This is the first match from famed Aemond Targaryen, aptly nicknamed 'The Ice Prince', since his former skating partner, Floris Baratheon, was injured significantly. His new partner has yet to perform in any championship deciding matches"

"Yes, an unconventional choice for the Targaryens, to have such a green skater to be paired with. Time will tell if she will crack under the pressure"

You're the first to skate out, doing a few laps to warm up and adjusting both your hair and your outfit, making sure your laces are tight and secure before Aemond also skates out, having had a few words with Otto.

Coming to a halt in the middle, you take another steadying breath, shaking the nerves from your arms, ankles crossed as Aemond stops behind you. The crowd goes quiet when you assume position, his hand splayed on your middle, with yours covering his, trying to ignore the way it stokes the fire within.

Mahler's Symphony, Adagietto begins to play. Part of you can't help but find it a boring choice, but now in front of everyone, the crowd as quiet as a whisper as you and Aemond begin the routine, it feels more magical.

With his hair down and the sapphire on show, he looks utterly majestic on the ice, donned entirely in black, contrasting starkly with your white outfit. You can't help but look over at him every now and then, enraptured by his appearance.

"Technically, wonderful performance so far. The couple seem distant though, which I wonder if it will tie into their performance"

The first several jumps and spins go perfectly well, by the book, landing with balance. All building up to the one jump that you can tell, everyone is holding their breath for. The jump you'd been practising with Aemond for the last few weeks, was now being watched and streamed for everyone to critique and see.

The throw triple lutz.

Your chest inflates, as you both skate backwards, Aemond's hands wrapping around your waist as he skates behind you.

"Will they land it?"

Aemond throws you in the air, twisting you slightly and aiding in your airborne triple spin. The crowd immediately erupts in applause and cheer when you land it, your foot stable, both you and Aemond skating and joining hands in the next move.

"They've done it!"

"She's mastered the landing"

"Wonderful performance technically"

You breathe out finally, relief and pride blooming in your chest as you complete the last few spins and moves with Aemond, who doesn't let a single thing show on his face. As stoic and stony as ever.

It isn't until the routine is over that you see Aemond breathe what could be a sigh of relief that it's over. He doesn't spare a look in your direction as you skate off, greeted instantly by an excited Alicent and Helaena, who are congratulating you in heightened vibrant voices. Aemond earns a pat on the back as he stalks off with Aegon, speaking lowly.

"That was amazing!" Helaena praises, looking the part herself in her red outfit, "such a good landing!"

"Thank you!" You respond, seeing both Aegon and Helaena taking off their blade guards for their turn, "Good luck" you smile at her, making your way over to the bench to get off your jelly-like legs.

Otto gives you a nod, showing his wordless appreciation. In that way, you suppose Aemond is a lot like him, using few words to convey what he thinks.

You sit beside Aemond at the side lines, watching the board and waiting anxiously before the scores come in. He sits still, only his left leg bouncing to show how he's feeling, his tongue poking his cheek.

Aemond murmurs something, so quiet that at first you don't even hear it.

"What?"

He turns his head slowly, his sapphire greeting you before his good eye does, stealing your breath for a moment.

"You were good" he repeats, clearer this time, "out there"

You bite your lip to hide your smile looking down into your lap, knowing it's hurting everything inside him to compliment one thing you've done.

He huffs a quiet laugh through his nose, turning away again, "Don't make me regret that"

You can feel the cameraman in your periphery move to angle in on both of your nervous faces as the scores come in.

With the exception of a few with some points knocked off, it's a clean score. The crowd erupts, and your heart hammers excitedly, the adrenaline making it feel like fire in your veins.

"A respectable score for her first pairs match. No doubt helped by her perfect landing of that triple lutz"

Alicent pulls you into a hug, offering her congratulations as you barely hear one another over the cheers. Your face burns from smiling so widely, relieved that you had done your bit and a damn good job of it as well. She moves on to hug her son, who offers a quick embrace, whispering something you don't hear to her.

"There she is. The Sweetheart of Oldtown offering her support to her son"

"The Targaryens make it to the championship tour yet again, Aemond Targaryen representing the Crownlands"

The last thing you see is Rhaenys and Rhaena in the crowd, clapping dramatically with wide, proud smiles. Your vision blurs with happiness for a moment, giving them a wide wave.

Turning to Aemond, you're not sure what to do to congratulate him. So you settle on offering your hand for him to shake. He eyes it for a moment, his brows pulled together, before shaking it, nodding in mutual thanks.

The camera doesn't miss it though.

Figure Skating is as much about performance, teamwork and performing for the cameras, aside from technical ability. You hate this fact more than anything. But every match, you're reminded it's true.

"Not a full house, but they have potential as a duo. No doubt points knocked off for performance"

"Let's hope the icy couple warm up once the championship tour rolls round"

Some of the nerves had begun to wear off by the time the after party rolled around. You bit your lip as you watched Helaena in the reflection, stood behind you and pulling the curling iron from your hair, making sure it was waved in the right direction.

She met your eyes in the mirror, smiling, the highlighter around her eyes twinkling, "Excited for tonight?" She asked, squirting some finishing oil into her hands and running it through your hair.

"For the free food? Yes" you smirk at her, "however, wearing heels, no"

When you arrived in the hotel after the match, the dress was already laid out with the heels and jewellery in a box on the bed, kindly paid for by Hightower Management once again, accompanied by a congratulatory note.

It was an all black outfit, a bit sexier than you otherwise would have picked, with a slit up one leg. But wearing something you wouldn't usually was kind of exciting and you touched the gold necklace around your neck, a simple chain with no pendant, and admired the neckline of the dress in the mirror.

"Done" Helaena chirped.

You stood, smoothing down the front of the dress, trying to get used to walking in the black heels, "How do I look?"

Helaena had helped to curl your hair at the back, fixing in place a gold hair accessory as she did so, "Gorgeous. Everyone won't be able to take their eyes off you"

Something flutters in your belly when she says that.

"Anyway, see you down there, I've got to go with Aegon" she smiles, slipping out the door in her fitted cream dress.

You look yourself up and down in the floor length mirror, fiddling with the ring on your pointer finger. Helaena had done a fantastic job with your hair, sitting in waves down your back. But you also couldn't help but feel weird wearing such a strappy dress, as it wasn't what you'd go for at all.

With a breath to psych yourself up, you swing open your door, going to step out, gasping back in surprise to find Aemond had his fist outstretched with the intention of knocking. Unlike you, he didn't move or say an inch, he just stares down, dressed in a black suit (this time with an off white shirt underneath), his sapphire still lodged in his left eye socket.

His eye briefly runs over you making your heart rattle faster, clearing his throat as he tucks his hand into a pocket, "Uh, Otto said I should come and collect you"

You swallow thickly, closing the door softly behind you, "Did he say we should go together?"

Aemond nods, rolling his eye somewhat as you make your way to the lift, pressing the button, "Everyone attends with their business partner" he says simply.

Oh, right. Just business partners.

The ride down the several floors is quiet, and feels longer than it actually is because of it. Aemond briefly adjusts his tie, trying to disguise the look he gives over the outfit you wear. Black to match him. Something flutters deep in your gut at the proximity, able to smell whatever aftershave he'd spritzed on himself as it clouds around your head, making your mind all foggy.

You both pause at the entrance to the event, absolutely heaving and bustling with the figure skaters, their managers, journalists and other important people, all dressed to the nines to impress. The classical music is barely audible over the chatter, laughter and clinking of glasses. The room has a smell about it, a sweet, saccharine floral scent flooding from the various expensive vases placed around. Lilies, you think. It's almost too overwhelming.

Suddenly, the slit in your dress makes you feel a tad self-conscious and you pick nervously at the fabric.

"Stop that" Aemond whispers, his fingers gently pulling your hand away, "Put on a brave face. It'll be over sooner"

Despite your skin burning where he'd touched, you nod once, taking a breath for courage.

Looking straight ahead, Aemond offers his arm, presumably to appear amicable. And you take it, barely putting pressure on the inside of his arm as you walk in together. Aemond keeps his steely stare, looking entirely uncomfortable in this environment.

The first people who approach you, arm in arm as you both are, are the Dornish couple, their dark hair curled and slick with gel. Qoren flashes a toothy grin at you, Mara on his arm looking somewhat doped out with her eyes hooded and kohl thick over her eyelids.

You surmise they must wear their rich yellow-orange colours all the time, judging by their outfits. And that the stereotype must be somewhat true, based on both of their plunging necklines.

"Here he is. The One-Eyed wonder!" He chirps. And you feel the way Aemond tenses up at the rude comment.

"Qoren" he greets flatly, biting his cheek.

Seemingly happy with his reaction, Qoren turns to you, "And who is this gorgeous flower?" He adds, hand outstretched for yours.

Politely, you offer your hand, introducing yourself and skin prickling when he kisses it for a little too long. Mara looks entirely indifferent, in fact she even has a smile on her face.

"So nice to see a fresh face in figure skating. I hope you are coping well with the Targaryens! Not everyone can handle their fire" Qoren muses.

What's that supposed to mean?

You're not quite sure what to say, so you settle for, "Thank you. Nice to meet you"

Otto appears suddenly on Aemond's left side, whispering something and easing him away. You feel somewhat apprehensive of being left alone when the two of them find a quiet corner to talk.

But when you look back at Qoren, your heart goes faster to find Mara on the other side of the room, chatting up Jason Lannister, which briefly makes your lips part in shock.

Qoren smirks, "Mara and I are open"

You shake your head quickly, "I didn't mean to stare I-"

He laughs, "It's alright. Really"

Luckily at that exact moment, a member of staff stops by your side and you quickly pull a flute of champagne off of it, sipping it slightly to take the edge off. You look at Aemond and Otto as you do. Aemond looks white as a sheet, staring at one corner of the room with a gaze that implies panic, with Otto still whispering in his ear.

When you follow their panicked looks, there's a woman standing alongside the strange brown-haired man from the schmoozing event, the one with the limp whose name you still don't remember. She is the epitome of beauty, with dark raven hair and blood red lips, her body filling out the emerald green dress with her hourglass physique and her neckline accentuating the fullness of her breasts.

"That's Alys Rivers" Qoren states, seeing your stare.

You look back at him quickly, cheeks burning from being caught looking, "Who?"

"Before our time. Retired figure skater. Represented the Riverlands"

"Retired?" You repeat, "she doesn't look very old"

Qoren scoffs, "She's older than she looks"

He points his pinky in her direction, leaning in to utter something quietly, "See that necklace?"

You follow his line of sight, eyes squinting in the low light. It’s true. A necklace hangs daintily in the middle of her chest, with a small pendant at the bottom.

"Sapphire" he tells you, "A gift from your One-Eyed partner"

What.

You look at Qoren, utterly dumbfounded. He just chuckles, seeing the supposed trouble he’s caused.

"Once upon a time" he says, gulping down the rest of his drink, "Not until mummy found out anyway"

You can't find it in yourself to reply. Too stunned into silence.

"Pretty thing like you shouldn't be stuck with him" now this does catch your attention, shocked at the blatancy of it, "If you ever find yourself bored of him. Mara and I are looking for someone else to sleep wi-"

"Oh no, no!" You reply quickly, forcing a laugh out, "No thank you, I uh - besides Aemond and I aren't -"

"There you are!" Helaena blurts loudly, coming to your aid, her eyes wide as if she knows exactly what she's breaking up.

She tugs you away before you have a chance to say anything, and you instantly feel relieved, "Thank you" you mouth.

She smirks, "It's alright, Aem shouldn't have left you alone with them hanging around"

You can't help but look back at the black-haired woman called Alys, now finding that Aemond has approached her. She leans close to him, speaking in a hushed and intimate manner, biting her ruby lips. Aemond on the other hand has his signature look, giving nothing away.

You want to ask.

You so want to ask.

"Do Alys and Aemond know each other?" You finally ask, giving in to curiosity.

Helaena snaps her head to you quickly, panicked almost.

"Qoren said something?" She asks, to which you nod, "They were together a few years ago, not for very long. That's probably all you should know"

Together…

The sapphire necklace.

It all makes sense. The urgency.

Otto was warning Aemond she was here.

Your lips part in wordless shock, "But…isn't she…"

"A fucking dinosaur? Yeah" Helaena says annoyed, sipping her own champagne and turning her back to them, "Disgusting is what she is" she mutters under her breath.

Dread descends on you, clouding the otherwise warm atmosphere of the after-party.

You look back. Aemond is watching Alys saunter away from the event hurriedly with a less-than-enthused look on her face. He looks visibly annoyed. Uncomfortable even.

It didn't look amicable.

So why would she wear the necklace?

Even when Alys has left, his jaw remains tense and you can't help but feel like he looks smaller, shrinking into himself with his shoulders rolled slightly forwards. His gaze briefly meets yours before you turn back, sensing you’d been caught, seeing how Helaena is also being tugged away by Aegon to chat with Cregan and Sara.

"You look nervous"

You jump out of your skin, almost dropping the flute as that Lars-Larry-whatever guy leans uncomfortably close, his eyes glinting with mischief as they roll over you.

Gods, this man is fucking creepy.

“You looked marvellous on the ice earlier” he praised, standing beside you, watching as you tapped your fingernails on the glass nervously, “Larys Strong. Skating Journalist” he introduced, allowing himself to briefly shake your hand.

You gave as polite a smile as you could muster, “Yes, I have seen you around” Lurking around, more like.

He hummed with a small wry smile, his blue eyes darting around the room, meeting Aemond’s, who was looking at them as if wondering what they were talking about.

“Are you enjoying your time with the Targaryens?” he asked in what seemed like an innocent way.

“Yes, thank you” you reply, clearing your throat, “they are very accommodating towards me”

Larys leant against the table to take the pressure off his leg, “It is a wonder…”

“What is?” you turn to him, confusion ebbing into your tone. He smiles, eyes looking elsewhere, apparently pleased that he’d managed to capture your curiosity.

“...it is a wonder why Hightower Management approached you, over say, an experienced Pairs skater.”

Your lips part. Where do men get this innate fucking audacity?

“...Jeyne Arryn. Maris Baratheon. Even Netta, of no notable house, would be good choices. Better even”

“If you have something to say to me, just say it” you reply, jaw tensed and eyes trained forward on him. Entirely sick of the patronising manner of speaking.

Larys meets your eyes, still smiling “I have some information that may be of use to you. Regarding your employment with Hightower Manage-”

“Excuse us”, Aemond’s tall form appears beside you, standing between yourself and Larys, whose face falls significantly into a stoic frown once he realises the conversation is over.

Your annoyance towards the so-called journalist is stunted somewhat by Aemond’s hand on the small of your back, pushing you away from the conversation, making colour bloom to your face and neck.

Even several paces away, his hand remains there, the contact making your skin erupt in goosebumps as it trails slightly higher up your spine. His body bends to whisper in your ear, “Stay away from him. He likes to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong”

Tell me about it.

“What did Qoren want with you” he asks, his voice low in a whisper, his hand moving to your arm to pull you along. There’s something angered about the way he asks it, his fingers somewhat digging into the meat of your flesh.

The warmth is tainted somewhat by all the frustration of feeling as if secrets are being kept from you as well as the flat, demanding manner of his voice.

You bristle away from him, the warmth of his hand disappearing, “I’m not your fucking girlfriend, Aemond. Stop treating me like one” you hiss, turning to look at him, “just business partners. Right?”

Aemond stands there, briefly confused. But the longer your eyes look at one another, the more his expression shifts into something that you’ve seen only a handful of times. Like that time he saw you training for the first time. And when he assisted your leg stretch only a few days ago.

He half blinks. Trying to hide the passing of his gaze over your form with it.

“You look nice”

Instead of feeling flattered, rage only floods through your veins. Who does he think you are? Some vain, empty-headed woman who can be so easily swayed with a compliment? Throwing yourself at his feet just because he said the most basic nice thing he could even muster?

“You fucking-”

Otto Hightower steps in, unapologetically breaking up whatever it was that was happening (but his face seemed like it couldn’t care less anyhow), hands behind his back, “There you both are”

You and Aemond hit pause on whatever argument was brewing.

“I’ve spoken with the staff. You shall both be on tour together in a week. Alone”

What.

Neither you or Aemond are capable of a cohesive reply, staring blankly at Otto, who just smiles, nods his head once and turns away.

Alone. On tour. With him?!

Fuck.

Taglist 1 (Bold means I could not tag!)

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